#as soon as i saw these two i was like ‘peter?? harry???’

[itsraining-honey]

“hey can i copy your homework?”

“yeah, just change it up a bit so it’s not obvious you copied it.

“ok”

[whenlilyfallsinlove]

photograph

sirius black x reader

sirius is/was winning so fred fic tomorrow and jolene part 3 soon! this is a sad one beware. y/n is an implied gryffindor.

"i thought you'd might like to see this harry." sirius was stood in his old bedroom at grimmauld palace, holding a picture. it was the christmas holidays, so harry, ron and hermione were back. back at the order headquarters.

harry peered over sirius' shoulder to see that he was holding a photograph. a photograph which was now a little tattered due to age.

"what.. is it?" harry asked, curiously.

"the original order of the phoenix, look its your mother and father." sirius answered, and he was right. harry saw his parents smiling and waving at the camera, it made his heart ache.

to the side of lily and james was sirius, as handsome as ever, his hair shorter, and he was smiling. not at the camera but at the girl next to him. harry had never seen the girl before but he looked at her, noticing she too was smiling and waving like his parents, however she didn't seem to have noticed sirius was looking at her.

"marlene mckinnon" harry brought his attention away from the mystery girl to look at who sirius was pointing at.

"she was killed two weeks after this photograph was taken.. they got her whole family." sirius grimaced.

harry frowned, looking around at the picture again. he saw a younger, less rugged remus. frank and alice longbottom who were tortured using the cruciatus curse by bellatrix lestrange. the sight of their smiling faces made harry feel a pang of sympathy for neville.

but harry couldn't stop looking at the girl who was next to sirius. as he watched the picture play again and again, he noticed that she was laughing and sirius was too.

"uhh.. sirius?" harry spoke up, looking at sirius who also seemed to be staring at the mystery girl.

"yes harry?" sirius brought his eyes away from the photograph to look at harry.

"who's that girl next to you in the photograph?" harry asked, hoping he hadn't touched a nerve.

he saw sirius wince which made harry regret asking so he started apologising profusely.

"no it's okay harry, that is y/n l/n." harry recognised your name vaguely.

"who.. is she?" he asked.

"she is.. was one of my best friends at hogwarts. an honorary marauder if you will. skilled at charms and one of the funniest people i have ever met." sirius smiled fondly.

harry noticed sirius's change in tense.

"you don't have to answer but is she...?" harry trailed off but sirius knew what he meant. he nodded, sadly. harry's heart dropped, however he had realised where he had heard your name before.

harry was under his invisibility cloak, listening in to mcgonagall, flitwick, hagrid, fudge and madam rosmerta talking about sirius black.

"you say you remember him at hogwarts, rosmerta" murmered mcgonagall. "do you remember who his best friend was?"

"naturally.. never saw one without the other, did you? the number of times i had them in here - ooh they used to make me laugh. quite the double act, sirius black and james potter." madam rosmerta laughed.

harry had felt his heart dropped, at the time he thought sirius was guilty.

"precisely" said mcgonagall. "black and potter. ringleaders of their little gang."

"they'd all come in here lots. i remember. it was always the same group. that little peter pettigrew was there."

"he looked up to those two." mcgonagall sighed. "such a shame for him, poor boy."

"they used to come with a girl sometimes as well. pretty, always smiling." rosmerta said, making harry's ears prick up. they were probably talking about his mother.

"oh.. y/n l/n." mcgonagall suddenly seemed upset. harry had not heard this name before.

"she was such a talented young witch. always top of the class in charms." flitwick sighed.

"black was mad about her, i remember that rightly." madam rosmerta reminisced. "used to always buy her butterbeers, flirted with her all the time. she always had none of it, shooing him off"

harry's breath hitched.

"i don't know rosmerta." hagrid interjected "i think it went both ways."

"it was such a shame what happened to that poor poor girl. she would've been a great a witch. heavens.. sirius might not have turned out the way he did if she hadn't have died." mcgonagall's voice wobbled.

"now, now minerva don't get upset, it couldn't be helped." fudge comforted her, and your name wasn't brought up again.

""i remember.. madam rosmerta saying something about her. how she was friends with you." harry eventually spoke aloud. he had left out the parts of her and sirius and her death.

"oh we were, in fact i remember the day i first met her very clearly." sirius smiled.

you were scared, well of course you bloody were! it was your first day at a new school and you didn't know anyone. you didn't even know how to get on to the platform. apparently you were a "muggle-born." your parents weren't magic and it had come such a shock to you when professor mcgonagall showed up on your doorstep on your eleventh birthday claiming you were a wizard. madness.

you had arrived at the station, saying goodbye to your parents when you approached platforms 9 and 10. was this some sort of joke? how did you even get on?

"excuse me." you heard a voice pulling you from your thoughts. it was a woman, she was with a man and a boy who looked like he was about your age.

"would you like help getting on the platform, dearie?" the woman smiled kindly at you.

"yes please." you smiled.

"it's my son james' first year as well." you looked at the boy with messy dark hair and glasses. he grinned cheekily at you which you returned.

after the woman (euphemia, you learnt her name was) helped you get to the platform, you were left in the company of her son.

"hi. i'm james." he smiled.

"i'm y/n." you smiled back.

"you want to sit with me on the train?" he asked you, noticing your slight nervousness.

"yeah thanks." you followed james into a carriage on the train and you began small talk.

your talking was interrupted, however, by another boy entering the carriage. he was handsome, with long dark hair and a charming smile.

"can i sit here, i'm hiding from this kid severus, i spilt pumpkin juice all over him by accident" the boy chuckled.

james grins at this. "of course." he says.

"i'm sirius black." the boy smiles at james.

"james potter." he replies.

sirius turns his attention to you.

"and whats your name darling?" he cheekily smiles.

"call me darling again and i'll punch your brains out." you smile at him innocently. "but it's y/n."

sirius roared with laughter to which you grinned back.

"well y/n.. i think we're gonna get along just fine." he said. and he was right you were best friends since that very day.

sirius was smiling at the memory which made harry feel a little happier.

"were you.. dating?" harry blushes slightly.

sirius doesn't seem too bothered.

"no we weren't, my biggest regret was not telling her i loved her. especially after... it happened. lily told me she was head over heels for me." sirius faltered.

"now that i think about it.. it was quite obvious."

"AND BLACK'S GOT THE QUAFFLE AND HE SCORES!! 10 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR." you shouted into the microphone. you had been the quidditch commentator since your third year and even now, two years later, it was still a role you took pride in.

you were stood next to mcgonagall in the box when you saw a slytherin beater aim for sirius' face.

"AND THE SLYTHERIN BEATERS HAVE ATTEMPTED TO HIT THE BLUDGER AT BLACK. PLEASE DON'T, WE DON'T WANT TO WRECK HIS PRETTY FACE." you shout.

"L/N, STICK TO THE GAME." mcgonagall shouted, but she didn't seem too annoyed. the crowd laughed.

"sorry professor, sirius was distracting me." you smile and you see sirius fly near your box and grin at you.

as the game went on, you continued to make some biased comments about gryffindor. and continued flirting with sirius. it was extremely common in your friendship,for the two of you to act like an old married couple. you'd never admit it to him but you really liked the boy.

"YOU DIRTY CHEATING SCUM, YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARDS." you jeered, when you saw the slytherin chasers slam themselves in to james.

"Y/N L/N, I'M WARNING YOU." mcgonagall shouted but she was just as annoyed.

"OH BUT HERE'S BLACK TO SAVE THE DAY, ISN'T HE A CHARMER, POTTER PASSES THE QUAFFLE TO BLACK AND HE SCORES AGAIN!! JUST BRILLIANT, ISN'T HE?" you ignore mcgonagall. you see sirius blowing a kiss at you.

you laugh, and then you're nudged by mcgonagall AGAIN.

you notice shes pointing at the golden snitch.

"THE GOLDEN SNITCH HAS BEEN SPOTTED AND THE SEEKERS ARE NECK AND NECK. WHOEVER CATCHES THIS WILL WIN AND- MCKINNON! SHE'S DONE IT! MARLENE MCKINNON HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH. GRYFFINDOR WIN 270-80!!" you shout, and do a dance. sirius sees you and chuckle.

you run down from the box and straight onto the pitch and hug sirius tightly.

"you were great sirius." you smile.

"i know." he winks at you.

your cheeks heat up as you smack him round the back of the head.

"idiot!"

"she was murdered." sirius's tone in voice suddenly changed, brining harry out of his train of thiught.

"murdered for being a muggle-born, murdered for not ratting out lily and james." sirius said, angrily.

harry's eyes widened.

"disgusting." sirius looks down.

"i loved her. and they took her life from her. like they did with the mckinnons. like they did with your parents." sirius put his hand on harry's shoulder.

"the war is cruel." sirius sighs, looking back at your smiling face on the photograph. "you should tell people you love them when you can."

and with that sirius turned away from harry, harry expected this was to subtly tell him to leave. which he did. he needed to tell ron and hermione about this. as he shut the door, he could've sworn he heard a small cry from sirius.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

I loved your peter vs Alastor story, can we possibly get a part two? Like maybe Peter is looking for her and she hears about it through the news or something from missing persons reports. She’s changed her name and Alastor has told her there’s nothing to worry about, but keeps having dreams about Peter finding her? You can choose how it ends!

A/N: I didn’t think people would want a part two to that but since you asked you shall receive! I love writing about Yanderes going against each other it’s so much fun 🤗. I watched the first four episodes of Hazbin Hotel and guys i LOVE IT SO MUCH. I’m so glad I waited for this show, and I’m so glad other people are enjoying it as much as I am. Special thanks to @a-bookworms-teashop or also known as @forbidden-sunlight, for helping me with this short story! As per usual we all know I like cliffhangers so expect a part three soon <<33 happy reading & enjoy!

Warnings: violence, obsessive tendencies, mentions of blood, lots of manipulation, talks of mental abuse, lots of dark content ahead!!

Songs you can listen too while reading: Close to you by Rihanna. Slipping through my fingers by ABBA. Desire by Megan Myers. Love on the Brain by Rihanna. Forget her by Jeff Buckley. Meet me in the hallway by Harry Styles. The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo.

Part 1

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Forget her

Living in New Orleans was nice. People were always so kind, and everyone was so welcoming. Getting a new name was easy, surprisingly. The government didn’t make it hard to run away from psycho ex boyfriends who didn’t know how to take a hint. Living with Alastor was nice. He was always a gentlemen, a gentle man, a good lover too. He made sure to never treat you the way Peter did.

In fact he was quite the opposite with you. Inviting you out to parties with him, keeping you out of the public eye as to not bring the wrong type of attention around. Everything felt like it was starting to get better. He would bring you flowers, take you to work with him even, or work from home. Alastor was nothing short of the perfect boyfriend. In fact he was perfect and more.

But lately, something seemed to have you on edge. He had been fidgety. Checking his phone constantly but always reassuring you with the polite smile. A reassuring one he tried to keep on, but you saw right through. He was hiding something and you wanted to know what.

According to Husk, Peter had since moved out of the apartment he had been living in, with no notice too. He had gone completely ghost. There was no sign of him anywhere, according to your knowledge. It was a Saturday evening when it had all happened. When your intuition had finally proved to be right.

“You said I wouldn’t be seen.” You said, the article about an appearance the two of you had made up on your phone. Alastor was walking through the kitchen, tossing various ingredients into a large pot, his jambalaya coming along nicely.

“ Dear please, there hasn’t been any sign of you for months. I doubt the bastard has even seen it, let alone have any access to technology.” He brushed you off with a chuckle, sliding the ingredients off the cutting board and into the pot. You sighed and put your phone down on the counter. Maybe you were being over paranoid. But ever since reading the article, a chill had ran up your spine that didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. Alastor noticed you looking off to the side, lost in your own mind. He reaches out, hands brushing your sides gently. “Why don’t you take a bath, hm? Ill even set it up for you. What do you say dear?” He asks calmly, a hand on your lower back, ushering you out of the kitchen and past the open living room, making your way down the hall to the bathroom.

“ Alright fine. But we need to talk about this later.” You say, and he responds to you with a kiss on your cheek. You go to your shared bedroom, going through the large walk in closet to find a change of clothes for after your bath. The water is running in the bathroom, the smell of fragrances light on your senses. You make your way back to the bathroom to see Alastor leaning over the tub slightly, candles already lit on the sides of the tub to allow you to relax. There’s your favorite book next to a cup of wine, along with the radio playing light jazz. Everything is perfect, as it should be, and for a moment you can forget the feeling of strained eyes on you. You can forget it all as you’re embraced by a man who loves you. Who truly cares.

“ Take your time darling. I must run out for a bit to get some extra ingredients. Will you be fine without me?” He asks, taking the robe from you as you sink down into the tub, eyeing you carefully, enough to give you butterflies. You smile, one of his favorites and nod, reaching to the side to pick up your glass of wine, the red stains your lips slightly as you pull the cup away.

“I think Ill be okay, thank you love. Be quick please, I might just nap here.” You say jokingly. Alastor smiles, folding your robe up neatly in his hands before nodding to you lightly. He leans down to kiss you, a soft tender kiss, before leaving you in the bathroom alone. It’s when you hear the front door shut that you sigh, now knowing he’s gone. The water is just right, just warm enough on your skin for you to rest your eyes a bit.

A bit turns into an hour, and when you hear a loud glass shatter from the kitchen is when you wake up from your nap. You hadn’t been serious about sleeping in the tub, but mistakes happen. You quickly pull at the drain, the water slowly slipping down as you grab your towel and get yourself dressed, sliding a simple nightgown on before stepping out of the bathroom. “Alastor?” You call, but you’re met with silence. Your vision is hazy, the steam from the water seeming to create some sort of film over your sight, but you manage. Walking down the hall and into the living area, you see a vase shattered on the ground. What you don’t expect to see, is a distraught Peter standing across from you.

“Guess again Baby.” He says with a smile. He sighs and takes in your appearance, eyes completely devouring your appearance. “What are you doing here?” You ask, panic written all over your face.

“How did you find me?” You ask again. Peter tuts at you, standing straight up, revealing just how tall he really was in comparison to you. He has a folder in his hand, one he throws on the floor in between the two of you, and it just barely touches your feet as it slides across the floor. “What is this?” You ask, eyeing him closely. He grins, hands behind his back as he watches you pick up the folder.

“Your perfect boyfriend.” He responds. The pictures inside reveal themselves before you can even process whats going on. Pictures of Alastor and you about in the city. Ones of the two of you at home, the two of you at dinner. Intimate moments, things that were supposed to be private. All laid out right in front of you. A picture of Alastor and you at a friends wedding. His face was burned out of the photo, but you knew who it was. The more photos you looked through the more you found. Magazine clippings of Alastor with you in the town. Paparazzi seeing you both together at parties, dancing around each other like no one was watching but the worlds eyes were on you. Peters eyes were on you.

“He told me-“

“Told you what?” Peter snickered, stepping closer, the broken glass crunching under his feet. You kept going through photos, one right after the other. Then, one really caught your attention. Mimzy. She had been so obsessed with Alastor and how you were no good for him. Now, in front of you was a photo, the two of them with their arms around each other, almost like lovers, but not quite friends. How long ago was this? Why didnt he tell you about this?

“He doesn’t love you. Not the way I do.” Peter said, stepping closer, arms raising for a hug. “ Let’s just go home. We can put this all behind us. I can forgive you.” He said, a smile on his face. He was still the same. He thought he had done no wrong. He lowers his arms when he sees you don’t come closer, but instead reaches for your hands, pulling them to his chest. “What do you need? Money? I can give you that. If- if you want more freedom we can go out! We can do whatever you want-“ He pleaded, eyes begging for yours to look at him. “Please, just come back. He took you away from where you were safe. Now you have everyone judging you, when you don’t need that.” He said, hand cupping your chin to force you to look at him. “Are you really happy here?” He asks.

It feels like time freezes for a moment. Were you really happy? All the press, Alastor always being gone or out at parties. The social events. The liquor, the drugs. The dancers and the crowds of people together. With Alastor, it was always a party. But with Peter, things were different.

With Peter, you were quiet. Alone but without the drugs, the partying and the social interaction. With Peter you really never lifted a finger, not like you physically could. Peter always brought gifts home, even if he was upset with you. He always did laundry, had things neat and tidy, or as much as they could in the small apartment. With Peter, you were taken care of. With Peter, you lived a calm life.

Well, at least that was how he saw it.

With Peter, there was a constant fear surrounding you. Suffocating you. He never let you live, took away your freedom and your life to keep you tied down to him. He had hurt you on multiple occasions, raising a hand to the person he swore to love so dearly. He had threatened to kill your family, your friends, anyone who stood in between the two of you. Peter didn’t love you, no, he was obsessed. Did you really want that life back?

“I.. I am happy here.” You finally said, pulling yourself away from Peter. His eyes looked defeated. He looked, complex. In a matter of seconds his demeanor changed entirely, standing tall in his anger, his pride.

“Happy? Happy with a man who took you from me?!” He yelled, lunging forward and caging you between him and the wall. His eyes looked manic, like something had snapped. It was only then you noticed him reaching into his pocket, glass shard in hand. “I told you what would happen if you ever left.” He said, hand in the air as the shard came down quickly. A slice to your cheek had you sliding down the wall, tears streaming down your face as blood ran down your neck, fingers shakily holding onto yourself for some support.

“Peter please-“ you pleaded with a whisper. Even after all these months away from him he still managed to make you feel so small.

“I see what’s going on.” He said, chuckling a bit. He crouches down, eye level with you now. “He has you completely brainwashed doesn’t he. I’m sure he-“ He stops when he hears the front lock being turned. The door opens to reveal a humming Alastor, eyes shut as he hums a song to himself softly. He turns to lock the door, before turning back around, finally opening his eyes to see the sight of Peter and you on the ground.

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Peter looks panicked, Alastor looks, unreadable, and you look, frightened. Alastor drops the bag of groceries, and before you can process what’s happening there’s a knife being drawn from under his shirt sleeve. Not a large one, but a size big enough to kill a man. To kill Peter. Peter stands quickly, clutching the glass shard in his hand so tight he begins to cut himself. The two meet in the middle, Peter swinging to try to slice Alastors neck. Something about the way Peter misses, the way Alastor inhales sharply. His eyes widen but in a different way. One you’d never seen from him before. There’s a difference in the way his eyes gloss over, the shine in them just a bit brighter than before.

Nothing would ever be the same after tonight.

[rancidpancakebatter]

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob. 

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious. 

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out. 

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth. 

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know. 

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue. 

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk. 

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves. 

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response. 

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him. 

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness. 

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake. 

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend. 

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live. 

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again. 

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow. 

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten. 

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment. 

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again. 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you. 

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you. 

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some. 

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head. 

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour. 

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing. 

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare. 

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own. 

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.” 

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind. 

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious. 

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much. 

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own. 

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right. 

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal. 

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t. 

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it. 

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them. 

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right. 

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you. 

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far. 

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough. 

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow. 

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave. 

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off. 

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions. 

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone. 

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other. 

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth. 

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller. 

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it. 

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking. 

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt. 

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him. 

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before. 

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it. 

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew. 

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you. 

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did. 

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be. 

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain. 

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her. 

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from. 

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said. 

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you. 

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long. 

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand. 

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later. 

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead. 

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear. 

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him. 

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him. 

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries. 

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward. 

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this. 

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer. 

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” 

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return. 

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to. 

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was. 

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid. 

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him. 

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements. 

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took. 

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go. 

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here. 

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse. 

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence. 

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks. 

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door. 

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background. 

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right. 

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you began. 

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off. 

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins. 

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away. 

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for. 

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful. 

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

[asterias-record-shop]

Hello! For the bingo thing could you please do maid!reader with Andrew Garfield/Peter Parker with prompt # 5 or 9 where reader makes a mistake and she gets punished! Please and thank you !! I also love your writing!

—𓆩[you missed a spot]𓆪—

thank you so much anon!!

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Billionaire! TASM! Peter Parker x Fem! Maid! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, angst, smut

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 4.0K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - As soon as Peter graduated college with his degree, he was gone. No one appreciated him enough, so he was going to show them — all of them. After making billions with everything he made and keeping his alter ego a secret, the only thing he’s missing is someone to share his life with, but you quickly fill that whenever you come in applying for his maid job.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - cursing & foul language || no romantic relationships with Gwen but she still died || Peter has an alcohol problem || my poor baby is lonely :( || but you fix that!! || lots of timeskips || kind of fast acting relationship? || kinda mixed universes in a way? Gwen died but Peter is still friends with Harry, idk he needs friends don’t question it || you do like to cook and clean sorry comes with the job || peter’s spidey-senses pick up on your ovulating || Peter gets drunk and does stupid shit || I got carried away I’m so sorry- || smut, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, cumming, this was definitely more plot based ||

Peter didn’t understand why he needed a maid per Harry’s request until he came home after a two week business trip in Milan. It made sense when he saw all the dust buildup on things he barely touched, the fact that his house wasn’t actually a home made it different.

His house hadn’t been a home since he moved in, but he might as well take care of the multimillion dollar home.

From there, he started interviews. At first, it was just him and dozens of women who were either too fan-crazy for the billionaire or too bland.

That was when Harry stepped in, joining in on the interviews as Peter tried to sleep. He was really fucking tired after a night full of hero things, Harrison being his little voice in the suit making sure he didn’t fall asleep on the Statue of Liberty.

It wasn’t until he heard your voice that he was wide awake, watching as you sat down in the chair in front of his mahogany desk of his study.

His study made him feel extremely rich.

“It’s Y/N, right?” Harrison asked, his cheeks already tinted pink as you nodded.

“Yes! Yes, it is. Uhm, it’s nice to meet you-”

“Harrison,” he offered his hand, your smile slightly faltering before you took it. “Harrison Osborne. Friends call me Harry.”

“Well uhm… isn’t this for a position for mister uhm…” you look down at your resume where you had the name at the top. “Mr. Peter Parker.”

You were the first one to actually notice that, or at least voice it out.

“That’s right,” Peter spoke up, leaning forward to look at you. “That’s me, you can just call me Peter.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you!” Your smile was back immediately, a giggle falling from your lips as you took your hand from Harry’s and pushed it forward to offer it to him. “My name is Y/N L/N, I’m here to apply for your cooking and cleaning job.”

“His maid job,” Harrison corrected you as Peter firmly shook your hand, your face twisting. “I mean, you would be his maid. It’s a live-in position, but you would cook, clean, wash his clothes, what else do maids do?”

“I-I’m aware I would also be doing those things,” you say quickly, swallowing. “I’m not sure if that was clear.”

“It was,” Peter smiled at you. “Why do you want this job?”

“Well, I was a personal chef for two years, and then I filled in maid positions for people who were elderly that couldn’t do it themselves. I enjoyed it because I like to clean and cook for people.” You say, smiling at Peter who quickly found himself smiling back at you.

There was something about you he just liked.

“When can you start?”

You pause, gaping. “I-I… are you sure you don’t want to see my résumé? O-Or-”

“Were you lying about something?”

Your face scrunches, but you shake your head. “No, of course not! I just-”

“Well, if you want the job, it’s yours,” Peter interrupted, smiling. “So, you can have your stuff moved in tomorrow and can start the day after. Sounds good?”

He watched as you paused, picking at the edge of the manilla folder before nodding. “Sounds great, Mr. Parker.”

You have gotten perfectly settled over the past few months. You memorized every inch of Peter’s house, making sure everything was clean when he was gone and even cleaner when he was here.

Peter didn’t really eat at home much though, but you weren’t going to let your culinary degree go to waste.

So, for breakfast, you decided on making him some classic chicken and waffles with a cup of coffee and some fruit. You knew he was used to eating out for quite literally every meal, but you thought it would be better for him to eat from home more often, even if his body showed no proof of his bad eating habits.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” Peter had just gotten done with his morning workout, the savory smell of fried chicken and the sweet pancakes making him smile. “Wow. It smells so good.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” His words make you giggle, but you tried to hide your blush as he walked toward you, his body shining with sweat and the small curls of hair leading down the v of his abdomen catching your eye before you look away. “I just thought you could eat something from home because you always get something delivered. You need to give my cooking skills a chance, Mr. Parker.”

“I’ve told you before to call me Peter,” he was close, taking another whiff until he noticed that the pancakes wasn’t the only thing that smelled sweet. “Y/N, you smell very nice. Really nice.”

You paused, gulping. You hadn’t put any heavy perfume on, just a light body mist and some deodorant. “Th-Thank you, Peter.”

He smiled when you said his name, humming softly as he came closer behind you, watching as you slowly moved around the chicken in the oil. “Please be careful. Don’t burn yourself, I’m going to jump in the shower real quick and I’ll be back. Will you eat breakfast with me?”

His words make you freeze, swallowing. “Y-You want me to eat with you?”

He tucked his face into your neck, taking another slight sniff to smell the sweet scent absolutely flooding off of your form, a soft gasp coming from your mouth making him pull away. “I’m so sorry Y/N, you just… you smell really nice, but it’s not like perfume. I-I’ll be right back.”

Peter quickly left you in the kitchen, your mind slightly hazy until you could smell the slight toastiness of the chicken, quickly taking it out and letting it settle on some paper towels as you finished cutting the fruit and cooking the waffles. You finished cleaning up and setting everything to the side, preparing both of your plates and setting it on the table as you waited for Peter.

Peter on the other hand was slamming his head on the wall of his shower. Did he really fucking sniff you?!

You probably thought he was so fucking weird, sniffing you and saying you smelled sweet. Oh but just that thought made a spark run down his back, his cock hardening. Maybe it was his spidey-senses kicking in where he smelled what was coming from you, but it was naturally sweet and making his mind hazy.

He couldn’t jack off, not when you were supposed to clean his room, restroom, and study today. So with a quick push of the touchscreen in the shower turning it to cold, his cock was quick to soften as he forced himself to think about something other than you.

It wasn’t long until he finished his shower, inhaling as he got dressed and went back downstairs, watching as you bent over the table and set down the plates. For fucks sake, he had just gotten his cock soft and there you were making him hard again.

“Oh, hey Peter,” you quickly saw him, smiling. “Breakfast’s ready, are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I am,” Peter smiled as he walked over, fixing his shirt. “You need help?”

“No, but if you want to grab your coffee from the counter, I made it just how you like it.” You smiled widely at him as you put down some silverware, Peter nodding as he grabbed his mug and your reusable cup that was filled with an iced coffee.

He sets it down where you were going to sit, pressing a soft touch to the small of your back as he smiled over your shoulder. “It looks so good, Y/N, thank you.”

You shrug, smiling back. “Just doing my job, Peter. Can I get you anything else?”

He shook his head, pulling out the chair for you. “Sit down for me, Y/N.”

You do, sitting down as he pushes in your chair with a giggle. “Oh, you’re so sweet, Peter, thank you.”

“No, thank you, Y/N.” He smiled as he started to eat, both of you munching on the food you cooked in silence before you cleared your throat.

“I was going to clean your room, restroom, study, and do laundry. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

Peter paused, looking down at his watch to see the date. “Uhm… do you mind doing the study another day, please? I’ll probably be in there the rest of the day.”

You nodded, sending him a slight smile. “Whatever you say, Peter.”

You both finished up eating fairly quickly, Peter thanking you for the food and walking to his study after putting his dishes in the sink and giving them a quick rinse. It makes you smile, thankful he didn’t leave all the sticky syrup on it as you washed the dishes, quickly going through everything you had to do throughout the day.

After making yourself lunch around 12:30, you made Peter a plate and went up to his study, knocking softly though you spoke loudly to ensure he heard you. “Peter? Peter, I made us some lunch, are you hungry?”

You could hear his voice, but it was weird, too soft and maybe even slightly slurred. 

“I’m coming in!” You set the plate down on the floor along with the drink you gave him, walking in and gasping at the sight in front of you.

Peter looked a mess, the suit that he must’ve changed into absolutely horribly messy, his tie loose around his neck as he ran his fingers through his messy hair. “Oh… Y/N, you’re here,” his voice slurred as he smiled at you, four empty crystal bottles of liquor on his desk as he laughed. “You want some-” he hiccuped. “-you want a drink?”

“Peter, it’s barely noon.”

“I’m embracing-” he hiccuped again, laughing. “-my Britishness.”

“You’re not British, Peter,” you walked over, going around his desk to start collecting the bottles of liquor, wondering why he hadn’t passed out yet. “Come on, you need to get in the shower and-”

His arms wrapping around your waist makes you gasp, his face pressing into your side as he takes a deep inhale. “Fuck, Y/N, you smell so good. Don’t know what it is about you, you smell so good and look so pretty all the time, can never stop thinking about you.” He burped softly, chuckling. “Excuse me.”

You inhale deeply, trying to make sure you didn’t do anything rash as his fingers play with the hem of your shirt. “Peter, please let go of me.”

He inhaled, closing his eyes as he softly kissed against your back. “So, so fucking pretty. Can’t stop thinking about how you’d look-”

You were quick to try and push off his hands, his arms tightening as he let out a noise that basically sounded like a whine. “Peter, let go!”

“No, don’t leave,” Peter whispered, voice breaking as his fingers softly trail along the skin he exposed. “Please don’t leave.”

“Peter, let me go, now.” You whisper, straightening when you hear Harry’s voice.

“Y/N? Y/N, where are you? Peter? Peter!”

“Harrison!” You yelled out, pushing on Peter’s hands as you inhaled sharply. “Harrison, in the study!”

“Y/N?!” Harry’s voice was filled with concern as he rushed up the stairs, Peter’s hands freezing as he glared at the open door.

“Why is that fucking bastard here?” He basically growled, pulling you closer as he shot a web to close the door just as Harry got to it. “Not gonna let him take you from me like his dad took Gwen, I’m not gonna lose you.”

“Harry, get the door open!” You yelled, quickly pushing Peter’s hands off now that he was distracted, the only thing you could think about was getting away from Peter, especially his hands.

You didn’t blame him, not whenever he was drunk off his ass, but whatever he was doing must’ve been what he had been wanting to do, and that wasn’t right. It wasn’t going to happen when he was drunk and you were sober and he didn’t know the meaning of no.

“Wait, Y/N!” Peter’s voice was hoarse now that he was yelling, another web attaching you to the wall right next to the door. “You can’t leave, you can’t. You can’t leave me, can’t you see that I need you?”

You couldn’t focus on Peter and his watering eyes, his hands finding your hips as he pressed his face into your neck, taking another deep inhale – not when Harrison was yelling to get a ‘damn jackhammer or some shit!’ as you softly pressed your hands against Peter’s chest. “Peter please… please, stop.”

“I-I’m just… I’m just trying to keep you safe, can’t you see that?” He whispered, slowly taking the webbing off of your wrists. “I can’t keep you safe if you go running toward the danger.”

“Peter, Harry isn’t the danger-”

“I’m not going to let him take you from me like his father killed Gwen.” Peter’s voice was stern as he leaned forward, stroking your hair softly. “I’m not letting anything take you from me.”

You gasped when the door opened abruptly, Harry jumping onto Peter’s back and yelling at you. “Y/N, get out!”

You certainly didn’t have to be told twice, running out as Harry pushed a syringe into Peter’s neck, his fighting instinct being laggy because of the alcohol as it hadn’t worn off yet. You didn’t miss his scream as you ran into your room, closing and locking the door as you opened your closet, quickly grabbing your bag.

You had enough saved up to book a hotel room for almost three months – not a janky motel room, but a good, expensive one – besides, you would definitely need it after this. Shoving your clothes inside the bag and some necessities, you jumped when someone knocked on the door.

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me!” Harry announced, sighing softly. “Peter’s… Peter is sobering up. Can I come in?”

“No! I don’t want to see you!” You yelled, shaking your head. “Go away!”

“Y/N, let me in, please.” Harry sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll answer any question you want, I swear… where are you going to go? You signed a three-year contract, Y/N, you can’t back out on it.”

“I’ll pay the got damn-”

“Five million?”

You pause, sighing. Curse rich people.

Slowly, you moved to the door and opened it. “Who’s Gwen?”

Harry walked in, sitting on your bed, explaining everything to you. “Gwen was a friend of Peters. She was in love with him, but he didn’t reciprocate the feelings, though he still stuck close by her because she knew his identity and wanted to keep her safe. My dad… my dad killed her. He was a villain, and he almost killed Peter.”

“So why is he still friends with you?” You whispered, confused.

“I still ask myself that question,” Harry shrugged, looking over at you. “Y/N, you don’t understand how in love he is with you.”

“I don’t care,” It was a lie and you knew it, but you wouldn’t be with someone who drowned his sorrows in alcohol. “I want to leave. Harrison, please… please, help me. Help me, I-I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

“I can’t do that Y/N,” Harrison whispers, shaking his head as you reach for his hand. “Y/N, please-”

“Will he remember what he did?”

Harrison nods.

“I’ll stay only if he gets help. No other way.”

Peter did get help, lots of it. Therapy, both mental and for his slight dependence on alcohol.

You had been with him a little over a year, still unable to do anything even slightly romantic with him, including eating breakfast. You would go to the in home gym that he had every night like clock work, interrupting his nightly work out after dinner to see what he wanted for breakfast in the morning, but tonight it was different.

You walked into the gym, confused when you didn’t see him before you saw the lights on outside in the pool. The sight of him lounging in the hot tub smoking a cigar made your chest tighten as you walked out, notepad and pen in hand as you tilted your head.

“Peter, what are you doing?”

“Smoking, Y/N, I’m smoking.” His voice was strained, frustrated as his mouth twitched before he took another long drag. “I’m not drinking.”

“You’ve been sober for months, Peter.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he took another deep inhale. “Being sober and not having the urge to smoke are two different things, Y/N.”

You shake your head, sighing. “Oh Peter-”

“I’ll let you out of the contract,” Peter finally said, leaning his head back as you straightened and he let out a large plume of smoke. “There’s no point in you being here. Not anymore.”

“You’re sober now,” your voice comes out soft and hushed, Peter staring as you shake your head. “You wouldn’t do that again.”

Peter laughed cruelly, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking dense.”

Your face pinched as you glared at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“I don’t want you as my maid, Y/N,” Peter said, exhaling the smoke before inhaling it through his nose and letting it back out again. “I want you in a way that no boss should want their employee.”

For fucks sake, could he be any hotter?

“Put it out.”

“Or what?”

“Put it out,” you repeat, setting down your pen and notebook and slipping your phone from your back pocket, already unbuttoning your shirt. “And I’ll get in with you.”

Peter pauses, shaking his head. “No… no, you can’t, not if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” you respond, already unbuttoning your shirt. “Put it out.”

His eyes darkened as they scanned your form, watching as you finished unbuttoning your shirt and slipped it off as he pressed the end of the cigar into the concrete, staring at your body that started to show more and more skin. You were more beautiful than he could ever imagine, your panties a see through with chiffon and soft pieces of fabric in shapes of butterflies and flowers, a soft coral color that didn’t match your black lace push up bra.

He swallowed as you slowly stepped into the hot tub, the jets getting water higher on your body as you slowly walked in front of him, the bottom of the pool slightly rough until his hands slipped into the water. “Can I… can I touch you?”

“Mhm,” you whispered, tilting your head back as his hands held your waist, pulling you between his legs. You gasped when you felt the prominent bulge between his legs, tilting your head back as he ducked his face into your neck. His breath was hot, hands palming at your hips as you exhaled heavily, holding his face and pulling him closer. “I never said you could kiss me, Peter.”

He cursed softly as you pulled away, looking down at the water and swallowing when you saw no fabric covering his thighs, his whole body completely nude as his hands trail over your waist. “I have a new role for you, darling. If you’re up to it.”

Your new role came with a new outfit and a new contract, extra pay of course. In a way, your relationship with Peter was official, and the money you made was just something you could have for yourself. Peter would have gladly given you more if you wanted it.

Besides, being a topless maid for your boyfriend wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

“You missed a spot, baby,” Peter whispered, coming behind you and rubbing your hips firmly as he pressed soft kisses to your neck. “A big one.”

“I-I was getting to it, Peter,” he whispered, cursing as his hands pushed between your thighs and teasing your wet cunt with his fingers. “P-Peter, I’m not done-”

“You can finish it later, darling,” his fingers easily slid into you from last night's endeavors, his tongue sliding down the side of your neck as he pushed you forward to press your chest against the marble countertop. “I’ll fuck you so good, baby, so good. After this, I’ll hire another maid to takeover your position and you’ll be coming with me on every fucking business trip and I’ll fuck you every damn day.”

“F-Fuck, Peter!” You gasped as he slid inside of you easily, holding your hips as he groaned loudly. This wasn’t the first time you both had fucked today, but out in the open, the cold bite of the kitchen air making you groan loudly. “F-Fuck, fuck fuck fuck!”

Maybe this was where his spider senses came in. He knew whatever you were feeling, your stomach twisting as you neared probably your fourth orgasm of the day, all of them thankfully spread out and not causing overstimulation to settle into your body. You could feel the tightness, though, the tightness in your stomach and your nails scratching against the counter.

You were thankful you had just cleaned them, thankful for the fact that the odd feeling didn’t spark coming up your fingers. Even then though, your body was weak, immediately giving out under the force of his thrusts as you groaned against the counter, the smell of lemons making your mouth water. It made you thankful that you used all natural cleaners and no chemicals.

His hand pushed between your cunt and the edge of the counter, his fingers rubbing firmly against your clit as you rutted your hips into his touch. You gasped against the cold marble as his strong fingers rolled your hips into his touch, eyes rolling back.

You could barely think, mind hazy as he roughly thrusted against your ass, his mouth hot as he kissed against your back, the coldness of the marble firmly pressed against your nipples making them harden as he pushed another hand into your dress. “Come on baby, come on. You’re going to cum already? You’re drooling all over the fucking counter, fucking hell darling… getting my counter all dirty.”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You gasped, screaming out as his fingers squeeze your clit, tipping you over the edge perfectly as you came.

You gasped as he twisted you around, the pool of your drool got into your hair, his hands quickly ripping open your uniform as you panted. “You think I’m done? I want to keep going baby, please, please.”

You nodded, panting. “Y-You can… you can, please.”

Peter smiled. “I’m not going to let you regret that, baby. Ever.”

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~~ Looking at Lycanthropy ~~

Part 3: Regarding the 'Full Moon'...

There is something fucky with the transformation night in POA. I'm going to fine-toothed comb it, collect the extra information we get about Lycanthropy from it – and try to make sense of it all.

Looking at Lycanthropy (all parts)

Words: Approx. 4000

Physical Symptoms (What he feels; what he does; what happens - factual.) Perceived Symptoms (How he seems to others, health focused) Social Perception (What people think of him; His social situation) Self Perception (What he thinks about himself) Timing Information Potion information

NIGHT OF THE TRANSFORMATION – Chapters 17 - 21 Note that there is adrenaline, stress, secrets, emotions whipping back and forth – dialogue is split between seven characters. Describing Lupin's symptoms takes a back-seat to exposition. For example: Lupin looking 'pale' in a quiet moment on the train is one thing... but in a high tension situation? It's more likely to be the mood of the setting rather than describing his illness. But I am listing his more erratic behaviour anyway. B^)

Chapter 17

Pg 244 + 245 The very last rays of the sun were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. … … Light was fading fast now by the time they reached open ground, darkness was settling like a spell around them. … … But harry had just seen - slinking towards them, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting eerily in the darkness - Crookshanks. … … Something was bounding towards them out of the dark - an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

The sun is setting – and has set – long before Remus arrives. Interesting. More on this later.

pg 252 The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Harry wheeled around as Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes flickered over Ron, lying on the floor, over Hermione, cowering near to the door, to Harry, standing there with his wand covering Black, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry's feet. 'Expelliarmus!' Lupin shouted. Harry's wand flew once more out of his hand; so did the two Hermione was holding. … … Then Lupin spoke, in an odd voice, a voice that shook with some suppressed emotion. 'Where is he, Sirius?'

Remus barges into a room with Sirius, three children and supposedly Peter. He doesn't know whether Sirius or Peter are guilty – but he puts the safety of the children last by taking their wands and speaking to Sirius when there is at least one murderer in the room.

pg 253 'Hermione, listen to me, please!' Lupin shouted. 'I can explain-' … … There was a ringing silence. Everyone's eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale. … … Ron made a valiant effort to get up again, but fell back with a whimper of pain. Lupin made towards him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, 'Get away from me, werewolf!' Lupin stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said, 'How long have you known?' 'Ages,' Hermione whispered. 'Since I did Professor Snape's essay...' 'He'll be delighted.' said Lupin cooly. 'He set that essay hoping someone would realise what my symptoms meant. Did you check the lunar chart and realise I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realise the Boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?' 'Both,' Hermione said quietly. Lupin forced a laugh.

Remus is about to have his secret revealed – and for the first time shouts at the children. He is understandably terrified of them knowing, but as soon as its out returns right back to a forced, controlled calm... but the mask has slipped, and we can see underneath at his true feelings. Note that Ron's initial reaction is prejudice, like his mother.

pg 254 'You know how to work it?' Harry asked suspiciously. 'Of course I know how to work it,' said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. 'I helped write it. I'm Moony - that was my friends' nickname for me at school.' … … 'How d'you know about the Cloak?' 'The number of times I saw James disappearing under it ...' said Lupin, waving an impatient hand again.

Harry is giving him a moment to explain himself, but he acts like THIS whenever asked a reasonable question...? Remus is waffling on about himself instead of Sirius, Peter – or making the kids safe. He is explaining what he feels is most important first: himself. Clawing back the trust and control he just lost instead of prioritizing the kids, or Sirius, or Peter.

Chapter 18

pg 256 'Sirius, NO!' Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again, 'WAIT! You can't do it just like that - they need to understand - we've got to explain -'

Lupin intends to commit kill on the rat – even though doing so would probably sentence him to Azkaban, or straight to a Kiss. He is ready to throw his life away but not before he makes sure the kids 'understand' him. There is a murderer in the room, one Lupin intends to kill – and yet he is prioritizing his image...? Also he is strong enough to hold a skinny, thin Sirius back. Not too surprising – so was a cat.

pg 257 Then Hermione spoke, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as though trying to will Professor Lupin to talk sensibly. 'But Professor Lupin ... Scabbers can't be Pettigrew ... it just can't be true, you know it can't...' 'Why can't it be true?' Lupin said calmly, as though they were in class, and Hermione had simply spotted a problem in an experiment with Grindylows.

Hermione I am sorry he is too far gone right now. Unreasonable.

pg 258 'The Shrieking Shack was never haunted... the screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me.'He pushed his greying hair out of his eyes, thought for a moment, then said, 'That's where all of this starts - with my becoming a werewolf. None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitten... and if I hadn't been so foolhardy...'He looked sober and tired.

The noises a werewolf makes are more similar to ghosts than wolves. He blames himself for... everything. Peter being a rat and a nasty git. Life would be good if he wasn't a werewolf? Ok, bro. Nice self loathing you've got there.

'I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days there was no cure. The Potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform... I am able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again.' 'Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren't likely to want their children exposed to me.'

- He was a very young boy when bitten – and survived. We know that being bitten is no small matter, that another small boy has died from it. He is lucky, too, that his parents kept/stood by him. - Wolfsbane is not a cure – but it is a cure to the lack of control from it. (More on that in part 5). By calling it a cure, it is like he values the control it gives him most of all and wants the children to think of him as cured, at least cured from being dangerous... ...despite missing his dose today. - Wolfsbane 'makes him safe'; 'keeps his mind'; 'curls up in his office' a 'harmless waiting wolf'. How safe is a 'harmless wolf'...? How much of his mind does he keep...? Something more than a 'fully fledged monster', I suppose... - He couldn't expect to come to Hogwarts because other people would not accept him. While that is true – we know there are laws. We know he is the ONLY werewolf to have attended Hogwarts despite Fenrir making a point to bite children. There is a little more going on than just 'parent mad'. I think it is safe to say he is being hyperbolic. That he is a 'monster' normally, that he is 'a harmless wolf' on the potion, he couldn't go to school for a silly little reason like 'grown-ups hate him'... it's him pleading with the kids. He isn't lying but he is playing it up/down.

One piece of information I want to point out here: he 'curls up in his office, a harmless wolf, to wait for the moon to wane again'. Whether he wants to or not, whether he closes all the curtains and hides under the desk: He WILL transform.

pg 259 'My transformations in those days were - were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits.' … … 'And they didn't desert me at all. Instead they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi.'

First of all: jesus christ... werewolves scream like ghosts, like people. Second: Best times of his life. I wanna bring this up in a post about Patronus', why his is a wolf: Being a werewolf itself, when free to wander, seems to be a positive experience.

pg 260 'They couldn't keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,' said Lupin. 'A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James's Invisibility Cloak. ... Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them.'

He is lying here – or oversimplifying – because he told Hagrid he didn't 'eat anything last night', as in didn't eat Buckbeak. There is something more going on that made being an Animagi safe. Something that, when running around with other 'human intelligent' animals, increased his capacity for control and intelligent thought. He no longer self-harmed when he had a 'pack'.

'Soon we were roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check.' … … 'That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you'd given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?''A thought that still haunts me,' said Lupin heavily. 'And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless - carried away with our own cleverness.'

A stag and/or a large dog is similar in strength to a well-fed teenage werewolf... but not enough to ensure safety. The thought of losing control, of those near misses, haunts him... though he is about to have some near misses damn soon. He is being reckless again right now.

pg 261 'He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job, when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am.'

Thankful to have a job – it's unheard of to knowingly hire a werewolf.

Chapter 19

pg 263 'I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,' said Snape, throwing the Cloak aside, careful to keep his wand pointing at directly at Lupin's chest. 'Very useful, Potter, I thank you...' 'I've just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your Potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along.'

Severus has just been to Remus' office. Remus didn't enter the Willow until it was already dark - and has spent a chapter and a half yapping. Severus felt confident entering Remus' office when the sun had set. Maybe he was just that desperate to reach him in the nick of time...? But Severus didn't bring the goblet with him to the Willow, even knowing the children were there. He has been antsy about Remus' Lycanthropy all year – but isn't forcing it down his throat...? He is far more concerned with Remus' actions as a human traitor then the potential of him being a wolf tonight. The invisibility cloak likely wouldn't work against a werewolf – but even if it did, sneaking around listening to Remus blabber on for minutes on end is hardly the actions of someone who thinks a transformation is potentially imminent.

'Two more for Azkaban tonight,' said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. 'I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this... he was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin... a tame werewolf...' pg 264/265 'Come on, all of you,' he said. He clicked his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin flew into his hands. 'I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for him, too –' … … 'Dont ask me to fathom the way a werewolf's mind works,' hissed Snape.

A tame werewolf sounds like a joke to 'regular' people. They are considered, in some way, mentally unwell. Severus has bound Remus in magical cords – but I doubt that would be effective if he transformed. If they were then dealing with werewolves would be as simple as binding them. He is emotionally unstable, but being reasonable: immobilizing the threats and shepherding the children to safety. I doubt he, of anyone, would slip up so badly as to allow Remus to transform... which means he doesn't expect him to transform on the way to the castle.

pg 273 'Shall we kill him together?' 'Yes, I think so,' said Lupin grimly.

Lupin is so calm about killing Peter for revenge, even though it'll almost certainly get both him and Sirius put in Azkaban – if not Kissed, like Severus suggested. This is essentially a suicidal move. His last wish is for the children to understand him, and his motives, are more than monstrous.

pg 275 'You should have realised,' said Lupin quietly. 'If Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter.' … … 'Very well,' said Lupin. 'Stand aside, Harry.' Harry hesitated. 'I'm going to tie him up,' said Lupin. 'That's all, I swear.'

He changed his mind fast. Harry's opinion is more important to him. Honestly it's not too surprising, he is following other people... but it makes his readiness to have his life ended for revenge seem... passive. Casual. Dying for a 'good' reason? Cool. Sirius being hot-and-cold is fair, he's a prison escapee with no future, following his loyalty to James and now to Harry... Remus? Remus just had one of the best years of his life. But he never expects good times to last long, anyway. Harry and his friends know his secret now...

Chapter 20

pg 278 'A cloud shifted. There were suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Their party was bathed in moonlight. ... Harry could see Lupin's silhouette. He had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake.

...So it is bonkers that his transformation is working like this, considering everything we know. Full Moonlight is triggering it and was blocked by... a cloud. Walls. Severus, Remus and Hermione all would have known it was a Full Moon - and that he forgot his potion. I can understand Remus and Hermione momentarily forgetting in all the hubbub the fact he was walking out into bare night... apart from the fact that transforming isn't an option for werewolves, nor will simply hiding indoors save them. We know that they will transform no matter what.

It doesn't make much sense – but I will go through it a little later. For now: Moonlight triggers it.

pg 279 There was a terrible snarling noise. Lupin's head was lengthening. So was his body. His shoulders were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. Crookshanks's fur was on end again, he was backing away - As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from Harry's side. He had transformed. The enormous, bear-like dog bounded forwards. As the werewolf wrenched itself free of the manacle binding it, the dog seized it about the neck and pulled it backwards, away from Ron and Pettigrew. They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at eachother - … … Too late. Pettigrew had transformed. Harry saw his bald tail whip through the manacle on Ron's outstretched arm, and heard a scurrying through the grass. There was a howl and a rumbling growl; Harry turned to see the werewolf taking flight; it was galloping into the Forest - 'Sirius, hes gone, Pettigrew transformed!' Harry yelled.

Werewolf Transformation: Go rigid; Limbs shake; Snarl (sharp intake/exhale of air from pain?); Head lengthens into long jaws; Body lengthens (this means werewolves are larger than humans rather wolf-sized); Shoulders hunch over; Hair (fur?) sprouts on face and hands (perhaps everywhere but his clothes are still covering him); Hands curl into paws. The transformation is working body and head first – then out to the extremities. One skinny man, turned into a large dog, is enough to battle a thin werewolf man – though the reason Remus runs isn't clear. Is it to get away from Sirius, because Sirius is hurting him? It seems a little unlikely he would be so distracted from all the humans he could bite... unless the amount of potion he has had helps keep his mind clear. Clear enough to chase after Peter, perhaps...? In any case, he didn't remain injured in the morning. - Werewolves, along with human-like screams, howl, snarl and growl.

Chapter 21

pg 295 She looked nervously over her shoulder into the depths of the Forest. The sun was setting now. … … They moved around the edge of the Forest, darkness falling thickly around them, until they were hidden behind a clump of trees through which they could make out the Willow. 'There's Ron!' said Harry suddenly.

More proof of timing – it was nighttime before Remus showed up.

pg 296 'Here comes Lupin!' said Harry, as they saw another figure sprinting down the stone steps and haring towards the Willow. Harry looked up at the sky. Clouds were obscuring the moon completely.

I wonder if he was running partially because he saw the clouds were covering the moon – and he knew as long as he got to the shack in time he would be safe while inside...?

pg 298 And then, at last, after over an hour... 'Here we come!' Hermione whispered.

They were in the long tunnel from the Willow to the Shack for a long time. It was night before they even went in, and nobody felt at all concerned while they were coming out how much time had passed.

~~~ MY THOUGHTS:

So... after the sun had already gone down, but the moon was covered by clouds, Remus ran outside and to the Willow/Shack – in order to confront a murderer hiding there with the kids. He was understandably emotional, but selfishly put himself first: over the kids, Sirius and Peter, wasting time trying to regain trust and respect... despite knowing he had missed his potion. He showed no real concern of the upcoming/current Full Moon – and neither did Hermione.

Severus only thought to bring Remus his potion after sunset and didn't think to bring it to the shack in any sort of emergency situation. He treated Remus as a traitor, not as a wolf – and was willing to drag him back to the castle, through the night. Even he didn't show much concern for the upcoming/current Full Moon, despite through the year being meticulous in his care and glancing anxiously at him when the Full Moon approaches.

However, as soon as Remus walked outside – bound to Peter and an injured child – he transformed the moment a cloud moved and moonlight hit him directly.

Maybe it is understandable to have momentarily forgotten about the danger... but then again, he didn't feel it coming at all...? They are floating Severus behind them who JUST reminded him he didn't have his potion. He has been talking about his Lycanthropy for an hour.

How could he forget? How could they all forget? How could they be so calm on the Full Moon...?

My theory: It wasn't the Full Moon.

We know being a werewolf isn't quite a binary: - You can be 'contaminated' – only showing some symptoms. - Something anyone can tell about Fenrir Greyback it's that he is a bit more 'Wolf' than 'Were' - However, nobody could tell Remus was anything but chronically ill. Most importantly: - You get sicker the closer it is to the Full Moon, even during the day.

It's like the magic from the reflected light of the moon gets more saturated in the atmosphere as the moon waxes... until your body reaches a breaking point and, no matter where you are (like in your office) you transform. But perhaps that process can be sped up – by saturating yourself in direct near-full moonlight?

A premature transformation. It is the night before the Full Moon.

'Premature transformations under direct late waxing gibbous moonlight' Theory:

As it's not the forced transformation at the peak of the Full Moon it's not talked about as often. It's rare to encounter – but not unheard of or surprising. It is still a 'Full Moon' in a way, after all: The moon looks 'Full' for three or so days and is only truly 'full' for a moment.

If werewolves transformed the MOMENT it was truly Full, then there would be months where they transformed during the day. But if they DID transform during the day, then it still doesn't make sense that nobody is worrying about the Full Moon tonight: They would know when the true Full Moon is. They're Wizards.

This can ONLY mean that werewolves don't transform at the true Full Moon, probably only transform at night (when Direct sunlight doesn't drown out reflected Moonlight) and there is a little more going on than just "Full Moon touched me :^( ick". - Most werewolves hide away, already feeling unwell. They aren't going outside pre-Full Moon... so they don't transform. - Perhaps even those eager to transform would rather save their strength for the true Full Moon...? Perhaps it is a weaker transformation (couldn't even beat up a skinny ass dog) so even violent werewolves avoid it? - Maybe they still have a second transformation – Remus did want to leave the school terribly quickly the next day... so he didn't transform there a second night? It's said multiple times they transform ONCE a month... but maybe that's just because most avoid prematurely transforming? - People misunderstand key things about werewolves anyway, like the fact they are humans and not half-breeds. Remembering only the basics, 'Full Moon forced transformation', feels accurate. - Since Wizards are so Astronomy focused, things like the 'true Full Moon' vs 'nights where it's almost full' is already on their minds. The difference between “Late Waxing Gibbous” and “Full Moon” could be the difference between a potent potion or a watery failure. There is no way they're mistaking what moon cycle it is unless drunk. - Remus' Boggart is the Full Moon – because the Boggart thinks he will be scared of transforming – but there is more merit to that if Remus could turn prematurely under strong moonlight.

If the next night was the true Full Moon – then it makes sense that: - Severus was calm about it, not even thinking to bring the potion as an emergency. If Remus was a traitor he was going to Azkaban tonight anyway – who cares about his penultimate goblet...? - Remus wasn't too worried about transforming. He was safe while in the shack, ran while there was cloud cover... he was just distracted when leaving, head full of Peter, Sirius, guilt and worry. - Hermione didn't mention it. She knows when the Full Moon is – it's not tonight. - The night be cloudy. Some planning, maybe even something as simple as covering Remus' skin with a thick cloak, could be enough to prevent his transformation. Tie him up, throw a cloak on him, make sure the moon is covered and drag him to the castle... fair plan.

Nobody was surprised that it happened, and yet nobody thought about it beforehand.

Big moon dangerous – werewolf go brr.

[arkhamsrevenge]

haiii thank u for writing ps5 harry osborn fics!! can u write a fic with making out with him plz and thank u!!

Hello! I can try! Here you go!

How on earth did you get to this point? Pete called you saying Harry was feeling a little off today ever since his treatment wasn’t helping anymore. You always made his day better and Peter knew Harry had a crush on you all throughout high school. You stayed in contact with Harry, Peter and MJ since then and have always been a frequent flier when the three of them wanted to do something together. But Harry disappeared for two years and you lost touch with MJ and Peter during that time. Not on purpose but not having Harry around hurt a lot and all of you were just constant reminders of how he wasn’t there to each other. MJ and Peter were able to lean on each other but you ran from your emotions, something you still regret. When Aunt May died you went to the funeral and were basically tackled by MJ and Pete who were so relieved to see you. All of you cried in each others arms that day. Cried for May, and for each other. Later MJ and Peter would inform you about what really happened to Harry. That was the third group cry you all had. Peter started a group chat to make sure no one was left behind again. Yet there was still a hole in your chest every time you saw MJ and Pete together. It was a reminder that Harry wasn’t here, he wasn’t with you. When Harry came back, he had a cane with him and he was standing outside Pete’s door. His figure was leaning on his old car and he looked in deep thought. MJ was the first to scream with joy but you stayed frozen. Harry looked up to see her running down the steps to him, you thought you were dreaming until she hugged him. She knocked him off balance a bit as well. Peter had heard MJ’s scream and swung open the door. He turned to you with a smile and ran after MJ. Finally you were able to unfreeze and follow after Pete who looked like he wasn’t going to let go of Harry anytime soon. “I missed you.” He said smiling. It was nice to see Pete smile like that after May died but soon those amber eyes met yours, you swore your heart stopped. Pete stepped away and turned to you waiting for you to move but you didn’t have a chance to. Harry reach out and pulled himself to you, almost knocking you over. You were able to catch yourself and him. “Sorry.” He mumbled burying his face into your neck. You couldn’t even speak at first, afraid you’d break down if you tried.He held you for a long time until Peter cleared his throat. Which made the two of you break the hug. 

“We can leave you two alone if you want.” MJ chuckled as your face got hot. Since that day, all four of you hadn’t left each others side. But then, Harry was getting sick again which is why you went to his house. Pete said he and Harry were fighting but trying to look for a cure. Your job was to keep morale up for Harry. At least you succeeded in that since you're currently straddling his lap with his tongue down your throat. You guys were just watching a movie, one you couldn’t recall the title of. You couldn’t even pay attention as your mind was elsewhere. Thinking of every resource you could pull in order to help Harry get better. He must have read your mind because he took your hand making you jump in surprise. 

“Yikes. Sorry space cadet but I had to get you to come back to earth.” Harry said laughing. You smiled back and held his hand tighter, noticing they were getting colder, blood flow was getting worse. Still you rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb. “Stop looking at me like that.” Harry whispered. This time you looked up to meet his hazel eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You wanted to believe him so bad but your mind has always gone to the worst case scenario first. “I’m not and I feel fine.” Harry said, spreading his arms wide, letting go of your hand. “I feel confident enough to try and tickle you even if you run.” Your eyes widened and your smile dropped. Harry snickered. “That’s how good I feel.” You gulped and screamed laughing as Harry launched himself at you. You tried to maneuver over the arm of the couch but Harry grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you back. “Uh uh uhhhh.” He laughed, tickling your sides. Not wanting to hurt him you tried not to kick as he mercilessly tickled you. Suddenly he stopped making you open your eyes and look at him. Your laughing started to stop while you tried to catch your breath, your brow furrowed as you waited for him to say something. “If somehow…” he started, “I don’t…I have to go away again, I want no regrets.” He whispered. You were suddenly extremely aware of the position you were in. Harry was hovering over you, face very close to yours and Harry keeps looking from your lips to your eyes like he’s begging for something. Your cheeks go hot and you start to lean up on your elbows. You go slow to make sure he knows he can pull away if he wants but Harry stays still. Lightly you test the waters by placing your lips on his slowly giving him a kiss. You started to pull away when Harry met your lips again, wanting more he pulled you up and across his lap so you were straddling him. You continued to kiss him until you felt the tip of his tongue poking at your lips. Harry turned his head to get better access to your mouth as you let him explore. Eventually you pull away wanting him to catch his breath. Harry struggled to breathe normally for a minute. “I’m OK.” He whispers and pulls you into another kiss. 

“Well you definitely boosted morale.” MJ’s voice carried across the room. You jumped in surprise and got off Harry’s lap stunned. Harry’s face was redder than his hair. “I dropped by to check on you Harry but you seem just fine.” 

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. nine

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x

series masterlist

The back of your head is torturously itchy. 

You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap. 

It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.

“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”

She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside. 

It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.

“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.

He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor. How are you?”

He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”

You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.” 

“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”

You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.

He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”

You stare at him. “You. What?”

He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”

You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.



Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.

“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”

You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability. 

But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing. 

He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.”    His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”

You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius. 

“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”

Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”

“Well, yes.”

He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“Uh.”

You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”

He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”

You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking. 

“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.

“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”

You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”

“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”

You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”

She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”

She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.” 

It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.

You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.

He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles. 

He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.

“My phone was—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”

His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”

Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers. 

He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”

You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken. 

He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just want you to know—”

“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”

His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”

It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.

“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”

He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”

You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.

His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”

You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”

He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”

“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”

“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.

You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful. 

Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”

You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”

Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”

“Does anyone else?”

His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”

“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”

He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”

You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”

You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”

He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”

Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”

“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”

“What about the, uh, pattern?”

“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”

The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”

He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”

“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”

The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer. 

He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline. 

Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.

“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper. 

He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.

It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”

“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”

That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”

“I can’t ask you—"

“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“

“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”

“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”

“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”

He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“

You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”

This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt. 

All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch. 

He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"

“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap. 

You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing. 

His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.

You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.

“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him. 

You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you. 

He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.

You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.

You slump your weight against him. 

Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.

“Peter,” you murmur.

“Mmm.”

“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”

He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”

“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”

“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”

“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"

“Yeah, yeah, okay—"

“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours. 

Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest. 

You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.

It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.

He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”

You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.

You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.

He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”

He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”

He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”

There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”

You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”

He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”

“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.

He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”

He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”

“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles. 

He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”

You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”

You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.

[reidslovely]

If Your Love is in Trouble (Part Two)

"Now I'm constantly reminded of the time I was nineteen" Halsey, 100 Letters

Playlist Here

Part One Here

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem! Reader x Harry Osborn

Content Warning: Safe chapter, no warnings that I can think of. Harry Osborn doing Harry Osborn activities.

Please reblog and throw in a comment if you'd like!

Peter stood stuck in place, hands curling into nervous fists in his pockets before loosening and fighting their way out. He rubbed his palms against his jeans, wiping the sweat from them as he stared at the tall figure in front of him. (Y/N) held onto him, the two swaying their embrace. 

“Not excited to see me Petey?” Harry’s voice teased as he wrapped an arm around (Y/N) as she stepped out from their embrace. 

“Just a bit in shock, last time I saw you- you were still having your man servants blow dry your hair in the morning.” 

Harry chuckled, stepping out from their girl. Approaching him with shaking hands, Peter smiled and fell into the draw of Harry’s presence. He’s always had that effect on him. 

“Yeah well, you and red over here were still getting your braces locked together last time I saw you. But now you have perfect teeth.” He teased, his hand clapping on his friend's shoulder. Eyes glancing over his face, both more mature now. Harry finally grew into his facial features, his jawline was sharp, dimples flashing as he smiled. Pete always thought Harry was the better looking one between the two of them. “Now there’s nothing distracting from your unibrow.”

“Shut up.” The brunette cackled, letting his hand linger thinking about his next move. 

Peter wrapped his arms around Harry pulling him in for a hug. The two fall into a warm embrace like they used to. Harry’s head resting on his friend's shoulder, Peter’s chin tucked into Harry’s neck. For a moment Harry never left. 

“I’m sorry about your dad, Har.”

Harry pulled back, his clutch on Peter’s jacket never loosened. “Hey, it’s alright. Long time coming and all y’know.” 

Harry spoke dismissively, shaking his head. (Y/N) walked up to the two confused, looking at Harry. “I thought you said everything was fine? Is this why you came home?”

 Peter reached his hand out grabbing her shoulder, his thumb rubbing slightly. It was just like Harry to keep his pain and business to himself. Harry shrugged hands in the pockets of his slacks. 

“I didn’t want you to worry, besides, not like he and I were ever best friends. Feels more like losing a distant uncle than a…a dad.”

Peter nodded his other hand reaching out to grab Harry’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man. Really, you name it.” 

Harry smiled, his hands grabbing Peter’s forearm as he laughed. “Well honestly I’m starving, maybe you guys…wanna go for lunch?” Harry offered up, Peter thought on it shrugging his shoulders. (Y/N) shook her head, pointing at the upstairs window mumbling about an assignment she had due soon. Peter’s eyes flashed towards Harry quickly thinking on what they should do next.

“Well we can do it the old fashion way.” 

Harry smirked, turning back towards her door. Peter wrapped his arm around (Y/N) as they walked. “Where is that old…ah ha!” Harry felt around the doorframe grabbing a colorful spare key off the top. 

“Aren’t you supposed to change the hiding spot every six weeks?”

“Tell my dad not me.” (Y/N) laughed as she pushed past the two of them dropping her bag on the chair by the door. Peter was the last one to step in looking around the house he hadn’t stepped foot into in what felt like eternity. Still feeling like home. Snapping out of his daze he felt Harry bump his shoulder grabbing his attention. 

“So are you still two locking braces again? I didn’t like it the first time I had to pull you two apart and..” 

“No no.” Peter laughed. “It’s complicated. It’s a long story..”

“Oh I know.” Harry kicked his feet up on the coffee table, turning the tv on. Peter tilted his head at Harry. He knew? What did he mean by that exactly? Peter’s eyes drifted from Harry to (Y/N) standing in the kitchen making them all a snack tray. Suddenly everything was falling into place, and the low vibration still hung in the back of Peter’s skull but there was no danger around. He thought maybe he was dehydrated, he rubbed the back of his head sighing. 

“When did you two..? Start talking again?”

Harry sucked in a breath, biting down on his cheek as he stared at the brunette. There was a slight feeling of betrayal that pinged in Peter’s heart, but he couldn’t be mad; he's the one who’d left her with no one. Harry slumped his shoulders and let his eyes drift to the ground. 

“She called me crying one night about a year ago. Told me that she just felt really lonely and..she hated reaching out to me but she didn’t know who else to call. I asked where you were cause, fuck, the way she was crying had me thinking you fucking died and I was panicked. Told me that you and her had this..issue come up and you weren’t friends anymore.” Harry sighed, laying his hands out in defeat. 

“You couldn’t even say I love you? Come on Pete, you’re better than that.” 

He really wasn’t. They both knew that. Both knew that Peter had been in love with (Y/N) since seventh grade, so why say it? Why couldn’t she just accept what it was? Accept that for the moment he chose Gwen because she was who he needed..needed? Peter shook off the thought, raising his shoulders with a laugh. 

“I’ve had it rough the last couple years, I didn't wanna bother her with that. I’m no good for her.” 

As Harry opened his mouth to talk, the subject of the matter walked in with a snack tray in hand. She looked between the two as she sat the platter out on the coffee table, feeling the tension. Peter cleared his throat and sat in the yellow loveseat opposite from the couch. It was always his favorite spot in her house. They always took naps in it together after school, (Y/N) nested into his side arms around her his head in her hair. He should have told her he loved her then. (Y/N) grabbed her bag and settled next to Harry on the couch pulling out her laptop as Harry flipped through the channels, their legs touching as they relaxed. Had he’d been replaced? Was that fair? 

“So Harry you got a girl, you still fucking that supermodel?” 

Did that sound too bitter? To blunt?

Harry shook his head, his leg nudging (Y/N)’s playfully. “No dude..that whole supermodel thing is exhausting.” 

Harry grabbed onto (Y/N)’s leg pulling her legs into his lap letting her stretch out as she types away on her laptop, laughing with them. Peter took a shaky breath seeing the two entangled. Harry meant no harm, he was always handsy with her, they both were. It was different now, they were adults with different intentions. Jealousy washed in and out of Peter like an angry wave at high tide. Maybe he was too bitter, he needed to lighten up- Harry was home and that’s what mattered. 

“Oh I know.” Peter rolled his eyes playfully as he laughed dramatically. 

“No, no I’m not seeing anyone right now. Only girl I care about seeing is red over here.” Harry smiled. “Why do you ask? You wanna kiss me Pete?”

(Y/N) giggled, shaking her head. “Can you two make out somewhere else please?” 

“Oh I’ll take him to the laundry room, don’t worry about it.” Peter joked, flashing (Y/N) a knowing look. Her eyes widened slightly before dropping back to the computer screen. Harry tilted his head smiling slightly, flashing them both a confused look. 

“Do I even want to know? Scratch that, no I don’t.” Harry chuckled, his hand rubbing up and down (Y/N)’s leg eyes glued to the TV. 

“Let’s just say after my eighteen birthday party Peter wasn’t allowed at my house unsupervised for a month.” 

“God I missed so much..I missed you guys.” Harry laughed, head leaning back against the couch cushion. Peter nodded, kicking his foot out to hit his friend's knee. 

“Don’t sulk, you're back now. That’s what matters.” Peter says, pointing a finger at him. “And you’re not going anywhere.” Peter jumped at his phone vibrating in his pocket, Gwen’s name and contact photo popping up, suddenly he was jumping up. The two on the couch looking at him confused and slightly panicked. 

“I gotta go..I..I’ll text you guys later.” Peter clapped a hand on Harrys, nodding and out of muscle memory he kissed the top of (Y/N)’s head. He took a step back shaking his head staring at her. “Sorry, sorry. I gotta go..” Peter ran towards the door. 

“Hey! Before you go I’m having a party tonight kind of a welcome home thing. You better come!” Harry yelled from his spot on the couch. 

“Yeah, yeah! ‘Course, see you then!” Peter yelled back, shutting the door behind him. 

“He does that a lot now huh?” Harry asked as the silence lingered. (Y/N) nodded her head, giving her shoulders a shrug looking over her computer screen at him. There was only ever one person besides her that Peter would drop everything for. 

“Gwen called and of course he ran out.”

“Gwen..? Fucking Gwen Stacy?”

Harry sounded shocked, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Yeah they started dating but not really at the start of senior year, took a break then got really serious around January after her dad died. It was a whole thing..” (Y/N) shrugged. “They broke up though, like right after graduation and then Pete became a hermit. Today is the first time I've seen him in months..I don’t know if the whole timeline is messy and fuzzy.” (Y/N) laughed, turning her attention back to the laptop. 

“Sounds fuzzy..and you and him were still a thing when he was with Gwen?” 

“It was complicated, they were hanging out. Peter and I were never a ‘thing’ , we were friends who kissed sometimes..okay, a lot of times. Doesn’t matter, and yes Gwen was fine with it but they became official after I..”

“Professed your dying love? Yikes.” 

“Hey, it’s whatever.” (Y/N) sighs, kicking Harry in the thigh. “Peter just wanted to be my friend, and then he didn’t even want to be that. Who can blame him? I fucked that up so badly.” 

“I’d want to be your friend after you professed your dying love for me, fuck I’d confess it back.” 

(Y/N) stopped typing, her fingers hanging over the keyboard staring at Harry confused. Harry laughed and stared back. “If I was the one in love with you of course.” He says awkwardly. She only nodded in response, squinting her eyes at him slightly suddenly extremely aware of his hand on her thigh. 

“Maybe you are and it’s just deeply repressed. That childhood admiration, love, or whatever.” 

“Yeah..” There was a sweetness in Harry’s usual brooding voice as he spoke. He slowly closed her laptop. “Maybe. Who knows.” He says sliding the laptop onto the coffee table, inching slightly closer. (Y/N) swallowed hard, she hadn’t realized how blue his eyes were..were they always that blue? She smiled slightly at the pink tint on his cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

It was a whisper that she almost didn’t catch, but she had and it hung in the air around them. Warming them both in the comfort they craved from those around them. 

“Harry..” She whispered back, struggling to find an answer. Her eyes glancing at the door waiting for Peter to bust through the door and throw a fit like he had when he found her and Garret Leads kissing at Gwen's birthday party. 

“Yeah..yes. I’d like that.” 

She wasn’t sure what compelled her to say yes. Maybe it was the need to feel his comfort for the first time in years. Maybe she had some repressed feelings herself. She didn’t have time to come up with an answer because before she knew it his lips were on hers, his hand cupping her cheeks. His lips moving softly against hers, taking their time. He pulled back smiling slightly, his thumb stroking a small beauty mark on her cheek as he looked at her. She started to lean back in before the door opened back up, the two jumping apart from one another like startled teenagers. 

“Little Osborn! Long time no see.” (Y/N)’s mom smiled as she walked into the living room. “How have you been?” 

“Good! Good, great.” He laughed it off smiling at her mom. (Y/N) held back a laugh, her face feeling extremely warm. Her mother nodded at them before heading up stairs. “Have fun you two! Oh and tell Peter Harry is back!”

“He knows!” (Y/N) yells back up the stairs at her mom. Harry drops his head in his hands laughing, (Y/N) hiding her face in the cushions. 

“I..I can’t believe you still live with your parents. Pete, yeah. But you! Shocking”

(Y/N) playfully rolled her eyes. “Not everyone can inherit a gorgeous penthouse in this economy Ozzy.” The nickname slips back into her vocabulary like it was meant to be there. 

“Right. Well, I have to go to my gorgeous penthouse and get ready for tonight.” Harry says. “And eat some real food, the snacks were nice though. Thank you.” He smiles, standing over her as she still lounges on the couch. 

“Yeah, course anytime.” She says looking up at him. He smiled as he leaned down to her face. She smiles back, eyes looking between his lips and eyes. Harry sighed softly, breath fanning her face as he pursed his lips to her cheek, letting them rest there before pulling away. 

“See you tonight.” 

“Yeah, tonight.” She confirmed, her hand holding the spot on her cheek as Harry disappeared out of the threshold and towards the front door. 

Oh god. She thought, grabbing her laptop and opening it back up. What has she done to herself? 

Taglist: @someblessedmonster @juhdoche @nososhortbee @moonyslove78 @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @tarzinnia @a-lumos-in-the-nox @adhdhufflepuff @messymissy @hollandweather @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @eevylynn @ateliefloredeprimavera

[chlobliviate]

Wolfstar Microfics - Afterlife

Words: 968

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

It had been five years since Sirius went through the veil, and a lot had happened. Harry defeated Voldemort, Peter finally got what he deserved, and the wizarding world was mostly back to normal. Remus had been married, had a child and was a widower within a year. That period of his life was a blur, that came screaming back to reality every time he looked at his three-year-old.

Teddy was incredible. The best parts of him and Tonks combined into a hurricane of a kid. The most important things to Remus were that he was happy, healthy, and hadn’t inherited his lycanthropy. He was, however, showing signs of metamorphagus abilities. His hair cycled through colours when he slept, which had Remus in tears the first time he witnessed it.

Overall, they were happy. They lived in a little cottage near Hogsmeade, and two days a week, Andromeda would take Teddy and Remus would teach the NEWT students Defence Against the Dark Arts. Harry was teaching the younger students, and getting to see him regularly, and see him thriving as an adult, was more than he could ever have hoped for.

Yes, Remus would say that all things considered, things were pretty good.

Until he got an owl from Arthur Weasley asking him to meet him at the Ministry as soon as possible. He dropped Teddy off with Andy, apologising for the short notice, and flooed straight there. He’d been back for the trials of a lot of the remaining Death Eaters, and it still hurt every time he walked into the atrium, remembering the time he’d walked in there with Sirius, and walked out without him.

Arthur met him by the new fountain, mouth drawn in a thin line and his face pale.

“Arthur,” He pulled him into a one-armed hug, “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Come with me.” Arthur headed for the lifts and Remus realised with an impending sense of doom, that they were heading down to The Department of Mysteries.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked as they travelled down. “Arthur?”

Arthur looked at him, “Something happened with the veil today and I— You’re going to need to see it for yourself.”

Remus’ heart was racing, incessantly pounding in his temples and jaw. What could have happened with the veil? Had it released Sirius’ body after all this time? If so, at least he could get a decent funeral with him and Harry there, he supposed morbidly.

As they got to the door, Arthur turned to him, “I’m here for you, Remus. This isn’t going to be easy, mate.”

Remus nodded as they entered the room, he spotted the veil, looking no different, fluttering softly in an imaginary breeze. Taunting him. There was a group of people huddled next to it, and as he got closer he saw what they were huddled around. Or who they were huddled around.

“Moony?” Sirius was half-sprawled on a chair, looking not a day older than the last time they’d been here. He leapt to his feet before quickly, almost involuntarily, sitting back down, clutching his head in one hand. Remus ran to him and sank to his knees. He felt like every ounce of air had been drained from his body.

“Sirius?” He said breathlessly, pushing back the hair that had fallen onto Sirius��� face. “It’s really you?”

Sirius grabbed his hand and clung to it. “It’s really you?” Remus nodded, “It’s been five years?” He nodded again, brushing a tear away with his free hand, “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” Sirius’ hand cupped his jaw, his thumb brushing away another tear, then another.

“For leaving you again, after I promised not to.” The crowd around them had dissipated. Arthur’s doing, he was sure.

“What happened to you? How are you here?”

Sirius shrugged, “I tumbled back out and I was expecting you all to still be here. It felt like seconds. They said— It’s really been five years?”

“To the day.” Sirius looked devastated. He stood shakily and pulled Remus to his feet before wrapping his arms around him. As Remus sobbed into the crook of his neck, he rubbed circles into his back. “I thought you were dead. We all thought…”

“Sirius, we need to get you to St Mungo's to get you checked over,” Arthur said, from somewhere near the door. “You can chaperone, Remus.” Remus looked over at him, through watery eyes. Arthur was smiling at them. “I’ll send an owl to Harry once we get there.”

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Getting Sirius caught up on the last five years was one of the hardest things that Remus had ever done, and coming from a bisexual werewolf with a lot of dead friends, that was saying something. He knew that he shouldn’t feel bad about his relationship with Tonks. It wasn’t like he and Sirius were together before, but Remus knew that if Sirius had been around, he never would have considered dating her, let alone the rest of it, and that was a hard realisation to come to. Sirius wasn’t particularly fazed by it, which confused Remus even more.

Speaking of ‘the rest of it’, Teddy was enamoured by Sirius, well, mostly by Padfoot, but he was definitely a fan of having Sirius around the house, too. Harry (and various Weasleys and Hermione) were frequent visitors and Remus finally felt like he had family again.

Six weeks after Sirius’ return, they’d put Teddy to bed and had collapsed on the sofa, a tangle of limbs. Remus had missed moments like this, where he could pretend that in another lifetime something might happen between them. But then Sirius’ soft lips were on his and his hand was in Sirius’ hair and however good things had been before, he was sure they had nothing on what was to come.

[svnflower-writes]

real sweet but i wish you were sober

Description: in which the mutual pining becomes something both Remus and Sirius have wanted for years due to a drunk, jealous slip up on Sirius' part.

ship: wolfstar + background jegulus

warnings: nothing major I can think of—alcohol consumption, so much fluff, unresolved sexual and romantic tension, painfully obvious flirting, james regulus and peter are a bunch of little shits, jealousy

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51762532

authors note: SO MUCH FLUFF and remus is second guessing EVERYTHING. obviously inspired by wish you were sober by conan gray :) they’re not together when this starts and remus is feeling very unsure about a lot of things. sirius helps him out with that though ;) somehow from the dining table by harry styles possessed me to write this in half an hour idk why it doesn’t even give the same vibes but ig it feels like a wolfstar song to me soooo —as always this is unedited and i wrote it at 2am so i might read it later and think it's total shit (but currently this is my fave wolfstar fic i've writen) also this was meant to be like 500 words and its almost 2k lmaooo

Remus was a blushing mess. Sirius had insisted on doing Remus’ eyeliner—saying that Remus would just look ‘so hot’ in it—and who was he to refuse? For Sirius, he would do anything. The problem was, he hadn’t exactly pictured agreeing to this resulting in Sirius straddling his hips, leaning extremely close to his face with his tongue poked out due to his level of focus.

“Merlin, Moony, you’ll be the hottest one at the party.” Well, one of us certainly will be, and it’s not me.

Remus was screaming internally, but he mustered a playful smirk and a quick: “am I not already?”

Sirius sent him a grin as he continued to do his makeup, “of course you are, darling. Anyone who disagrees is blind.”

Remus was certainly not blind when it came to noticing the tiny things Sirius was doing, however. The way he pushed his dark curls out of his eyes with one hand and clenched his jaw slightly in concentration with one eyebrow slightly raised? Fucking hell, it drove him insane. Remus wanted so strongly to just grab his face and smash their lips together.

He didn’t do that, obviously.

“Okay, I’m almost done,” Sirius muttered while he did the final touches to the eyeliner. “You ready for everyone at this party to fall madly in love with you?” I only want you to love me.

Remus swallowed a lump in his throat and looked up at Sirius, “as long as you’re one of them.”

Sirius looked a little taken aback for a moment and Remus could’ve sworn he saw him blush, but he was likely just seeing what he wanted to see. At the look on Sirius’ face, Remus mentally cursed himself for speaking his thoughts aloud. Remus’ worry was unnecessary—as it often was—because a broad smile soon took over his features and he pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek. “You can count on that.”

Even after he had pulled away, Remus could feel the ghost of his lips where they had been on his cheek, and he refused to look at Sirius because he knew he was a blushing mess.

“Moony?”

This broke Remus out of his thoughts, and he looked up with wide eyes. “Yeah?”

Sirius smirked in amusement at Remus’ absentmindedness and the fluffy-haired boy could only hope that he was unaware that he was the cause of it all. “Could you go check if James is ready? I need to fix my outfit.”

Remus scoffed softly, “Pads, I hardly think your outfit needs fixing.” Sirius was wearing a white cropped tank top—Moony loved it because showed off his tattoos and biceps— with an array of necklaces draped around his neck. He had on his favourite baggy jeans (the ones with stars on them that Remus had helped him make) and a black belt adorning his waist, and the look was finished off with a pair of Dr. Martens.

Sirius winked at him, “well, you know me. I have to look perfect for you, my love.”

The last two words almost resulted in Sirius being pushed up against the wall, so Remus opted for a short: “You always look perfect to me, darling,” before he exited the room as fast as he possibly could.

He found James downstairs in their common room, lying on the couch with Regulus curled up at his side. James was stroking Regulus’ hair and whispering sweet nothings into his ears, and Remus smiled at the two as he flopped down on the seat opposite them. James looked up and surveyed his flushed cheeks, he then asked casually, “so, have you two made out yet?”

Remus threw the nearest book (which happened to be Lily’s current reread, Pride and Prejudice) at him before glancing across at Lily, who was sat across the common room watching the exchange with a grin. “Sorry, Lily. it was for a good cause.”

“No, no. I’m curious too. Are the two of you,” she wiggled her eyebrows playfully, “getting any action?”

Remus glared at his friend, “shut up. And for your information, no.”

Regulus cooed at him from where he sat with James, “oh, poor Remus. So much flirting, so little of anything else—including your transfiguration notes, by the way. I wanted to borrow someone’s notes for the class I missed, so I asked James, who obviously redirected me to your extensive pile of notes on your desk. That desk is very disorganised, by the way. But alas, no notes. Never thought you were the type to forget to take notes. Spending too much time yearning over my brother in that class, Lupin?”

Remus looked away in embarrassment, “don’t rely on someone else’s notes next time, Reggie.”

“Don’t spend hours on end staring at my brother and I wouldn’t have to call you out for not having your notes.”

Groaning, Remus stood up, “okay, I’m going to get a sweater. See you guys soon!” he began to walk up the stairs but he was stopped when he walked into Sirius walking down. He had redone his hair and put it half into a low bun, and he had gained several rings and had a leather jacket in his hands.

He grinned at Remus, “ready to go?”

“Oh, I need-”

His favourite woollen jumper was shoved into his arms and he blinked slowly as Sirius spoke. “I thought you might want it.”

Remus shifted his weight from side to side as he looked down at the sweater in his hands and he was overcome with an overwhelming sense of adoration for the boy standing in front of him.

He didn’t realise how long he had been staring down at it until Sirius ruffled his hair softly.

“Hey, you okay? You zoned out.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m fine, thanks for getting this. We can go down now, if you want?”

Sirius nodded, taking Remus’ hand and tugging him gently down the stairs. Remus felt his heart beating faster than he deemed normal, but he couldn’t remember anything about human biology at that moment due to his mind racing at a million miles per minute. As the two walked into the common room, he met eyes with Lily and sent her an alarmed expression, to which she smirked at. She tapped Mary’s shoulder and pointed at Sirius and Remus’ entwined hands. Mary grinned and gave a silent cheer directed to Remus.

There were already more people in the common room, a variation of people Remus recognised and people he didn’t (admittedly more of the later group). Sirius led Remus towards James, Regulus, and Peter, who were now sitting upright on the couch. Remus sat next to Regulus and the boy smirked at him.

“You’re a mess, Lupin.”

Peter walked around the back of the couch to whisper in Remus’ ear, “I say just kiss and be done with it. This flirting is sickening.” Remus gently slapped Peter’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t still clasped in Sirius’ ring-clad one and the other boy lightly gasped. “Well, they do say love makes people crazy.”

Remus groaned loudly at Peter’s words, and Sirius turned to him. “You okay?”

“No, he’s in-” Remus pressed his free hand over Peter’s mouth with a warning expression directed at the shorter boy.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He smiled at Sirius, who looked unconvinced and squeezed his hand reassuringly. Remus almost melted right then and there, and Peter snickered at the interaction.

James stood up abruptly, “alright, who wants some firewhisky?”

Sirius cheered, standing up to follow James and pulling Remus to his feet by the hand he didn’t quite want to let go of just yet.

Ten minutes later, Remus was leaning against the wall with a half full glass of firewhisky and a small smile on his face as he watched Sirius participating in some stupid dare. The long-haired boy kept sending little glances over at Remus to see if he was watching and letting his teasing gaze linger when they made eye contact. Somehow, Sirius had convinced Regulus to participate in the game, and the two brothers had light, carefree smiles on their faces.

Remus felt another presence next to him and looked over to see James, watching the Black brothers with a yearning look on his face similar to the one that was probably adorning Remus’ face. Smiling at Remus,

James muttered, “oh, our stars are so pretty.”

Remus nodded in agreement, “so pretty.”

The two stood there with adoring expressions painting their features for another ten minutes minutes before Remus felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, warm breath alarmingly close to his ear. He was overcome with an immense feeling of discomfort.

A sultry feminine voice whispered, “well, aren’t you a handsome specimen, what if I-”

The voice didn’t even get a chance to finish before Remus felt a well-known hand grab his own. “What if you piss off and take your wandering hands out of my boyfriend’s personal space?”

Remus did a double take.

His eyes widened slightly and he glanced at where James had been with a confused expression, only to find that his friend had disappeared. When he finally mustered the courage to look at Sirius, he was surprised to find him with a deep blush covering his cheeks. They met eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t know how else to get her away from you—and you were so uncomfortable, I couldn’t just stand there and watch. Plus, I didn’t want her touching you– I’m sorry, I’m rambling, fuck.”

Remus had the best idea he had had all night long. “Who said it was something to be sorry for?”

Sirius froze. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

Sirius looked into Remus’ eyes for a few moments before grabbing his face and smashing their lips together. It was a messy kiss, all teeth clashing and hands grabbing at hair.

Remus pulled away suddenly, “how drunk are you, exactly?”

“Not drunk enough to be making this up, if that’s what you’re asking?”

“Sober enough to remember it in the morning?”

“Well, if I don’t, we can always recreate it.” Sirius winked playfully and squeezed Remus’ hand.

“Hmm, can’t say I’d be opposed to that, darling…” Remus trailed off slowly as he pushed Sirius against the wall, bringing their lips together in another kiss. This kiss was slow, sweet, and a stark contrast to their first kiss. Remus had one hand resting on Sirius’ cheek and another tangled in his curls, and Sirius’ had his arms draped over Remus’ shoulders.

Remus’ eyes suddenly caught the metal glint of a necklace hanging around Sirius’ neck, and he raised an eyebrow as he pulled slightly away from the kiss. “Is that mine?”

Sirius scoffed, “you never wore it, anyway. It was wasted on you.” Remus smiled softly and wasted no time in bringing their lips together once again.

[fandoomrants]

ohhh just saw ur rant post! i agree with like 99.99% of it and im excited and i just wanna point out that it's stated in canon that james would have considered it the height of dishonor to distrust his friends, so, canonically, we only know of sirius suspecting remus (although i've read fics where james also distrused remus and i adore the angst and the drama and the absolute tragedy of it)

to add to the dorm thing: there are only like 5 boys in gryffindor in harry's year. not just in his dorm, but the whole house (as stated in chambers of secrets), so there's a very real chance the marauders were the only 4 boys in their year in gryffindor

and also to back up another one of ur points: pottermore canon states that remus was the one to bring peter into the group ("Remus, always the underdog’s friend, was kind to short and rather slow Peter Pettigrew, a fellow Gryffindor, whom James and Sirius might not have thought worthy of their attention without Remus’s persuasion. Soon, these four became inseparable."). before that it also states that "Remus Lupin was swiftly befriended by two cheerful, confident and rebellious boys, James Potter and Sirius Black. They were attracted by Remus’s quiet sense of humour and a kindness that they valued, even if they did not always possess it themselves"

Half my posts are rants, it's literally in the name of my url 😅😅 But I know which one you mean.

Oh, yeah, you're actually right here. It was pretty much Sirius we know about but I somehow thing it must have been a little bit from the others too. Especially because of the fact that Remus had actively started distancing himself. Oh, just imagine if Peter was intentionally slipping comments about it or something just so he can fully take the suspicion from himself away. And then... In reality I think Remus was mostly doing it to just keep them safe.

I'm not 100% sure if it's ever mentioned that someone outside of the Marauders, later Snape, and Dumbledore knew he's a werewolf. Maybe the other teachers, or some of them, but I highly doubt anyone in the first Order knew. In fact, maybe Lily didn't know. And I mentioned in another post how I think that maybe he hasn't seen Harry as a baby and this makes me feel so sad because he probably wanted to stay away.

But I'm not so sure here, I have to admit it's been a while since I read the books.

I fall into some downwards spiral about angsty thoughts but I actually don't like reading such fics xD Honestly, in this fandom I can swear 80% of them are either some angst or Major Character Death warning... I can't. If I want that, I'll reread the parts from the book xD

Oh, okay, that's a good point! We really don't know if there weren't other boys there. I just think, all dorms were kind of for 5 people and idk, if there are 5 students, they all gonna be in one. If there are 10 or less, they'll be in two, etc. So I suppose here the question is how many boys were in this year. (Tbh, I never really understood the roommates thing xD I somehow can't imagine having to share a room with someone for years and not becoming friends. Sure, for example Harry and Ron were best friends but I believe they considered the other friends too, just not as close. How would you otherwise trust these people with stuff like... Not touching your personal things or like, killing you in your sleep. Stuff like that. Also, it's otherwise kinda awkward.)

Thanks for pointing this out! I wasn't completely sure about it but I thought it's so. Now just imagine how everything must have felt even more awful for Remus in the end. But aoso this whole roommate thing would make lots of sense as to why he befriended Peter in the first place and later they all became friends.

Thanks for the ask and the info!!

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

you belong with me (part 1) // fred weasley

Summary: You’re stubborn, so when your best friend tries to convince you that Bucky Barnes isn’t the right guy for you, you try to prove him wrong. In the process, you end up in a place you thought only existed in books, where you meet the one.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (eventually)

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: unrequited love, bit of angst, panic attack

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @error501beta​ for proofreading this!

ＢＥＦＯＲＥ　ＹＯＵ　ＲＥＡＤ： This is a Marvel x Harry Potter fanfiction. You’re 17 and you are Wanda sister. For the purposes of this fic the year on the MCU is 2017. Civil War events have not happened and everyone lives in the Avengers Compound. The year on Harry Potter is 1994, around The Goblet of Fire.

main masterlist

“He’s so hot,” you sighed dreamily. Steve and Bucky were sparring in the gym a few feet away from you. It had become a habit for you at this point to watch the two supersoldiers train, if only to discreetly check out the brunet.

You weren't sure when your infatuation with Bucky had started, but one day you found you couldn't take your gaze off of him whenever he was in the same room. You weren't sure if the older man had noticed your lingering stares, but if he had, he had never mentioned it.

“And yet way too old for you.” The voice startled you, and you jumped, diverting your focus away from the two supersoldiers and toward a much younger man with a sly smirk on his face.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “What do you want, Peter?”

“Dreaming about your knight in shining armor again?”

Now, if anyone knew about your crush, it was Peter Parker. Much to your dismay. Peter was quite insightful; it only took him half an hour in the same room with you to figure out your crush on the winter soldier. And boy, did he enjoy teasing you about it. That's what best friends do, right?

“You know, you should get over it already. It’s not like he’s gonna notice you anyway.”

“Why is that?” You asked, annoyed.

Peter was about to laugh, but then saw your serious expression and decided it was best if he didn't. “Come on, Y/N/N. It's amusing to see you yearning for him, but you don't really think you have a chance, do you?”

“Is he too good for me, or what? Is he out of my league? Am I not good enough?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Peter clarified quickly. He had no intention of offending you. “But you’re 17, and he’s like…” He paused for a moment, mentally calculating the supersoldier’s age. “A hundred years old?” His statement came across as more of an inquiry.

“Alright. First and foremost, I'll be 18 in a few months. Second, he was 28 when HYDRA captured him and, considering he spent most of his time in a freezer, he didn't age all that much.”

“He’s still 11 years older.”

You shook your head. "I don't see the issue."

Peter gazed at you for a few seconds, trying to figure out whether you were serious or joking. “He probably thinks of you as his little sister.” He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it was obvious Bucky Barnes didn’t return your affections.

“Then I’ll dress more maturely, “ you shot back.

“It’s not the clothes, Y/N. It's the age difference. It's not like you can magically become older by snapping your fingers.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, knowing by the smirk on your face that he had unintentionally given you an idea.

Peter was well aware of your’s and Wanda's talents. And, while it was obvious that the older Maximoff was more powerful, you were also an exceptionally gifted witch. He'd seen you accomplish amazing things, but he wasn't sure whether age manipulation was one of them.

“I can create an illusion,” You began, drawing out the strategy in your brain. “I’ll make him believe that I’m older, that way I’ll catch his attention.”

Illusion manipulation was one of your favorite abilities. Mostly because it had the potential to get you out of trouble. You could manipulate people's perceptions of what they saw, heard, touched, smelled, and tasted. The plethora of effects you could achieve had so many uses, such as confusing targets, hiding and masking objects or places, leading targets to inadvertently harm one another, and so on. Yet you still hadn’t reached your full potential.

But you weren’t fighting aliens or HYDRA agents, you were just trying to get a guy, and you were powerful enough to manipulate the senses to the point the illusion was indistinguishable from reality to the target. Which in this case was Bucky.

“So you’re gonna mess with his mind?” You were pulled back to reality by Peter's voice. You had nearly forgotten he was there for a second. “I think the poor guy has been through enough brainwashing. Don’t you?”

Of course, you were aware of what Bucky had gone through. He still had nightmares about HYDRA’s torture. So Peter was probably correct, messing with his mind wasn't the best way to win him over.

“Even then, you’ll still be 17; you’ll be lying to both him and yourself,” Peter added.

“Well… what if I don’t have to lie? What if I actually can age up?”

Your friend looked at you, puzzled. “You can do that?”

“Not with my magic,” you grinned, “but there's something that might help.”

It was true, you couldn't use your magic to age up a few years, at least not that you knew of. It would be a lot easier, but you'd have to ask Wanda, who would want to know why you were asking. Then you'd tell her, and she'd try to talk you out of it. So you’d have to take the difficult path.

“So… what are you gonna do?”

“Thor brought some cool Asgardian stuff yesterday. And by cool, I mean magical. I’m sure there’s something there that can help,” you explained. “And if that doesn’t work I have a Plan B.”

“You really have everything figured out, huh?” Peter looked at you in disbelief. “The Asgardian stuff is in Mr. Stark’s laboratory. How are you planning to get in?”

“At night, of course.”

Your sister knew something was up. You’d been reserved all night, and that's what was giving you away. Wanda knew you like the back of her hand, and when you were quiet, she knew you were up to no good.

Throughout dinner, you and Peter had been exchanging glances. He’d obviously wanted to sell you out, but your murderous stare had stopped him. Also, Peter considered himself a good friend, and he didn’t want to betray your trust, but he also knew you were bound to get into trouble.

It wasn't until Wanda had knocked on your bedroom door late at night that you realized how obvious you had been, and you only hoped the rest of the team hadn’t caught on to your weird behavior.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Your sister sat beside you on the bed. You tried to keep your cool as you looked at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried, but the look Wanda gave you was unimpressed.

“Is this about Bucky?” Her question caught you off guard. Did she know? “You can't fool me, honey; I'm your sister. And you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

“Stop getting inside my head,” you chastised her. You hated when she did that. “It’s a huge invasion of privacy, y’know?”

“You never tell me anything. You’ve left me with no choice.” When you didn’t reply, Wanda spoke again. “There’s nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s totally normal for an older guy to catch your eye when you’re young.”

You got off the bed and looked at her, a scowl on your face. “Why do you keep treating me like a child?” You demanded, your voice raising. “I’m not a kid. I’ll be 18 in a couple of months.”

Wanda remained irritatingly calm despite your obvious frustration. “I know, Y/N.”

“Then why is it so difficult for everyone to see that a relationship between me and him isn’t impossible!?”

Exasperated, the Scarlet Witch sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had never pictured herself in this predicament. Wanda was more than just your older sister; she was also the only mother figure you have ever known. Yet she was certain your late mother would have been better at this conversation than she would be.

“Look, Y/N. No one is saying it is impossible in the long run but as of right now it is. You know everything Bucky has been through.”

“How come everyone uses that as an excuse to tell me to back off?”

“It’s not an excuse-”

“It is! I'm sure no one would object if I were your age.”

“Oh, honey, I know how tough it must be to be young and surrounded by older people. Especially men. But I also know there's someone else out there who's perfect for you, and that person isn't Bucky.” She stood and approached you, standing in the middle of the room, brow still furrowed by the conversation. She hesitantly wrapped an arm around you in a side embrace, which you did not return. “Why don't you go to bed and we can pick up where we left off in the morning?” She suggested, “Perhaps we can go to that coffee place you like?”

You turned to face your sister. The rational part of you understood that Wanda meant well. But you were stubborn, and irritated by everyone treating you like a child. You’d never cared what others thought of you; growing up in an orphanage had given you tough skin. But it hurt that you didn't even feel like an adult in Wanda's eyes. She was your big sister, your mentor. She was everything you aspired to be. But she didn't consider you an equal; just the little sister she had to protect.

The silence became uncomfortably quiet. Wanda remained at your side, waiting for a response.

"I'm helping Peter study for his test tomorrow. Maybe another time."

You gave in to your petty side. Wanda's face dropped, and her hopeful smile faded. It made your stomach turn, and you had to look away.

"Okay," she murmured and kissed your temple softly. "Goodnight."

She was halfway out the door when she turned to you. “I love you, Y/N. And I want the best for you. Always. Please remember that.”

And then she left the room.

The conversation left a bittersweet taste, but you tried to block it out. You were determined to get what you wanted, and no one was going to stop you from getting it.

The lights were off and the compound was quiet. The hallways, living room, and kitchen were empty, providing you with the perfect opportunity to make your way to Tony’s lab.

“Where are you going?” The sudden voice in the darkness made you jump. You turned on your heel, only to face the man who had been taking over your dreams for the past few months.

You were like a deer caught in the headlights. Bucky catching you was the last thing you expected. You had checked the time before leaving your bedroom; it was 3:00 in the morning, so why was he wandering around the compound at this hour?

The winter soldier kept staring at you, waiting for you to respond. “Where are you going?” you decided to shoot back, and a light chuckle left his mouth.

Now that you thought about it, this was the first time Bucky and you had been alone in the same room. With another avenger always around, you couldn't ever enjoy the man’s presence just for yourself.

“Looking for trouble?”

You put your hand on your chest, pretending to be offended. "Do you really think so little of me?"

“I may not have been here that long, but I know you have a habit of getting into trouble.”

‘Does that mean he has noticed me?’

“I don’t look for trouble. Trouble finds me.”

“Of course,” he let out another chuckle. A wave of giddiness rushed through you, he found you funny.

“You gonna rat me out?”

Bucky looked at you, weighing his options. You looked back at him expectantly, with a pleading expression on your face. If he told Tony or someone else that you'd been wandering the compound after midnight with ulterior motives, you'd have them on your back the next night and wouldn't be able to carry out your plan.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he spoke again. “It would be our little secret.”

His words made you smile, and you could feel your stomach turn. You were about to thank him when he interrupted you. “But if there's any damage done in this building tomorrow morning, be sure you’re not getting away with it, kid.”

Kid. There it was, that dreadful word. ‘He probably sees you like a little sister’ Uninvited, Peter's words echoed in your mind. You felt your shoulders slump and your smile fade.

Bucky misinterpreted your expression and said, “Just promise me you’re not doing anything bad.”

“I promise, Buck.” You wanted this conversation to be over. It was only cutting you deeper and delaying your plan.

Bucky bid his farewells and returned to his room. Tears that you had been holding back ran down your face. With your sleeve, you wiped them away. “I promise that tomorrow you won’t see me as a kid anymore,” you whispered to yourself.

You received the second surprise of the night when you reached the laboratory door only to find Peter resting against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” “What took you so long?” You both asked at the same time.

“Look, even if I think this is a terrible idea and I’m still hoping you reconsider it, I’m still your best friend.” He said, “You've stood by me through all of my ups and downs, so it's only fair that I stand by you now. If you fall, I fall.”

On the spur of the moment, you dragged Peter against you, throwing your arms around him. He wrapped his arms around you just as tightly. “Thank you, Pete,” you murmured.

“What are friends for?” he said with a gentle smile as you were freed from the hug. "Now, how are you going to open the door?" he asked after you were free. You smiled at him, thrumming your fingers, as a spark of red light emerged from the palm of your hand. The sound of the lock opening with a satisfying click echoed in the empty corridor seconds later.

“Like that.”

You both entered the room as quietly as possible. The slightest sound could give you away. “Wow, there are such cool things in here.” Peter looked amazed. “You think Mr. Stark would let me use this?” he questioned, holding up a serpent-shaped headpiece.

“Why would you want to use that?”

“Because it’s cool.” Peter placed the crown back in its place. “What are we looking for exactly?”

“I don’t know. Something magical.”

“Everything here is magical.”

You kept your gaze fixed on the goods on the table. You were relieved that Tony hadn't yet secured them in a different location, as you knew he always did whenever Thor brought something from Asgard. A sword next to the serpent crown drew Peter's attention. You scowled. “What exactly is this? King Arthur’s Sword?

When Peter saw the blade, his eyes widened, and you smacked his hand away before he could go for it. “Don't touch it,” you warned. “A sword isn't going to help me.”

A trident. A casket. A blade. A hammer. An axe. None of this was of use to you. But then Peter picked up something you hadn’t seen displayed on the table before, “What about this?” He asked.

You took a look at the object. It appeared about a foot in length. Perhaps made of crystalline material, but it was the demonic heads on both ends that drew your attention.

“It’s a wand… I think,” Peter pondered. “You said your magic couldn't make you age up, but this thing might be able to.”

“Where did you get that?”

“It was in there,” he said, pointing to a glass dome with a yellow base in the other corner of the room. “The things that are kept away from others are usually quite unique.”

Peter carefully placed the wand in your palm once you extended your hand. When your skin made contact with the mysterious object, you felt a surge of energy race through your body. It was excruciating. It was agonizing. It felt like a massive weight had dropped on top of you, limiting your movement. Peter's eyes widened as your eyes glowed bright red. You let go of the wand, which landed with a thud on the floor, and your hands began to emit your signature red glow, as they did when you used your magic. The only problem was that you weren't. At least, not voluntarily.

“What’s going on?” Your friend's voice was filled with worry.

You couldn’t respond. To begin with, you had no idea what was going on. Second, you were being pulled backwards by what felt like an almost magnetic force. Peter's reflexes were rapid, and he tightened his grip on your hand, hoping to draw you back to him, but whatever this thing was, it was stronger than him, no matter how much super-strength the teenager possessed. You could feel your hand slipping away from his.

And then, before he knew it, you flew across the room and vanished.

You landed painfully on the hard ground. Still dizzy from what had just happened, you pushed yourself up off the floor, looking for your friend, but you didn't come across Peter. You weren't even in the laboratory anymore.

‘What the hell?’

You looked around, still disoriented. This wasn't the compound, no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes. It seemed to be a corridor.

“Where am I?” you muttered to yourself.

The stone walls, floor, and vaulted ceiling were the first things that caught your eye. The arches on the left showed not only fresh green grass but also the sun shining… which didn't add up. You were in the lab at around 3 a.m. Maybe a little later because your conversation with Bucky delayed you. Even so, it was too early for it to be daytime.

‘Why does everything look so… old fashioned?’

The more you looked around, the more obvious it became that you were far from home. You thought about Peter, and how everyone was going to blame him for this. You remembered Bucky's words about you constantly looking for trouble. You thought about Wanda, and how disappointed she would be in you. She couldn't have a minute of peace because of you. If it wasn't Principal Evans phoning to inform her how you blew up the science lab, it was a call about how you let the frogs go and how they somehow wound up in Ashley Miller's lunch.

But this? This took the cake. This wasn’t a high school prank. This was serious, and you knew that no matter how many apologies you gave her, she would never forget it, and it had most likely permanently broken her trust in you.

Your ears began to ring, your heart pounded against your chest, and your hands began to shake. You had no idea where you were, but you were certain you didn't want to be here; you wanted to go home. You wanted your sister to wrap her arms around you and soothe away your fears; providing comfort and safety. However, you were stranded in god-knows-where. Alone. Defenseless. Scared. You collapsed onto the floor, your legs clutched against your chest. Breathing was difficult. Extremely difficult, as if you'd just finished a marathon.

And you cried. Your chest clenched as bile surged in your throat.

You weren't sure how long you cried but by the time your breathing even out, your legs were numb from the stone floor.

“Are you alright?” You raised your head in response to a soft, worried voice. Only to see three individuals staring at you with concern — two boys and a girl.

You stared back at them with your shiny eyes. They appeared to be a few years younger than you and were wearing what looked like robes. The cogs began to turn in your head.

You stood up to wipe your eyes after realizing you'd been staring at them for far too long. “S-sorry,” you stammered, your hoarse, cracked voice still audible.

“It's alright,” the girl said sympathetically, “Are you feeling well?”

“Yeah, I just had a moment, but I'm fine now.”

“Are you American?” This time, it was one of the boys, the ginger of the two, who spoke. He was staring at you oddly. Perhaps because he just caught you bawling on the floor just a few moments ago, perhaps it was because you were still in your jammies. But the fact that it was your accent he picked up on first perplexed you.

You weren't sure whether to tell the truth or not. You weren’t American. You'd only been in New York for a few years, but you and Wanda had caught up on the accent quickly. Although you slipped and sounded more Sokovian when you were upset sometimes.

You choose to nod.

‘Maybe it’s better to lie.’

“Are you an Ilvermorny exchange student?” The girl asked, her voice filled with eagerness.

If these three people, whom you have never seen before but still looked extremely familiar to you, and the lion embroidered on their robes weren’t enough to give you an idea where the demonic-styled wand had sent you, the mention of the fictional American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sure was.

You took a few seconds to respond, but you gave what you believed was the best answer; after all, you didn't know how long you'd be trapped in this universe. “Yeah, I am.”

“Hermione Granger,” she said as she extended her hand for you to shake. “These are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.”

Ron nodded his head in greeting, and Harry waved his hand shyly.

“I’m Y/N Maximoff.”

Another person made their presence known in the passageway, interrupting your conversation. A tall woman approached you, dressed in a huge dark green robe with her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. “What exactly is happening here?”

She stared at the three younger students before turning her attention to you. When she narrowed her eyes, you knew you were screwed. She had obviously noticed there was something wrong with you.

“Professor McGonagall, why didn’t you tell us we were hosting an exchange student?”

The woman ignored Hermione's inquiry and opted to dismiss them, making it clear, at least to you, that she wanted to talk to you alone. Despite their protests, they obeyed and made their way to class.

“Now, why don’t we go to my office so we can have a chat?”

You gulped. You could tell the question was rhetorical, and she wasn't expecting you to agree. So you simply followed her. The other students passing through the hallways gave you strange stares.

[atopvisenyashill]

i love baela and jace and want good things for them but i feel like harry and bethany have like zero chemistry. at first i thought it was the writing but in the scenes where emma and olivia turn up, the acting is still phenomenal even if the scene is bad so… what gives? i feel like the showrunners are hesitant to give the younger actors a shot which is crazy bc that was a huge part of the success of game of thrones

i don’t agree about them not having chemistry tbh, i think they have a very sweet dynamic. when she was teasing him about pouting & his grumbly answer, i loved how they have this sort of jokey thing bc like, they’re not just engaged they’re stepsiblings! they know each other well, they’ve been raised together for a time, and i’m positive rhaenyra was floating the engagement before ep. 8 so jace has seen this coming for awhile, and baela isn’t stupid, she knows her father wants his blood on the throne, etc.

i think they don’t seem super sexy just yet because like….they’re just not allowed to be. i mean think about the other young actors - emily carey is introduced to us flirting with milly, and milly’s next scene is the sexy/deranged one w daemon in the throne room. we’ve seen tom & ewan shirtless and naked more than once. even in the og, you had like, maisie in that scene with joe where gendry is working out and arya is Watching With Interest to let you know arya is growing up, she’s got a crush, she’s noticing boys. we just haven’t gotten that with baela & jace in the forefront. we get it a Bit in s1 - you can see jace looking at baela with some interest when rhaenys announces the engagements, and baela gives him her own look during the s1 finale. but there’s no follow up! no talking about weddings or heirs, no deranged/sexy flirting.

also, my opinion on “why won’t they let them be sexy” is like….ugh idk i don’t want to start accusing people of anything but i do think there’s a weird Politics Of Sex thing happening here. my point of comparison is usually spartacus or farscape, for Genre Shows known for being sexy. And the great thing about those shows, especially spartacus, was that they clearly understood that Certain Types Of Sexiness is expected but others are usually shunned & they made sure to show the Others. So in Spartacus, it’s not just the white & lighter skinned heterosexual characters like Crixus & Naevia, Spartacus & Mira, Gannicus & his parade of baddies, that get to fuck - Oenomaus, played by Peter Mensah, gets his own sexy scenes and this is important because he’s the darkest skinned person on the show (and one of the oldest) and he gets a scene that is titillating and sensual just like every other actor. John Hannah fucks CONSTANTLY lol, and there’s a clear emphasis that his wife thinks he is SEXY despite his physique being much different than the gladiators. There was so much anxiety over whether Nasir & Agron would get a sex scene as two men bc the show is marketed towards dudebros, and then we got a long ass sensual fuckfest between them as soon as s3 started. Farscape meanwhile let EVERYONE get kinky - doesn’t matter if they were human, wearing alien makeup, wearing alien prosthetics, or straight up puppets, you saw those people tied up and fucking with tendrils! And that’s not even getting into my whole essay about the way John, Aeryn, Scorpius, Sikozu, and Braca all really fuck around with Expected Gender Roles During Sex throughout their narratives.

HOTD, for all it wants to be this sexy feminist show, clearly just like. Doesn’t realize that it’s deeply weird to only show Steve & Eve after they’ve fucked when every other couple has gotten at least like 4 thrusts in. They don’t realize how odd it is to desexualize Helaena so much in this role, when young Alicent is seen struggling with sex several times. They don’t realize how fucking weird it is to not allow Baela or Rhaena the room to be sensual, to be sexy, to even experience sex as a negative the way Alicent initially does! I can’t say for sure why that is, but I will tell you as a certified pervert it annoys the FUCK out of me aksksj.

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

I was reading one of your old fics and saw doc ock tickling Norman Osborn and thought it was so cute. I have a head canon of doc ock thinking of tickling someone and the actuators doing it maybe you could do that with a tickle fic of doc ock thinking of tickling Norman and the actuators doing it sorry if this is confusing. ❤️

I was just thinking of another prompt could you possibly do a tickle fic of just Norman and Otto their my favourite senior citizens😭❤️

Always on My Mind

Summary: See prompts above :)

(Two prompts together as one ❤️😁 And finally out of the busy season ❤️😅 I hope to get back to all of the prompts soon ❤️:) In the mean time, hope you enjoy Anons ❤️😁)

Otto's actuators had a very interesting, and sometimes quite annoying, habit. If ever Otto thought about doing something, even if he didn't plan on following through with it, his actuators started moving to complete said task. Their programming meant they had no barrier between an actual task and a fleeting thought.

That was fine when Otto was planning his latest invention.

Yet not so much when he thought about other things.

The scientist huffed as he looked up at his actuators. He knew they didn't mean to cause trouble. Much like his three Peters, they just had a way of finding it. Like right now when they were playing catch with Otto's wrench because the scientist had thought about practicing so he could play better with his boys.

Otto sighed. "You four will be the death of me."

"Aham Ihi interrupting an importahant meheeting?"

The older scientist turned to the entrance of his lab. "Come in Norman. These four are just being troublemakers."

One actuator whined, letting the wrench clatter to the floor.

"Now Moe."

Norman chuckled as he took a step forward. "Business ahas usual Ihi see."

Otto playfully rolled his eyes as all four actuators nuzzled up next to him. "Yehes indeheed."

Harry slipped away to study Norman. The scientist looked up at the actuator as he moved closer. He wasn't scared. He merely studied Harry the same way Harry studied him.

I'm thankful he's so understanding. Most people seem scared of them. Otto turned to prep his next two pieces. He did look pretty thin. I wonder if I could wrap my hand around his sides.

A moment later, Norman let out a squeak.

When Otto turned, Harry had opened like a hand and wrapped around one of the scientist's sides.

"Harry!" Otto's eyes widened as he shooed Harry away. "What are you doing?"

"Ihim ahalright Ohotto." Norman grinned. "He didn't hurt mehe, ihit just tickled."

"I'm still sorry Norman. I don't what I---they were thinking."

"Ihits alright. Ihi reheally don't mind."

"Thank you Norman." Otto gave his actuators a half hearted glare. "I've got my eye on you fohour."

As Norman chuckled and patted Flo next, Otto smiled at the interaction.

It honestly wasn't too bad. I'd do that again just to hear his laughter.

Another squeal filled the lab.

When Otto jerked up, he found Flo squeezing Norman's side. "Flo!"

The pesky actuator was finally shooed away, letting Norman recover from the surprise attack. "Theheyre ihin aha mood today ihit seheems."

"Yehes." Otto gave Flo a look. "They are."

"Ihim guehessing you don't find it as humorohous."

"Not particularly."

"Ihi reheally don't mind Otto. They aren't hurting me."

"I knohow. Thehey wouldn't hurt you."

Norman cocked his head to one side. "How do you know?"

"I can hear their thoughts." Otto turned back to Norman. "They like you."

"Wait, if you can hear their thoughts." Norman lifted an eyebrow. "Can they hear yours?"

Otto stiffened. "I mean, they can."

The older Osborn squinted at his friend. "Is that how you communicate with them?"

". . . Yes."

"Did you communicate something about tickling?"

Otto pinched the bridge of his nose. ". . . Not intentionally."

"What do you mehean?"

Although he couldn't see it, Otto could hear the smirk on Norman's face. "If I have a fleeting thought about something, sometimes . . . they'll do it before I can stop them."

"Like if you had thoughts of tickling someone?"

If he was close enough, I'd squeeze his hips just to get that smirk off of his face.

Suddenly, Norman squealed again.

This time, two of Otto's actuators had reached out to squeeze both of Norman's hips.

The older scientist smirked. "Just like thahat."

"OTTO!" Norman snorted.

"Aww, that was adorable." Otto turned his chair to watch.

"IHITS NOT!"

Let's see if his ribs are just as bad as Harry's.

Norman literally jumped when Otto's actuators moved up to attack his ribs while a girlish squeal left his throat.

"Soho thahat's where Harry gets ihit frohom."

The older Osborn tried to growl, but it was drowned out by his laughter.

Let's count out how many ribs he has, Otto thought as he started counting out loud. "One, twoho, threhee."

As the actuators continued climbing and Otto continued counting, Norman continued laughing. He squirmed back and forth and even tried curling into a ball as the ticklish feeling spread across his ribs. Now he knew why Harry flipped out each time he got tickled there.

After a bit, Otto finally counted all of Norman's ribs . . . and was right under his friend's armpits. "Ottoho!"

The older scientist smirked.

"Don't yohou dahare!"

"Well know Ihi hahave toho."

Norman growled again.

Get him.

A moment later, the two actuators dug into the older Osborn's armpits.

Norman arched his back as he tried to get away from the actuators. He was impressed with how his friend had made four robotic limbs, but they really were a pain when they wanted to be.

Otto grinned. "Ahare yohou having fuhun?"

"Ihi wahant toho smahack yohou!"

Otto shrugged as he set his friend down. "Harry says the same thing, but he never follows throhogh."

Norman slumped against a nearby table to catch his breath. Once he had the energy, he gave Otto a shove.

"Aww, whahat? Didn't lihike yohour ticklehels?" Otto shoved him back. "Odd yohou dihidnt tell mehe to stop."

"I'd kill you ihif Ihi knew thehe boys wouldn't kill mehe bahack. "

"Wehell aharent you a sweetheart."

Norman squeezed Otto's shoulders. "Ihi wihill get you bahack."

"Loved to see you tryhy."

That's when Otto's actuators wrapped the older Osborn in a hug.

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Cruel intentions | chapter twenty-three

summary: harry breaks your heart and now you have to break peters.

warnings: violence and sex trafficking and it's triggering please be careful while you read this. Threats.

listen to: Therefore I am  - Billie Eilish   | Because I liked a boy - Sabrina Carpenter (playlist here)

word count: 2.4 k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

You’d been into The Union Club a couple of times before in your life. No, girls weren’t allowed. You often dressed up as a man with Harry and go inside with him. The parties conjured up a 1920s feeling mixed with the rotting realization the glamour wasn’t there, just the decadence and the excess. You wouldn’t usually get out of the club after two days of drinking and doing drugs, having sex with men who would swear that they wouldn’t tell you were a girl and were too drunk to realize who you were. 

You hadn’t been there in a while, though. 

You weren’t wearing a costume as you approached the back entrance, where the party often occurred. You could hear the music from outside as the bouncer let a couple of finance bros get in. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw you, you weren’t in disguise. A sleeveless tank top and loose trousers were just what you managed to grab while you changed. You didn’t have it in you to dress up for what seemed to be the funeral of your friendship with your closest friend. 

But you did have it in you to go through that bouncer. 

“And where are you going?” the bouncer sneered as he blocked the door from you with his body. 

You glared at him. Without moving your body an inch, you took out five one-hundred bills and offered them to the man. 

“No women allowed,” he spat at you, you didn’t take the money away from him. You instead, raised a brow. “I said, no women allowed,”

Your patience was ticking as you pursed your lips. You could be in trouble for what you were planning to do and yet, you were already in a lot of trouble if everyone found out what you were doing. Without a hitch on your movement, you quickly tapped the clock on your wrist, the nanobots covering your hand. 

The money fell from your hand as it wrapped around the bouncer's neck and you lifted him effortlessly, gripping it tightly. The man groan as he tried to remove your hand from his neck, croaking, failing as he choked. 

“I’ll swear you are going to regret not letting me pass through,” you muttered through gritted teeth. 

You took a deep breath as you prepared to toss the man down the alley but then you heard his voice. 

“Let her in,” his dark voice made your insides twist. You snapped your head toward his direction, taking him in. “Nice to see you again, backstabber,” he stated as he inhaled the smoke of his cigarette. 

Letting go of the bouncer's neck, you let him fall on the floor helplessly as he coughed and heaved. You didn’t care honestly, your eyes were only focused on Harry. 

He was so pale that the slightest bruising on his face was noticeable and to the point that he seemed green. The bags under his eyes were so intense that his beautiful green eyes now looked sunken. When his gaze fell on you, you noticed the red and yellow that clouded his eyes. He was so skinny, skinnier than he had ever been to the point that it was worrisome. His silky curly dark hair seemed lifeless, extremely unkempt -so unlike him- that you felt a whimper leaving your lips as your eyes looked him in. 

He didn’t seem just off anymore. He was sick. 

“Harry,” you whispered as you stepped over the hundred dollar bills on the floor and towards him. He took a step back, he quickly walked away from you. You followed him, Harry usually reserved a room in the place. It was dark, loud music, satin, and silk red on the seats and the curtains of the place, and people having sex and drinking, they didn’t notice you and you didn’t care if they did, you needed to talk to him. 

Harry lead you to a small room, it was surrounded by mirrors in the upper part of the wall, then down, where Harry sat down, and there was a velvety red couch. He laid softly, and a couple of guards closed the silly curtains after you stepped in. 

Only then you realized that you weren’t alone. 

“Stark, have you met Allen?” 

Your eyes fell on Liz Allen, she was wearing a pretty black dress and heels, and her dark skin looked like it was glowing, those big doe-eyes throwing darts at you as she watched you carefully. She was allowed in for obvious reasons, often the call girls would be allowed for the patrons. You didn’t look glamorous, you didn’t look well-kept, you were a mess and a smile drew on her face. 

“I’ve had the displeasure,” you whispered as your eyes returned to Harry. 

“Did you already do a sex tape with Parker and you need me to erase it from the internet?” he asked as he took another line of the white powder that was perfectly set over a silver tray. 

“Liz if you don’t get out of here in the next five seconds, I swear to god that I have a blast ready for everyone to know who your father is,” Your eyes didn’t falter from him, not for a second as you stated your threat. 

There was a beat of silence after your threat, you could see the hint of a smile on Harry’s face as he looked over at Liz.

“Don’t believe-”

“I told you, I’m a crazy bitch and I don’t care about the consequences,” you repeated, cutting her off. 

Liz’s glare burns your skin, but you don’t look at her, you don’t even bother to check how she scoffs as she walks out of the room without a doubt in his step. Once you felt she was gone, you sat down next to Harry, who was leaning for another line. 

“Harry, what happened to you?” you stated, concern dripping from your voice as you tried to hold his hand, he brushed you off. 

“Don’t come here with your spurious concern,” Harry spat as he moved away from you, a hand passing through his hair, the bags under his eyes looked so much deeper under the light. “It’s not good here and I’m not Peter Parker, I don’t fall for your lies,”

The venom in his words made you flinch suddenly. It was strange, how vulnerable you felt when he acted like this. Harry often did that, your concern usually was brushed off but you didn’t care, you moved closer to him. 

“I’m not lying, Harry, I’m worried-” 

Harry’s brows furrowed further than ever before, he quickly stoop up from the sofa and gave a step back. “Shut up!” he screamed, his eyes a furious red as tears threaten to fall from his eyes. “You are not, you left me,”

You sighed as you watched him, you were used to a few tantrums from him. 

“How much cocaine have you been doing?” you stated, your face remaining firm and stern. 

“Not enough,” a sharpness to his tone that immediately makes your eyes fall to the white powder next to you. 

“Harry,”

“Fuck off!” Harry snaps back, quickly tossing the tray with the cocaine to one of the walls, breaking the mirror from there. The volume of his voice is higher than ever, you don’t want to flinch but you do. His seething, his seething and you can see how hurt he is. 

You are stuck in place, suspended in time. You wonder how you hadn’t noticed how he was circling the drain, how much he was consuming. If you could’ve pried more, you could’ve seen the signs, you thought that you could’ve helped him. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally decide as your eyes met with Harry's. “I was scared, I was scared of what could happen and I,” you aren’t sure of what to say. “I’m sorry but this is us. We fight, we make up, like any one of our fights. We can get over this, together, I can help you,”

Harry scoffed as he passed a hand through his hair. “This isn’t like any of our other fights, y/n. Haven’t you noticed?” Harry sneered. He watched you carefully with a sick smile. “You always had to be the best, didn’t you?”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, I know you aren’t. You made sure I knew that you weren’t dumb. You had to be the one with the best father, you had to be the smartest one, you had to be the Avenger, the good one,” He licked his lips softly. “Always one-upping me, right?”

You watched those sad green eyes that had been next to you all the time, how now they were blazing with hate. 

“And then you fell into that coma and you became just like me. We were finally even. You did all the same bad things I did and I, I could control you. It became so easy.” he explained, he brushed his eyes, a longing feeling in his voice. “Parker didn’t change you. I changed you and now that you are being an Avenger again, you think you’re better than me?” he scoffed. “You are even worse than me if anything,”

The tears fell from your eyes before you even noticed, heavy and warm down your cheeks. Your brows furrowing. You don’t recognize him, you were supposed to be next to the other forever. You were family. One thing was him being himself, but sabotaging you? Drowning you with him to make him feel better? You stand there and wonder how you hadn’t noticed before. 

“Peter Parker will never love you when he finds out what you’ve done,” Harry said as he lifted his hand and wiped hurriedly at his nose. “And he will leave you as everyone does,”

Something breaks inside of you as you watch him from your place on the red couch. You don’t dare to speak for a moment, afraid that he might detect the way your voice is breaking for him. How hadn’t you noticed? How stupid you must’ve been! Had everyone known? How could’ve you been so stupid?

All those years you’d spend fighting the world, angry about what had happened, hurting yourself under the guise of liberation, of doing what you wanted. He’d never know how much you struggled, how much you have to deal with the regret of hurting everyone, how much you were always hurting. 

You cleared your throat, swallowing softly as you stand up and walk away from him for a second. You turn around for a second as you watch yourself in the mirror, you’re broken and yet you know you have to do something about him, you can’t let him escape. He might’ve broken you, now you just don’t feel the sinking hole in your chest as it dawns on you that you have to bring him to the police. 

“I came here, as a friend because I am concerned about you but I also know what you’ve been doing and I can go to the police and the press, right now,” 

You didn’t need to say what you knew, his eyes gleamed slightly, he already knew. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” his eyes furrowed as he lay again on the couch. 

“Try me,” you stated, coldness in your voice. “You have twenty-four hours to go to the police yourself, you will not be permitted on any international flights, so don’t try to escape because I’ll find you,” you explain. “I’m giving you those twenty-four hours as a grace period for our friendship but I swear to go if you don’t go, Harry, I’ll get you myself,”

Harry let out a malicious laugh. 

“You need to fuck off and don’t forget I know about Parker, Liz can corroborate my story,” Harry said, his eyes watching you carefully. 

You felt a sting in your chest, anger running through your blood as you listen to his threat. “Don’t worry,” you answered quietly. “I am going to tell Peter myself,” you decide as you glare at him. 

“I’ll stay to see the show and maybe I’ll try to do something with Parker, you know?” Harry said as he took the glass of scotch and raised it as you walk away from the room. “Nice to see you, Stark!”

You walked out of the room before you could finish hearing him, you couldn’t bare to be in the same room with him. Your mind went blank as you thought about Peter, about what Harry had said. He could hurt Peter. As you walked out of the place, your eyes met with Liz who was smoking near the exit. You watch as she glared at you, looking you up and down but you quickly took a hold of her wrist as you pulled her closer to you. 

She immediately recoiled at your touch but you didn’t let her go at first. “Liz,” you said quietly, looking back at the way Harry’s place was.

“What do you want?” she said as she tried to brush you off.  

“Don’t go in there with him,” you warned her. She scoffed as you finally let go of her, her brows furrowed as she took you in. The puffy eyes, the fear in your eyes, the way you were carrying yourself. “Liz, I’m serious. This is dangerous, please” you repeated. “Please,”

Liz took a deep breath as she crossed her arms over her chest. She looked back at the club, at the men near her. She frowned as she looked back at you again, the urgency in your voice. She pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Fine. I’ll leave right now,” she exhaled as she walk towards the wardrobe where she had left her coat but before she gave another step, she looked back. “Could you wait for me?” 

You simply nodded as you lay against the wall, your eyes looking at the ceiling. You had done what you needed to do with Harry and he had threatened Peter. You needed to keep him safe. 

And you just had to break Peter Parker’s heart. 

***

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author's note: all we have left are FOUR CHAPTERS!

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taglist: @walkintheprk @jeonzll @hoetel-manager @pbeckn26 @novaspietro @s-we-e-t-t-ea @spideys-world @3louisee @lnmp89 @coffeeandcrimeshows @dreamsarecloserwithyou @danslamer-eternelle @mayleenicole5676 @teamspideyman @ang3liclov3ly @hannahferru @nctma15 @happypopcornprincess @msperfectrocks @poseylove @blair3lou @melodicheauxxo-writes @peterdarlingg

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