#peter parker anchor being

[ivvyela]

thinking about that theory where peter parker is the mcu's anchor being. and like. the possibilities of it. imagine learning your entire universe's anchor being, the person who pretty much controls the fate of the universe, is some guy who just doesn't exist??? not even dropped off the face of the earth, but there is no proof of this person even existing in the first place???? and maybe strange or the fantastic four or whoever feels responsible for/is tasked with finding and protecting this anchor being but that's kinda hard to do when you have Absolutely Nothing to go off of.

or alternatively, peter himself learning that the entire universe is basically relying on him staying alive, and he already has a lot on his shoulders but this??? having lost everything and everyone and now learning that the weight of the world is literally on his shoulders and fuck!!! he just wanted to be a friendly neighborhood spider-man but that's parker luck for you!!

and like. there's so many ways to take it and i haven't seen anyone considering this and guys. guys. consider it. take it and run with it or what have you. fuck it and throw doctor doom in the mix for the irondad girlies because surely that will be fun.

and i know i know the theory doesn't fully go hand in hand with the mcu cannon but. fuck the cannon. let me scream into the void about this. let me shove it in your faces and hope someone does something with it. let me have my silly where's waldo peter parker anchor being au.

[gunsandspaceships]

Anchor Beings

[criibibi]

Web Bound

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Next;

Prologue - A Whole New World

Who knew being in a world where heroes and villains became the part of one’s norm. Especially when one day, you get bitten by a radioactive spider and now have powers who in turn you use for the greater good. Of course not without trials and tribulations and what not, having to constantly prove oneself to others, helping grateful (and ungrateful) people, as well as making sure your civilian life doesn’t bleed into vigilantism, and keeping relationships stable. Though despite this stress inducing predicament, you made it work, for years.

You’ve gained and lost many things. You’re aunt and uncle for example. That shit hit real hard for you, left you rageful and bitter. Uncle Ben died because you let a criminal escape which in turn shot him. You wanted that murderer dead, and you got it (accidentally of course), it didn’t make the pain and loss any better. Honestly you only had yourself to blame. Aunt May became your anchor after your loss. Friends and relationships were thrown out the window. Your focus was more on your aunt and vigilantism. Then you lost aunt May.

This hit was just as bad as Uncle Ben’s death. Before you started at a high, discovering your powers, letting that ego hit sky high. That’s how you lost Ben. With May on the other hand, you lost her differently. This time you were too weak, too vulnerable, too naive, too sloppy. 

While trying to save others during an attack, she got in the crossfire. There was no coming back for you. You lost the two most important people in your life. All you had left was your mask, because with the final death of May, your civilian life died alongside her. 

Then you met Peter Parker. A cute nerd boy you saved once. How Peter came into your life is something you’re grateful for. When you saved him from an attack, he in turn started stalking you- er, your vigilant persona. And then he discovered who you were. He stuck by you through everything, and anything.

He never let your walls deter him. He slowly and painstakingly climbed those walls until you finally let him in. This cute nerd grounded you again. He patched up your wounds, took care of you when you couldn’t, he was your confidant, and eventually he became your best friend. You learned to let people in again, to trust.

Now it was no longer just Spider-woman. You had a civilian identity again. He was there for you when the going was tough. You see, Peter Parker is smart, way too smart, he had big dreams, he was definitely going places. But something about him made you stare at him just a little too long. Peter is a bright man, too bright. 

You see, Peter Parker was dealing with depression, and he (just like you) masked his feelings. You of course figured something was off about Peter, but never pushed it. You definitely regret it now. Peter’s flames were snuffed out too quickly. You also couldn't save him.

Losing Peter was the last straw. This life became unbearable. Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and even your best friend Peter Parker were all taken from you. You wonder how the darkness hasn't consumed you.

Uncle Ben taught you that with great power comes great responsibility. Aunt May taught you that your gift should save as many as you can. And Peter Parker taught you, to keep going, to just keep on moving. 

You may have lost a lot, but you gain many things. So you kept going, no longer losing yourself completely. 

Then a man named Miguel O’Hara, from Earth 928 paid you a visit. Offering you an opportunity of a lifetime. And you took it. Saving other universes from these things called ‘anomalies’. You felt like you had a purpose again, another drive to keep you moving forward. You met other wonderful spiderlings. Young ones, who needed guidance, one that you didn’t have years ago. 

So you became one for them, and in turn they taught you many things as well. These kids are bright, just like your Peter. You refuse to let the hurt- your hurt, hurt others.

Then the situation with the Spot occurred. Fighting him had proven to have been unfortunate, causing you to end up somewhere new. Somewhere far away from home. Checking your multiversal Gizmo watch for a semblance of your location only to find out it’s not turning on. Now you’re stuck, in a universe you have no knowledge of, and with a semi unresponsive watch.

“Where is this… Where am I?” you mumbled to yourself, slightly disheveled from the impact of you kissing the ground.

Standing in an unfamiliar environment, you look around to see anything that can help you, only to see gray skies, and a somewhat gloomy city. None of this rings any bells for you, no landscape to jog a memory, nothing.

You didn’t want to walk around aimlessly either, not with you still in your suit. Not until you can get a better understanding of where you are, you stick to the shadows, using rooftops to swing away. But in this polluted city, you can still hear the police sirens echo, and crime being committed causes your spider-senses to tingle. It doesn’t stop you from not helping though. 

Stopping on a roof you came across two muggers beating a poor civilian, looting him and running. They got about three steps before both were webbed up and dangling. Hopping down you helped the beaten up man get his stolen items back.

“Th-thank you.” He winced in pain.

“Think nothing of it, here,” handing the poor man his phone, you looked up at the two thugs dangling like an ornament. “I suggest getting treated. You look pretty bad. Also, make sure the men in blues get here, can’t leave these two dangling forever, ya know?” 

You watched the man limp away with his phone dialing 911 before turning your attention away. Climbing the walls you reached eye level of the thugs before yoinking their wallets and inspecting their IDs. You had half a mind to stay but then your spider sense tingle and you quickly swung back into the roof, leaving their IDs stuck to the web.

Just as you made it to the roof, flashing red and blue lights made it to the scene. A man steps out of his car, and the same hurt man you saved steps back into the alleyway, directing the policeman. 

“Here, this is where they are.”

One of them walks under the dangling men before he notices your figure. He tenses, hands on his gun as he watches your slow movements. You lower the men onto the ground carefully, watching as the policemen glance between you and the criminals. His eye catches the IDs stuck on the web before looking back up. You were gone.

Swinging away you came across a sign that stopped you almost mid swing. There in the sky of this gloomy but bright city, was a light shining its beam on the clouds. And on the clouds it had a symbol that caused your stomach to flip.

It was the batman symbol.

You were so fucked.

----------

Next ;

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → fluff, sickness

Summary → Peter gets sick despite his spider immunity and you take care of him through his stubbornness.

Peter had always been so smug about his enhanced immune system. "I’m Spider-Man," he’d boast, puffing his chest out like a proud peacock. "I don’t get sick like normal humans." He’d even teased you the last time you got a cold, saying it was a perk of being Spider-Man’s girlfriend, but apparently, his cockiness had caught up with him.

Now, here he was, bundled under a mountain of blankets, nose red, face pale, and eyes glassy with fever. You were sitting beside him on the bed, your fingers lightly running through his messy curls, watching him sulk like a stubborn puppy.

“I’m not sick,” Peter mumbled, sniffling pathetically and pulling the blanket tighter around him. His voice was hoarse, and he punctuated his sentence with a rough cough that had him wincing.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not sick? Then why do you sound like you swallowed gravel?”

He pouted, turning his head to face you, his brown eyes watery. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. My spider immunity will kick in any second now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his ridiculous denial. “Peter, you’ve had a fever all day. Your 'spider immunity' is taking its sweet time.”

He groaned, letting his head fall back onto the pillow dramatically. “This is so unfair. I never get sick! I’m Spider-Man!”

“Yeah, well, even Spider-Men can catch a cold, apparently.” You leaned down and pressed the back of your hand to his forehead. He was burning up, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I’m dying," Peter whined, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand down to his chest like he needed you to anchor him.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart softened at the sight of him so vulnerable. “You’re not dying, drama queen. You’ve got a cold.”

“It feels like dying," he groaned, closing his eyes. "I can’t breathe. My head feels like it’s about to explode. You should kiss me. It might cure me.”

You laughed, lightly swatting his arm. “Nice try, but I’m not falling for that one, Parker. You’re staying wrapped in those blankets until your fever breaks.”

Peter whined, pulling at the blankets. “But they’re itchy. And I’m too hot now.”

“That's because you have a fever, dummy,” you replied, exasperated but smiling as you reached for the cool washcloth you’d prepared. Gently, you placed it on his forehead, and he sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Thanks,” he muttered, sounding much more like the sweet boy you knew underneath all the bravado. His hand found yours, giving it a weak squeeze. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” you teased, brushing a stray curl off his forehead. “Now stop being stubborn and rest. You’ll feel better soon.”

Peter grumbled something incoherent but didn’t argue anymore, his tired eyes closing. You stayed by his side, watching as his breathing evened out, his hand still gripping yours.

Even if he was a stubborn, whiny mess, you wouldn’t trade taking care of him for anything. He was your stubborn, whiny mess.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[slytherheign]

A WALK TO REMEMBER | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x reader

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SUMMARY: you take one last walk with the love of your life.

WARNINGS: illness (unspecified), HEAVY angst, insecurities, death. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by the movie/novel with the same title, but only slightly. THIS IS A GENDER NEUTRAL FIC BTW, but if you see something that pertains to specific gender then pls reach out so i can change it. also, i’ve planned another part for this focusing on their first walk but it’s still not finished. though when that part comes out, you can either read it as a one-shot or a prequel for this. EDIT: the prequel is out! READ HERE. again, i apologize for the lack of uploads, i just got busy with university and life in general. thank you for understanding and enjoy reading! you might want to get tissues before you proceed.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS AWTR (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

The scent of the hospital permeated the room, mingling with the soft whirring of medical pieces of equipment. You were lying on your hospital bed, your frail form engulfed by the sterile white sheets. Your family surrounded you, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion.

The doctor entered the room, his expression grave. You watched him closely, a flicker of hope dancing within your eyes. Perhaps there was still a chance, a new treatment or some kind of breakthrough medication.

But as the doctor spoke, his words fell like heavy stones, shattering your fragile heart and optimism. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice laced with regret. "But it seems the treatments have stopped working."

Your heart sank like an anchor in your chest. You felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you gasping for breath. Your family's hushed whispers filled the silence, their words a blur as tears clouded your vision. "I-I don't understand," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "What does that mean?"

Your mother's trembling hand reached out to grasp yours, her eyes brimming with tears. "It means we have to consider other options, sweetheart," she said, her voice breaking with emotion.

But you knew what those "other options" meant. It meant more pain, more uncertainty, and the terrifying prospect of saying goodbye. You turned away, burying your face in your pillow as a sob wracked your body.

The doctor spoke with your family and discussed the other options. You listened to his words, but they felt distant, as if they were coming from the end of a long tunnel. You knew what he was saying, and you could grasp the gravity of his words, but you couldn't bring yourself to fully process them.

“What do we think?” he asked, looking at your faces for an answer. 

If you were being honest, a part of you didn’t want to try anymore. You didn’t want any more pain. You were already tired—exhausted, even.

But then you remembered him.

You remembered Peter.

And you remembered how you promised him that you would do everything to survive. You promised that you would keep trying until all was well. 

After a moment of unnerving silence, you spoke. “I think we should do it,” you breathed out, looking up at your parents and your doctor. “The other options… let’s do it,” you smiled weakly.

So, that was what you did. You kept trying.

Peter lightly traced the lines on your hand as you waited for your order. Every now and then, he would look up and gaze at you lovingly. You couldn’t help but chuckle. “What are you doing?” you said, smiling.

“Admiring you,” he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours atop the table.

The smile left your face almost instantly. “Even when there’s nothing left to admire?” you stated sadly.

He immediately frowned at that. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying…”

“Y/N…”

“Peter, I’m not the same as I was. I don’t look like what I used to when you fell in love with me.”

“Stop.”

“No, Peter. I’m pale as snow. I look so sick, I’ve lost my hair. This—” you pointed at your head. “This is just a wig. My real hair is gone—the hair that I know you loved playing with and twirling the ends with your finger. I’ve lost a lot of weight—I don’t have the chubby cheeks you loved to pinch anymore. I-I’m so w-weak,” you sniffed. “Look at me, Pete—I can’t even stand on my own feet anymore. I have to be in a wheelchair.”

A tear fell on Peter’s cheek but he quickly wiped it when he noticed the waiter approaching. You immediately turned your face at the window, pretending to look at the parking lot on the other side so the poor waiter wouldn’t notice the emotional distress you were in.

Peter smiled at the waiter. “On second thought, can we take these out?” he gestured to the food. The waiter smiled in return before picking up your table number and taking the food back to pack it up for the two of you. Peter sadly looked at you as you continued to stare at the window. He heard you sniffing and he cursed himself for not knowing the right words to say at the moment. God, if he only knew how to take this pain away from you, he would do it right this instant.

He thanked the waiter, grabbing the paper bag with one hand and placing his other on your cheek to turn your face to him. He wiped the tears with his thumb before moving his hand to clasp yours. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“To your favorite place.”  

He sat on the bench beside your wheelchair before opening the takeout bag and handing your food to you. The two of you ate in peace while admiring the sight of the beach in front of you, the cool breeze that swept off the ocean instantly finding its way to your bodies.

You remembered this beach. It was where Peter asked you to be his, and it was where you answered him “yes”. You remembered how it was snowing then, and how both of you thought it was weird, but beautiful nonetheless.

Moments after you finished eating and Peter threw the trash in a garbage can that was nearby, he cleaned his hands with an alcohol spray. He then went back to you, knelt down, and held your hand with both of his. “I have an idea.”

“A good one or a bad one?”

“A good one. A very good one.”

There was a glint of excitement in his eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh lightly at him.

“Well then, count me in,” you smiled.

He smirked before standing up and starting to carry you bridal style. 

“Peter—Pete! What are you doing?!”

“Just trust me, okay?”

You looked at him, searching his eye for some kind of clue to what he was planning on doing. Unfortunately, you couldn’t find a clue or anything. “Okay,” you forfeited.

He noticed the slight pout you made and he rolled his eyes jokingly. “You really know how to get me, huh?” he chuckled. “Fine, I’ll tell you what we’re doing,” he said, starting to move his feet towards the beach. “You and I, my love, are going for a walk.”

Peter carried you as he gently walked along the sandy shore, his footsteps leaving imprints that would soon be washed away by the tide. You stared up at him, memorizing his features just like you did every time you would look at him. His hair moved smoothly with the flow of the breeze, his mouth looking perfect as he talked about something you weren’t really paying attention to because you were busy paying attention to his face. And then you wondered how a man as beautiful as him loved you. You smiled, thinking you must’ve done something really good in your life for you to have him.

Seagulls soared overhead, their cries blending with the gentle rustle of the palm trees lining the beach. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air, a poignant backdrop to the bittersweet moment you were having.

Right. This was a bittersweet moment. There was something you haven’t told him yet.

“Pete, can we sit for a moment?” he frowned but did what you asked for nonetheless. He set you down gently on the sand, sitting beside you right after. 

You sat in companionable silence, the only sounds you were focusing on now were the sounds of Peter’s breathing and your heart’s beating. With each beat, you drew closer to the inevitable. You needed to tell him what he deserved to know.

“Pete—”

“Y/N—”

You laughed. “Okay, you go first,” you told him.

He smiled. “You were wrong,” he stated after a moment. 

“I’m confused.”

“You were wrong,” he said again. “You were wrong when you said that there is nothing left to admire about you. You were wrong because there is always something to admire about you. When I look at you, I question myself if you’re even real, because surely a person as perfect as you could not exist. The way you smile at the smallest compliments, the way you tilt your head back when you laugh at something, the way your brows knit together when you’re confused, the way your tongue sticks out sometimes when you’re concentrating—everything about you, big and small, I admire them. And I love them.”

“Surely, there are some imperfections in me,” you said.

“Yes, of course, we all have them. But those imperfections are what makes you perfect.”

“But I don’t look the same as I was before—”

“And I don’t care. Y/N, you are perfect in my eyes. Listen to me, I love you. I don’t care if you lost all your hair, or if you lose your teeth, or if you lose everything you have—I don’t care what else you lose as long as I don’t lose you.”

Oh.

As long as he didn’t lose me.

Your heart should’ve leaped with joy when you heard those words. But instead, it shattered like a plate of glass getting thrown into a wall. You hated this feeling. And you hated the feeling you would soon make Peter feel.

“Peter…” you called his name. “Pete—I love you,” you sniffed. “I love you,” you repeated. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” he nodded, a tear escaping his eyes.

“And because I love you so much… I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“They didn’t work,” you cried.

“What didn’t work? I don’t understand.”

“When my treatments stopped working, my family and I decided to try the other options. Those other options,” your voice broke. “Those options didn’t work either, Peter…”

“W-What does that mean?”

“That means that I’m dying, Peter. And there’s nothing left to stop it.”

“No.”

You held both of his hands when you noticed them shaking.

“It’s inevitable,” you explained, looking at his hands instead of focusing on his face. You couldn’t look at him while he was crying. You couldn't do it. Your heart wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“No no no no no.”

“I love you, Peter.” 

“Y-you can’t—no. Maybe there’s still a chanc—”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you kissed his hands. “I love you.”

“What about our dreams, the future we would have? The family we would make? Y/N…”

“Peter, it’s getting cold,” you whispered. “We should go back.”

“But—please, Y/N. Y-You just can’t…”

“Peter, it’s getting really cold…”

“You can’t just leave me, I don’t think I can live without you. I already lost a lot of people—”

“I love you, Peter,” you repeated.

“I–I can’t lose you too…”

And in one frail movement, everything turned black.

As soon as you opened your eyes, the darkness from your eyelids was changed into the blinding white of the hospital room. To your left were machines that connected to your body, the only reason why you were still breathing. To your right was Peter, sound asleep on his chair while he held your hand in his.

If you were back in here, then that would mean one thing… you didn’t have much time left.

Your face was pale and the once vibrant eyes you had were now dimmed by the weight of your illness. Despite the pain that was evident in your features, there was a peacefulness in your expression. You had come to terms with your fate. 

You could feel it. Death. It wasn’t just at your doorstep, it was already beside you, just waiting for the right moment to touch you and consume you. You supposed you should be thankful, for the heavens did not take you yet.

If it would take you within this week, then so be it. But you hoped it would at least be merciful.

If it would take you today, then so be it. But you hoped it would spare you a chance for one more wish. 

One last wish.

To give you time. 

Not more time to live, but just enough.

Just enough time to say goodbye.

“Peter?” you said, squeezing his hand with all the strength you had left.

He woke up, eyes widening when he realized you were awake.

“You’re awake,” he smiled, you swore you saw his eyes tearing up at the sight of you.

Your features were drawn with pain and fatigue and your body was weakened by the relentless progression of your illness. But despite your frailty, there was a quiet strength in your eyes, a determination to make the most of the time you had left.

“I don’t think I have much time left,” you admitted.

Tears welled up in Peter's eyes as he stood up to lean in and kiss your forehead, his heart breaking at the thought of losing you. He sat back down again, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of love and sorrow. He longed to take away your pain, to make you whole again, but he knew that was beyond his power.

"I'm sorry, Peter," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things could have been different."

He squeezed your hand gently, his heart breaking at the sadness in your voice. "Don't apologize" he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. "You have nothing to be sorry for. We've shared so much love and memories together. Your time may be shorter than what we’ve hoped for, but I’m very lucky and glad that you decided to spend most of it with me."

A small smile played at the corners of your lips and you moved your hand to caress his cheek. "I love you, Peter," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

"I love you too, Y/N," Peter replied, his voice thick with tears. "More than anything in this world."

“My parents?” you asked.

“They’re outside.”

“Can you please call them for me?”

“Of course,” he said, standing up to fetch your parents. He stayed outside the room to give you and your family some privacy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mother immediately ran up to you, stroking both of your cheeks gently with her hands. Your father stood behind her, you could tell by their faces that they’d been crying.

God, you hated seeing them like this.

“Mom, Dad,” you whispered.

“We’re here,” your mother responded, wiping your tears with her thumbs. “We’re right here.”

Your father reached out to hold your hand. “We’re always here.”

“I don’t know w-what to say… I can’t think of words that are nearly enough to express how grateful I am to each of you,” you stated. “Thank you for everything you have done and given me since I was a child. Thank you for reading me bedtime stories when I was little, for bringing me to school and then picking me up when it was done, for cooking my favorite meals, for hugging me when I was sad, for cleaning up my wounds whenever I injured myself while playing, for being there for me through my first relationship, first heartbreak—I am who I am because of you.”

You glanced at your dad only to see him crying, his grip on your hand getting tighter as if trying to see if the tighter he held you the longer you would stay with them. You never saw him cry like this before.

“We love you so much,” he whispered.

“We’re so proud of you,” your mother added.

Your father agreed, nodding. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’re even stronger than me,” he chuckled sadly.

“I love you both so much,” you cried. “I don’t want to leave, but the world has other plans for me… thank you for being the best parents I could ever ask for.”

And there it was.

You could feel death’s hand slowly reach for you. You closed your eyes, it was getting hard to breathe. 

“C-Can you please call Peter?” you breathed out.

With all your might, you opened your eyes again. Peter was now beside you, holding your right hand while both your parents held your left. You stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other as if you could defy fate itself. But you all knew that you couldn’t.

Your breaths came shallow and labored, each one a struggle against the weight of your failing body. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the pain that pulsed through you with every heartbeat. But despite your efforts, you couldn't escape the truth that loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You could see and hear them crying, the grips they had on your hands getting tighter and tighter and tighter… afraid that if they held you loosely then you would slip away sooner.

But that wasn’t how it worked. A tight grip would not save you. There was nothing they could do to change the inevitable.

As the seconds stretched into minutes, your thoughts began to wander, drifting through memories of happier times. You thought of your childhood, filled with laughter and innocence, and of the love you had shared with your family, with your friends, and with Peter.

The memories faded as soon as they came. And then you felt death’s touch linger on your skin, its distance becoming closer to you than you could ever imagine. Like a distant echo growing louder with each passing moment, the realization dawned on you that your time was running out. You tearfully looked around the room, taking in the faces of your loved ones, each one bearing pain and sorrow.

Your strength continued to wane, your body growing weaker with each second. And as you lay there, surrounded by the ones you loved, you found a sense of peace in knowing that you weren't alone.

With a final breath, you closed your eyes. You welcomed death’s touch with a smile, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned you. And as your family and Peter wept beside you, you drifted away, hoping to have left behind a legacy of love and memories that would live on long after you were gone.

7 MONTHS LATER.

Taking a walk along the beach never felt the same anymore. 

Peter concluded that without you beside him, it wasn’t as fun as it used to be. The only fun thing for him, he guessed, was the fact that with each step he walked along the sandy shore, the memories with you played in his head and he would smile as he recounted them. Sometimes, he could even feel your presence somehow.

He ditched his shoes and played with the sand with his feet. It only took him a few minutes before he decided to wear his shoes again and leave the beach.

The next place he decided to visit was the cemetery. He stood across your grave, still not believing that 7 months had passed since you took your final breath. There was not a day that passed when he didn’t miss your presence or longed for your touch. He sat on the grass in front of your tombstone.

“You know…” he started speaking. “Walking along the beach used to be my favorite. After you died and I started doing it again, I wondered why I didn’t like doing it as much as I did before. But now I know why… I realized that it only became my favorite because I was doing it with you.”

He played with the grass with his hands, picking some of them as he tried to hold back his tears. “God, Y/N,  it’s been 7 months and it still hurts the same… I miss you so so much. I miss our walks, our dates—I miss everything about you,” he cried.

“I want to love walking along the beach again, but I know I only loved it in the first place because I was with you,” he continued. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ll do those walks again, at least not now… I don’t know… it’s just, without you, I can’t—”

Something just crawled and bit his hand. “Shit,” he swatted the spider, before facing your grave again.

“Anyway, I just want you to know that I will forever treasure those walks that I did with you,” he smiled weakly but genuinely, wiping his tears. “I will never forget them.” 

Especially that last one.

That last walk.

That was a walk to remember.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx @checo2011

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog @pompeygirl89 @remuslupinsdocs

[mauromance]

A case for Kastle | A way forward (my fan theory)

In the comics, Karen Page’s brutal death at the hands of Bullseye shattered Matt Murdock. But the MCU has a rare opportunity to subvert that fate: what if Karen doesn’t die… but fakes her death?

Instead of a corpse, she leaves behind a carefully orchestrated lie. A final, irreversible act to protect herself and the people she loves. A way to take control of a life that has been defined, over and over again, by other people’s violence.

Karen has been teetering on the edge of darkness since Daredevil Season 1, when she shot James Wesley. As more of her past is revealed—marked by guilt, grief, and survival—we see a woman constantly forced into life-or-death decisions. That history, and her relentless pursuit of truth and justice also makes her a permanent target for Wilson Fisk. To remain Karen Page is to remain vulnerable. And after Born Again opened with the devastating loss of Foggy Nelson, to kill off Karen too would feel like another lazy gut-punch. Just more pain to fuel Matt’s torment. 

But a faked death? That’s not trauma for shock value. That’s character evolution. A conscious choice that preserves Karen’s autonomy, lets her reclaim the narrative and grants her a rare gift in genre storytelling: the chance to walk away from trauma on her own terms.

Karen’s reinvention

After losing Foggy and distancing herself from Matt, Karen relocates to San Francisco, trying to rebuild a life out of the wreckage. But we know, she can’t stay away.

We’ve watched her grow: from a small-town girl with a tragic past, to a murder suspect, to Nelson & Murdock’s moral anchor, to a fearless investigative journalist at the Bulletin. Karen has reinvented herself before. But this would be her boldest reinvention yet. A total reclamation. Killing “Karen Page” allows the woman underneath to finally live.

MCU continuity

The MCU has already built the scaffolding for a story like this. Faked deaths. S.H.I.E.L.D. coverups. Clean slates. If Frank Castle can be given a second life, why not Karen? This opens the door for powerful storytelling while honouring the existing gritty, grounded, and emotionally complex tone of Daredevil and The Punisher. 

It also offers other character threads to be woven: Dinah Madani, David Leiberman, and more. A storyline where Karen fakes her death could organically pull some of those characters back in for final, meaningful resolutions without stretching plausibility.

Matt’s path forward

Karen’s "death" would devastate Matt, but it would also liberate him. It carries the emotional weight of her comic death, but with a quieter, more tragic finality. She’s not taken from him. She chooses to go. And in many ways, that choice might be even harder to bear.

But narratively, Daredevil is designed to endure. In the comics, he has loved and lost many times, and within the current state of the MCU has several romantic avenues to explore (Elektra, Kirsten McDuffie, She-Hulk, the list goes on). His romantic arc can evolve without being forced to erase or overwrite what he had with Karen.

And let’s be honest—the MCU rarely lets its heroes keep their great loves. From Star-Lord to Doctor Strange to Peter Parker, romance is often sacrificed on the altar of serialized storytelling. If Daredevil is here to stay (which it appears he is), a respectful, mature close to Matt and Karen’s chapter, one where she gets to decide when it ends, feels like the right choice.

How this ties into the Kastle ship

Frank Castle is nearing the end of his war. His body is breaking down—Born Again hints at his dependence on painkillers. His mission is losing meaning—everyone involved in the murder of his family is already dead. His grief has calcified into something quieter, heavier, more remorseful. “Look what it got me,” he tells Matt. One thread remains unresolved: his feelings for Karen.

Bullseye’s return forces a reckoning. And this time, Frank isn’t choosing between revenge and survival. He’s choosing between vengeance… and love.

In Born Again, Frank only springs into action when Karen calls on him—an unmistakable sign of his feelings for her. After their subtextually loaded moment together, their connection is further confirmed in a quiet conversation between Matt and Karen. Later, Frank is shown listening to radio chatter, monitoring the Punisher copycats. But he’s not tracking them for sport or ego. He’s listening for mentions of her. And when he hears them mention “the blonde”, and “hunting”, he moves. Because this isn't about his legacy. He couldn’t care less about that. What he cares about is protecting Karen. 

If Karen were to fake her death, it would become a natural out for Frank as well. He could finally walk away from the Punisher—not in defeat, but in purpose. He becomes her shadow. Her shield. Because let’s be honest: Karen Page, even under a new name in a new place, will still be chasing truth. Still investigating. Still lighting fires. And when things get too close, she’ll need someone who can keep her safe. Frank can give her that. And she’ll give him what he needs, too. Connection. Stability. Family.

It’s the most fitting conclusion to the slowest burn in MCU history. Not explosive. Not dramatic. Just a quiet, earned escape.

Why Kastle works

The Kastle dynamic fits perfectly because it’s not about saving each other. It’s about understanding each other. Reflecting each other. Becoming something whole, together.

Frank facing mortality: Karen represents his last chance at something more than violence.

Karen choosing agency: Faking her death isn’t surrender, it’s a declaration of autonomy.

A poetic reversal: Frank lost his family to violence. Karen refuses to be lost in the same way.

And unlike Matt, whose romantic arc resets and reboots, Frank’s emotional world is singular. Monastic. If Karen is the only person who ever made him believe peace might be possible after the tragedy of his family’s murder, then her survival becomes the final thread anchoring him to life.

A fitting farewell

This twist respects the comics’ emotional beats but refuses to fridge Karen Page. Her “death” marks the end of a chapter, not a life. It allows Matt to grieve, Frank to grow, and Karen to finally, fully reclaim herself.

And most importantly, it understands a hard truth: in the MCU, happy endings are rarely loud. Sometimes, they’re quiet. Fragile. Earned. For Karen and Frank, that ending doesn’t lie in a grave. It’s somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away from Hell’s Kitchen. 

A sunrise. A new name. A chance to be born again. 

--

Want to dive deeper? 

Coffee in the MCU

Why Karen and Frank are end game

Kastle scene breakdowns: The subtext you missed [WIP]

--

Published: April 23, 2025

Last edited: April 23, 2025

[alvfr]

you asked for it! im forcing you!

how about a scenario on that particular AU you have cooking around? between nightwing and a spiderperson that is marooned in the black and white gotham city

we love to see it

posting this like you haven't already read all of it >.< a/n: the funniest jokes are princess-marida's and she is a blessed saint that endures my long ramblings about wips, including this one. i know it says a scenario, but this turned into a longer project (shocker) so here's the first part of chapter 1 (eventual) paring: dick grayson/reader rating: m (swearing)/sfw cw: spider-woman!reader who never stops talking, no use of y/n, superhero violence summary: for years, you have been the one and only Spider-Woman of your world. However, after being recruited to the multiversal Spider-Society, you learn that there's a version of you in every other universe too.At least that's what you thought until something goes wrong and you end up in a world with plenty of superheroes, but no Spider-Man. You're stranded, alone and glitching. You need to find this world's Spider-Man and restore your link to the Spider-Verse before you disintegrate completely - easier said than done with both a local detective and a hot vigilante on your tail.

Out of the Spider-Verse (and into Gotham)

All right, guys. Let’s start at the beginning one last time. 

Your name is definitely not Peter Parker, but you were bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last few years, you’ve been the one and only Spider-Woman. At least, you thought you were until another Spider-Woman showed up to recruit you to the multiversal Spider-Society and you realized you were one of many, many, many Spider-things from all kinds of universes. It was a sweet gig, getting you out and about some, meeting new people, doing team-ups and group work, and your leader was a decent enough guy. A little intense. Borderline scary. Easy on the eyes though. Really easy on the eyes.

And one day, you’re hanging out at the headquarters minding your own business, totally not gossipping about boss-man, when the order comes to capture one of your fellow Spider-Men. Next thing you know, you’re caught up in the whirlwind of Spider-Beings chasing after someone called Miles Morales, and somehow, in the chaos, you slip.

A fluke, really. You never slip. You’re Spider-Woman! You literally stick to walls and ceilings, and somehow, you lost your footing and took a tumble into darkness. 

Real darkness. Where bright flashing lights and psychedelic colors had accompanied you all the other times you hopped through dimensions, this time, you fell into a black pit of nothing. Reflexes had you shooting out webs, desperate to get an anchor point. They disappeared into the void with an embarrassing swish, and you did not even have time to scream before you smacked into something undeniably solid.

Concrete, probably, based on the cloud of debris and dust that rained over you as your body dug several feet into it, knocking every cubic inch of air from your lungs with an oof. Yup, you determined as you lifted your now gray arms to study them. Definitely concrete. You dropped your head back into the rubble and made a face under your mask. Concrete dust was a real bitch to get out of the suit, and you would be forced to cosplay as whitewashed Noir Spider-Man until you could get it dry-cleaned. 

Read more on AO3

[cornyonmains]

I really think we're seeing a very clear path laid out for how Deadpool is going to be integrated into the MCU via Deadpool and Wolverine, and here's why.

If you subscribe to the theory that Peter Parker is the anchor being, then it's important to recognize that Peter is completely adrift, without family, friends, or guidance, trying to survive as a teenage renter in NYC. He's going to be isolated and struggling right as Doom, who's likely to be a Tony Stark variant, enters the scene. The emotional conflict writes itself.

I could see the TVA setting Wade and Logan in Spider-Man's path. Bizarrely enough, Wade would likely have a somewhat positive impact on Peter, because Deadpool, unlike any other adult character in the MCU, respects the absolute fuck out of Spider-Man. This would be something Peter really needs to hear at a time when he thinks his moral code took away everyone he loved.

Logan, he's more of a wildcard for me, but he's likely the key to getting mutants into the sacred timeline. I have this tinfoil hat theory introducing Logan and Spider-Man might be important, because Spider-Man might end up coming to him later on down the road if he starts mutating, which could compel Wade to get him into the timeline with mutants for help from Professor X. Also, I don't think the writers would want to miss a chance to introduce Logan to another character whose mouth runs as much as Wade. Comedy gold.

If Loki wanted to merge the timelines, an anchor being, a mutant, and a man who was enlightened with such knowledges of his universe it drove him to homicidal dimension hopping madness would definitely be one way of doing it. The ingredients are there, but R-Rated properties are uncharted territory in the MCU. If Disney was doing well right now, I wouldn't even consider this a possibility, but they're getting desperate, and that motivates change.

Guess we'll see. All I know is I am not paying top dollar to go see a PG-13 movie at almost 40 years old. The Ren Fair runs 2 months in my state every summer. You want me in a movie theatre instead, then I demand sin.

[rodolfoparras]

Finish line

Peter B. Parker x Top Male Reader

Synopsis: in which Peter learns that a little bit of encouragement goes a long way

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, riding

Peter’s perched on your lap, limbs aching as he moves his hips at an erratic pace and with a vice-like grip on his cock as he desperately tries to reach his climax. Despite his efforts, he can’t seem to make himself finish, having long become desensitized to his own touch, with every nerve in his body begging him to stop moving.

“Peter” you say trying to get his attention but he doesn’t seem to hear as he persistently keeps on moving his hips.

“Peter” you try again and that catches his attention. Your one hand anchors itself to his hip, the other finds its way to his cheek, tone ever so soft as you say to him “slow down for me?”

He almost protests, still moving at an erratic pace but eventually slows down and slumps into your embrace “Fuck I can’t - I can’t cum- not like this- please can you- “ he mutters into your shoulder, clearly exhausted and exasperated with his failing efforts.

“Hey hey hey, easy there” you say, slightly pushing at his chest to get a better look at his face. “You wanted this, remember?” Your words lack any bite, only serving as a reminder of what he wanted earlier that night.

“yes but-“ he says, eyes wide and tone urgent as he grabs ahold of your shoulders.

You shake your head as you brush some hair away from his forehead.

“You can do this without my help, love. I know you can” you say with a small smile on your face before your hand drops back to his hip and you gently adjust yourself on top of the sheets.“Now go slow for me, yeah?”

Peter takes a shaky breath and nods his head as he slowly start rolling his hips again.

“Ah- ah fuck” Peter groans out as resumes his movements.

“Good? You ask as you tighten your hold on his hips, trying to suppress the urge to buck up into him.

“Yeah” he says through labored breathes, working himself up your cock only to push himself back down again“just - ngh- just don’t think I can come like this”

“You can and you will, keep going” you say through gritted teeth, blunt nails sinking into the supple skin of his hips.

He hisses at that, body wincing at your rough touch but does as you say.

His body is slick with sweat, thighs quivering and hair sticking in all different directions and his moves become much more pronounced as he picks up his pace.

“That’s it” you grunt out as your hand caresses his waist “Doing so well for me, Peter”

“Yeah? I’m being good?” Peter mewls, back arching up as he gets the angle just right.

“So so good baby” you praise, surpressing your own moans of pleasure as he continues moving at a steady pace.

He preens at your praise as his hands adjust their position on your shoulders.

“Want to be good- want to be good for you” he blabbers, eyes squeezing shut as he continues to roll his hips.

Peter’s cock is flushed an angry red, and it weeps as it continually slaps continuously against his soft abdomen. Just as he’s about to wrap a hand around it to give it some relief you grab ahold of his wrist.

“Not yet alright?” you say as you intertwine your hand with his and bring it to your lips.

“Alright, alright, okay” He says under a shaky breath as he lowers his hand back again, adjusting it slightly for better leverage.

What started as a steady pace turns into a frenzied mess and the sound of skin slapping together mingles with the sound of his whimpers.

“Just like that” you praise, sounding short of breath as your hand caresses his stomach before sneaking up to his chest, rolling his nipple between your thumb and index finger.

“Oh fuck oh fuck” He cries out, body shuddering at your touch.

“Now touch yourself, pretty“ Peter nods at that, more than eager to fulfill your request as he takes his dick into his hand and starts stroking himself.

You can tell he’s close with the way his chest is rising and falling at a rapid pace, thighs jiggling as his movements become much more erratic and precum leaking all over his fist as he keeps on stroking himself.

“I think- I think-“ he stutters out, eyes squeezing shut and head tipping back.

“That’s it. You can do this without my help love, I know you can” you say under a shaky breath and just as you say that you hear him cry out before his head falls onto your shoulder and ropes of cum spurt all over your abandonment.

Despite the noticeable exhaustion on his body and face he readjusts himself and keeps on moving his hips.

“Please please - need you -need you to cum as well” he says through labored breaths.

“You gonna make me come pretty hm?” You say with a small smile on your face, feeling heat coiling in your groin.

“Yes yes yes” he says, eyes half lidded and mouth agape.

Just the sight of that accompanied with his pleading tone, is all it takes for you to start unraveling, shouting his name and spilling deep inside him.

No words are exchanged as you take a minute to catch your breath, but when you do speak the first thing you say is “told you that you could do it”

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

i'll always be here for you

pair: tom!Peter Parker x reader summery: y/n(she/her) has a panic attack because she was attacked by a villan, but spider-man saved her and brought her home and after spider man left, peter arrived like 2 minutes later and comforted her

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The adrenaline was still pumping through your veins as you stumbled into your apartment, your hands trembling uncontrollably. You barely registered the sound of your front door clicking shut behind you. The events of the last half hour were a blur—an ordinary evening walk home had turned into a nightmare when you were suddenly cornered by a villain who seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

The villain had been terrifying, radiating a dark energy that froze your blood. You had been utterly helpless, paralyzed by fear. But then, just as the panic threatened to overwhelm you, Spider-Man had appeared, swinging in with the kind of precise, effortless heroism that only he could pull off. The battle between Spider-Man and the villain had been intense, but brief, and Spider-Man had ultimately subdued the threat before swiftly escorting you home.

Now, the weight of everything that had happened finally crashed down on you. Alone in your apartment, the reality of how close you'd come to being seriously hurt—or worse—hit you like a tidal wave. Your chest tightened, your breathing became shallow and ragged, and tears welled up in your eyes. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as a full-blown panic attack took hold.

The air around you felt thick, almost suffocating. It was hard to draw a breath, and your thoughts spiraled out of control. The memory of the villain's menacing grin, the fear, the helplessness—it all replayed in your mind in an endless loop. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything else, anything at all that could distract you from the terror gripping your heart. But nothing worked. You felt so small, so vulnerable, and so utterly alone.

Suddenly, there was a knock at your door—three quick, urgent taps. You barely had the strength to lift your head, but somehow, you managed to stand and shuffle toward the door, your legs feeling like jelly. You hesitated for a second before opening it, fearing the worst, but when the door swung open, Peter Parker stood there, looking breathless and worried.

"Y/N!" Peter gasped, stepping inside before you could fully process his presence. He gently took hold of your arms, his warm hands a grounding force against your cold skin. "Are you okay? I— I heard something happened.

"You blinked up at him, confused and still trembling. How did Peter get here so fast? How did he even know? You hadn’t told anyone about the attack, but the questions swirling in your mind were drowned out by the sheer relief of seeing him.

Peter’s eyes softened as he took in your disheveled state, and without another word, he pulled you into a tight embrace. The familiar scent of him, the comforting feel of his arms wrapped around you, provided an anchor you desperately needed.

"It's okay, I've got you," Peter whispered, his voice gentle and soothing, as he slowly guided you back to the couch. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, but his focus was entirely on you.

The comfort of his embrace made the tears you’d been holding back finally spill over. You buried your face in his chest, your body shaking as sobs wracked through you. Peter didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I was so scared, Peter,” you choked out between sobs. “I thought…I thought I was going to die.”

“You’re safe now,” Peter murmured, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

For a long while, you just cried into his chest, letting out all the fear and panic that had been building up inside you. And Peter was there with you through it all, a solid presence that you clung to like a lifeline.

Eventually, your sobs subsided, and you pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Peter’s face was so close to yours, his expression a mix of concern and something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“How did you know?” you finally asked, your voice small and fragile. “How did you know something happened?”

Peter stiffened slightly, but he quickly masked it with a small, reassuring smile. “I—uh, I was just nearby,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. “I was walking around when I heard people talking about Spider-Man saving someone. I—I figured it might be you, so I ran over.”

It was a plausible explanation, but there was something about the way Peter said it, the way he was avoiding eye contact, that made you suspect there was more to the story. But you were too exhausted, too emotionally drained, to push the issue. All that mattered was that Peter was here, and that you were safe.

“Thank you,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel him relax slightly at the gesture.

“For what?” Peter asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“For being here. For making me feel safe.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and he leaned into your touch, closing the small distance between you to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. Always.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest as his arms wrapped around you once more. The sound of his heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing you needed to hear to know that everything was going to be okay.

[gunsandspaceships]

Secret Wars

Here's an idea:

Marvel will assemble their three main anchor beings to save the Multiverse in Secret Wars.

This makes me think that the announcement that RDJ will be playing Doctor Doom is a ploy to hide his real role.

[hellojusthereforabit-blog]

Past Lives Pt. 1.5 - Bucky Barnes.

Ft. Sam Wilson, Peter Parker, and Natasha Romanoff.

"I can't do this, doll, I'm sorry."

"You with me, Y/N?" Sam bended to be eye-level with me.

"What?" I asked, brows furrowing in what I'm sure is a developing wrinkle.

Sam sighed, shaking his head and moving back to the drawing board, where an intricate capture-seize-and-return-to-current-time-line plan was etched.

There's no excuse. I was slipping. I was being unreliable. I could not be trusted with this mission.

"Can I trust you with this mission, Y/N?" Sam's voice was grave, devoid of its usual playful warmth.

No. "Yes." I replied, hoping my face did not betray just how out of my depth I truly was.

What was I thinking agreeing to a mission like this? Maybe Bucky was right. Maybe I did this just to twist the knife. I knew something was truly wrong with me when the idea of Bucky being sick with anxiety over me seemed attractive.

He hurt you, I reminded myself. As if this made it any more justifiable.

"I have the kid." Bucky's booming voice echoed through the compound walls as he approached the conference room.

Speak of the devil.

"Hey!" quipped Peter Parker, alias: Spiderman, from behind Bucky. "You do not have me, Mr. Winter Solider Sir, I came here willingly."

"Pipsqueak" muttered Sam from beside me.

I barely concealed my own laugh in time for Bucky to hit Peter with the infamous "don't call me that." line.

Peter's eyes zeroed in on me and his smile got impossibly wider.

"Y/N!" He seemed to jump in place, "Oh my God! It's so good to see you!"

I welcomed Peter's embrace, relishing in the confusion of the two men behind me.

"Back at you, kiddo."

"You two know each other?" asked Bucky with what seemed to be true disgust.

"Sure we do," I said, patting Peter on the back, "As far as anyone's concerned, this is my avenger-little-brother." I winked at Peter as we pulled away.

Something sobered in the room at the mention of my family. We were all un-kindly reminded of what was at steak here.

"Alright then, Spider," said Sam, back in Captain America mode. "Tell us how it happened."

--

"Reports of more than a dozen killed, and fifty more injured in the area. No group has yet claimed responsibility, but we urge anyone with any knowledge of this to get in contact with the local auth-"

"They weren't all civilians, y'know ." A silky-smooth voice spoke from behind me, interrupting the news anchor.

Shoot first, ask questions later.

Red hair and amused green eyes stared back at me from behind the barrel of my gun.

"Jesus, Nat!" I holstered the gun back to my side. "Don't you ever knock?"

"Why, so you can ignore me again?" she replied knowingly.

Natasha Romanoff, The Black Widow, was raiding my shelves for- whatever it was she was looking for. Having found a half-eaten bucket of ice-cream, she plopped down on my couch and shut the TV off.

"You should really stop watching the news, too depressing." she reasoned, licking the spoon clean off ice-cream.

Resigned to the situation, I dropped to the floor.

The silence in the apartment was short-lived.

I poked Nat's leg and looked up at her.

"I'm sorry about - all the ignoring stuff." It was a lame apology, but Nat deserved one, at least.

She stayed silent, clearly waiting for me to go on.

"It's just-" I started, unable to find the words. She hummed in response.

God, I was so grateful to have a friend like Nat, though you would have never caught me saying that.

I hope she knew.

"Ever since everyone was blipped," I tried again, only half-aware of Nat's leg freezing in place beside me. "I keep seeing them. Him." I breathed out.

"Bucky?" she asked, her demeanor quieter, more real.

I nodded and tried to keep going.

"He never even knew - I never even told him." I shuddered at the thought of what I was about to say next. "He died thinking no one loved him, Nat."

I felt a steady hand grip my shoulder.

"He knew he had a friend in you, Y/N," she said, ever the voice of reason.

But I was beyond reason then, gasping for breath.

"No," my voice cracked. Weak, like the rest of me. "Not like this."

I paused, collected my thoughts.

Out with it.

"Everytime something happens, the first person I want to tell is Bucky. His voicemail is probably barely functional from how many messages I left. But he's gone. They're all gone. I don't see a point in waking up every morning, I don't run, I don't train, I don't eat, Nat-"

I felt a thud beside me on the floor and a pair of strong arms hold me tight. Capable fingers pressed against my back until I was a sobbing mess in the lap of the deadliest assassin in the world.

I only grasped the faintest string of some Russian lullaby through the sounds of my own misery.

--

"Agent!" Sam's commanding voice echoes through the room, ricocheting off the walls and piercing my eardrums. "Copy on the plan or do we need to go through this a third time?" He asks, no mirth in that lovely face of his.

"I copy."

-

Hey guys, I promise the part with 40s Bucky is coming soon. It just feels right to add a little bit of depth to the story. Please let me know your thoughts! Your support from the previous part was incredible. Thank you and see you soon!

[youre-amazing-say-it]

The Questions We Answer

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC, Tony Stark x OC, Avengers (Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes) x OC, OC's mom

Warning: CPS interview, Panic attack, friendship breakup, Emotional Abuse, OC's mom being a bitch, Avengers hating OC's mom (rightfully so)

Word Count: 2.9k

Carrie traced the curves of derivatives on her calculus worksheet, the rhythmic scratching of her pencil a fragile barrier against the throbbing bruise under her concealer and the deeper ache in her ribs. A sudden hush fell over the classroom as the office called her name. Every head turned, their gaze a silent weight on her back as she rose. "Take your things, Carrie," Mrs. Chen instructed, her voice unusually gentle. "This might take a while."

A knot of dread tightened in Carrie’s stomach. Take her things? Had something happened to her mom? Or worse, had someone finally noticed the carefully hidden evidence of her life behind closed doors? The walk to the office stretched into an eternity, each step a conscious effort to maintain the practiced composure that had become second nature. Chin up. Smile. Never let them see weakness. Her mother's words echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the stakes. "If they think something's wrong, they'll try to take you away from me."

The office secretary directed her to a small, unfamiliar conference room. Inside, two women waited: one in a crisp police uniform, the other in business attire, a folder and notebook open before her. Carrie's pulse hammered against her ribs.

"Hi, Carrie," the woman with the notebook began. "I'm Sarah from Child Protective Services. This is Officer Adams. We'd like to talk to you for a bit, if that's okay?" A wave of dizziness washed over Carrie, but she forced a steady smile. "Of course." She sat, placing her bag carefully beside her, a small anchor in the swirling uncertainty.

"We received a report expressing some concerns about your home situation," Sarah explained gently. Carrie's mind raced. Who? The image of Peter’s pale face when her name was called flashed through her memory. “There must be some mistake,” she said, her smile widening, a practiced mask. “Everything’s fine at home.”

Sarah opened the folder. “Can you tell me about what happened to your eye?” Carrie touched the bruise lightly, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, this? I hit it on a cabinet.”

“Carrie,” Sarah’s voice hardened, the gentle facade dissolving. “We have records from Boston. The broken wrist. The concussion. The ribs.” The carefully constructed walls of Carrie’s composure began to crumble. “Those were accidents,” she insisted, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“Were they?” Sarah’s question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusation. Carrie hesitated. “My mom works really hard. She’s just… stressed sometimes. She doesn’t mean to—” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she froze, the implications of her confession settling like a stone in her gut. “Doesn’t mean to what, Carrie?”

Across the hall, Peter fidgeted in his calculus class, his gaze fixed on Carrie's empty seat. He knew what was unfolding in that conference room, the questions being asked, the carefully crafted lies Carrie would be telling. Guilt gnawed at him. He should have warned her, prepared her somehow. When the bell finally rang, he bolted, his mind a whirlwind of anxiety. Would she know it was him?

As he left the classroom, Ned’s voice stopped him. “Peter? You okay? You look like you’re about to throw up.” But Peter’s attention was riveted on Carrie, who burst from the office, her usual controlled facade shattered, replaced by raw panic. He caught a glimpse of her ashen face, her trembling hands, before she disappeared into the debate room. “I gotta go,” he muttered to Ned. “Cover for me in English?”

He found her huddled in the corner behind the podium, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Carrie?” he whispered, but she flinched away. “Go away.” “You’re having a panic attack,” he said, moving closer. “Try to breathe with me. In for four counts—”

“I said go away!” she snapped, her body shaking uncontrollably. He sat a few feet away, refusing to leave her alone. “Just focus on breathing. In… out…”

“They’re going to take me away,” she whispered, her voice thick with terror. “I can’t go into foster care. Or a group home. It’ll be worse.” Peter’s heart ached for her. “That won’t happen,” he said firmly, though he couldn't be certain.

“How do you know?” She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. “How could you possibly—” Then, a flicker of understanding dawned in her eyes. “You knew they were coming. When they called my name… you knew.”

His silence was confirmation enough.

“It was you,” she whispered, her voice raw with betrayal. “You reported me.”

“Carrie, I was—” he stammered, trying to explain.

“Don’t,” she cut him off, her voice laced with venom. “Don’t pretend you were trying to help.”

“I was! I saw what happened with your mom yesterday—”

“You followed us?” The accusation hit him like a physical blow. “You had no right to spy on me! To report me! To ruin everything—”

“She was hurting you!” he cried, desperation edging into his voice.

“You don’t understand anything!” Tears streamed down her face. “She’s all I have. Now they’ll take me away and put me with strangers who won’t care about me. You made everything worse. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Carrie, please—”

She shook her head, her eyes filled with a chilling coldness. “Stay away from me, Peter. Just… stay away.” She snatched her bag and stormed out, the slam of the door echoing in the sudden silence. Peter sat alone in the debate room, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He had done what he thought was right, but at what cost?

The air in Mr. Rodriguez’s engineering classroom crackled with anticipation as students paired up for the semester-long community conservation project. Peter couldn’t focus, his gaze constantly drawn to Carrie. When Mr. Rodriguez announced, “Partnerships are non-negotiable,” a wave of anxiety washed over him. “Adams and Matthews, Parker and Mitchell, and Ross and Lewis.”

Carrie stiffened as Peter approached. She met his gaze, her expression carefully neutral. "We’ll divide the project into sections," she said briskly, unfurling a meticulously color-coded planning sheet. "I'll handle the research, you can do the presentation.”

“Carrie, can—” he began, but she cut him off.

“We’ll only talk about the project. Nothing else.”

He understood. This was her way of protecting herself. “Okay.”

As class ended, Peter approached Carrie again. "Stark Tower has incredible resources for sustainable energy research. Maybe you could come over?" He kept his voice casual, but he saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. He knew asking her mom would be a minefield. “We don’t have to. We could work at the library. Or my place. Or—”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’ll ask my mom.”

He blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“It’s just a school project, right?” She nodded, then turned and walked out to make the call.

Peter watched her go, a sliver of hope kindling in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to work through this.

The elevator ride to the common room at Stark Tower felt interminable. Carrie twisted the strap of her backpack, her carefully constructed composure beginning to fray. Peter nudged her gently. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

The elevator doors opened, and Tony Stark looked up from the couch, a playful smirk on his face. “Tony Stark – but you probably gathered that from the giant building with my name on it.”

Carrie’s eyes widened, her nervousness momentarily forgotten. “I know! I loved your sustainable nanotechnology project from last year’s clean energy conference! The way you reconfigured the photovoltaic cells was brilliant!”

Tony chuckled. “Finally, someone who speaks my language.”

Just then, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Bucky Barnes entered, still in their workout gear. Tony gestured towards Carrie with a flourish. “Meet our new genius-in-training. Peter’s science partner, and apparently the only teenager who actually reads my research papers.”

Carrie’s gaze snagged on Bucky’s metal arm before she could stop herself. “The neural interface integration is incredible,” she blurted out, her inner engineer overriding her shyness. “Especially how Wakanda solved the synaptic response lag in the fingertip sensors.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose. “Most people just ask if it hurts.”

“She’s worse than Peter with the science talk,” Tony stage-whispered to Steve, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Steve smiled warmly at Carrie. “Always good to have another bright mind around here. Lord knows we need someone to keep up with Tony’s rambling.”

“And someone to keep Peter out of trouble,” Natasha added with a knowing smirk.

Tony clapped his hands together. “Alright, wonder twins, why don’t you head down to the lab? FRIDAY will get you set up.” His tone was light, but Peter caught the underlying dismissal. He nudged Carrie toward the elevator, sensing a sudden shift in the room’s energy.

As soon as the doors closed, Tony’s expression hardened. “FRIDAY, privacy mode.” He swiped his hand, summoning a holographic display. “Remember that thing Peter noticed about his science partner? Yeah, it’s worse than we thought.”

“The case Peter flagged?” Steve asked, stepping closer.

“Carrie Mitchell,” Tony confirmed, scrolling through medical records. “Sixteen. Honor roll. And a string of suspicious accidents that somehow always happened when mommy dearest was having a bad day.”

Natasha pushed off the wall, her brow furrowed. “Define suspicious.”

“Three broken bones in Boston. Two concussions.” Tony’s voice was flat, each word laced with disgust. “Mother dearest had a perfectly reasonable explanation for every single one. Kid’s just ‘clumsy,’ apparently.”

Bucky shifted, his expression grim. “Some people shouldn’t be parents.”

Steve’s eyes were glued to the medical records. “She’s got a mind like yours, Tony. That kind of spark…” He trailed off, the unspoken concern hanging heavy in the air.

Tony’s jaw tightened. “We’re monitoring the situation. Making sure she stays safe. That’s the priority right now.”

“If you need anything…” Steve began.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, already moving towards the lab, his mind racing with possibilities. “I know where to find you.”

Down in the lab, Carrie manipulated a holographic city model, her voice animated as she explained her calculations. "If we modify the power grid here, we could cut municipal energy waste by 22%."

Peter leaned in, impressed. "And that's why you're the genius."

Tony watched from the doorway, a familiar ache in his chest. He'd seen that spark before – in his own reflection, in Peter’s eyes, in every kid who found solace and safety in science. He wouldn't let anyone extinguish it.

Later, in the common room, laughter mingled with the rhythmic thud of Steve’s knife against a cutting board. The comfortable domesticity shattered when the elevator dinged, followed by the sharp click of Anne Mitchell’s heels.

“Carrie, sweetie,” Anne’s voice cut through the air, making Carrie visibly tense. Her hand trembled as she set down her water glass.

“Mom! I thought you wanted me home by 5:30?” She tried to keep her voice light, but a tremor of anxiety betrayed her. The room fell silent. Steve stopped chopping vegetables. Natasha’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Well, if you were looking at your phone instead of talking,” Anne said, her voice saccharine with a sharp edge, “you’d know I need you home right now. Please get your things.”

“Yes, Mom. Sorry,” Carrie mumbled, her shoulders hunching as she hurried to obey. Anne turned to Peter, a brittle smile plastered on her face. “I hope she wasn’t distracting you. She has a hard time focusing.”

Tony straightened, his casual posture replaced by something more deliberate. “Actually, the wonder twins are just wrapping up. Even future Nobel Prize winners need dinner breaks.” His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Anne’s lips thinned. “Well, let’s hope she can maintain this… enthusiasm in her actual coursework.”

Carrie reappeared at her mother’s side, her shoulders tense. “Ready, Mom,” she whispered.

Anne’s hand shot out, gripping Carrie’s arm with unnerving force. “Sweetheart, how many times have I told you not to stain that sweatshirt?” she hissed, her eyes fixed on a small chocolate smudge.

“Mom, I’m sorry! Peter and I were eating and—”

“Don’t worry, dear. It’ll come out. With some effort.” The words were gentle, but the underlying threat was unmistakable.

Carrie pasted a bright smile on her face. “Thank you for having me, Mr. Stark,” she said, glancing at Peter. “I hope I can come back soon.”

Peter returned her smile, his heart heavy with a mixture of hope and dread.

As they turned to leave, Tony’s voice rang out. “Carrie, how about you and your mother join us for dinner tomorrow?” He turned to Anne, his media-ready charm in full force. “Though I must say, Mrs. Mitchell, I’m having trouble believing you’re old enough to have a teenage daughter.”

Anne preened, a flush rising in her cheeks. “We’d love to.” The elevator doors closed on her lingering smile.

The team stared at Tony in disbelief.

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “Like none of you have ever flirted your way through a mission before.” He shot a pointed look at Natasha, who simply shrugged.

“You’re playing with fire, Stark,” Bucky said, his voice dangerously quiet. “People like that mother? They snap. Hard.”

Steve stepped forward, arms crossed. “Tony, what’s your actual plan here? Because if you’re betting everything on your charm—”

“Give the kid an internship,” Tony interrupted, setting down Carrie’s water glass with a decisive click. “Here. Safe space, away from home. Simple.”

“She wouldn’t let Carrie stay three hours for a project,” Natasha pointed out. “What makes you think she’ll agree to an internship?”

Tony leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the table. “That’s the thing – Anne wants her daughter safe and protected, right? Well, what’s safer than an internship at Stark Industries? With me keeping an eye on things?”

Peter fidgeted, uncharacteristically silent. Then, he blurted out, “Mr. Stark, what if we can’t help her? What if she has to keep living with…” his voice cracked, “with someone like that?”

Tony’s eyes softened. “Just say what you’re thinking, kid.”

“She’s horrible!” Peter exploded, his hands clenching into fists. “She’s just… she’s awful!”

Steve and Natasha exchanged a look. They’d never seen Peter this angry.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, kid,” Tony said, running a hand through his hair. “But we’re not letting that happen. We’ll figure something—”

“I apologize for the interruption, sir,” FRIDAY’s voice cut through the tension. “But you might want to hear the conversation that just occurred in elevator B.”

“Play it,” they said in unison.

Anne’s voice filled the room, cold and venomous. “Look at yourself,” she hissed, followed by the sound of fabric being yanked. “Chocolate stains everywhere. You’re absolutely repulsive. I can’t believe they’re letting me drag you along tomorrow.”

“Mr. Stark invited us both,” Carrie’s small voice replied.

Anne’s laugh was like shards of glass. “Oh, sweetheart. You really think a man like Tony Stark has any interest in your little science projects? He clearly sees something in me. You’re just…” a dismissive pause, “…baggage I have to bring along.” Her voice shifted, dripping with false affection. “But that’s why you’re lucky to have me, isn’t it? I’m the only one who truly understands you. The only one who will always be there, no matter how many times you disappoint me.”

The recording ended, the silence in the common room thick with unspoken fury. Bucky’s metal arm whirred softly as he adjusted it, a barely perceptible tremor running through him. Steve’s hand clamped down on his wrist. “Buck. Not like this.”

Bucky’s voice was glacial. “Then how, Steve? We just sit here and listen to that?”

Natasha’s voice, though calm, held a steely edge. “We do this right. Smart. Clean. So she never touches Carrie again.”

Peter’s hands shook so violently he could barely form a fist. “Mr. Stark, we can’t send her back there.”

Tony cut him off, his voice sharp. “We won’t. Tomorrow, we will start getting her out. Properly. Legally.” He raked a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in the gesture.

Natasha’s gaze was fixed on her phone, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency. “Already on it. I’ve got someone who can help.”

Steve looked up, surprised. “Since when?”

Natasha’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Since always, Rogers. You just never ask.”

Bucky’s metal fingers flexed, the whirring sound returning, louder this time. “I’ll be in the gym.”

Tony glanced up, his eyes meeting Bucky’s. A grim understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the rage and protectiveness simmering beneath the surface. "Work some of that out," Tony said quietly, his voice laced with steel that mirrored Bucky's own.

“Something like that,” Bucky murmured, the unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air. He turned and left, the quiet click of the gym door closing behind him a stark counterpoint to the fury he carried within.

The remaining team members sat in silence, the weight of Anne's cruelty pressing down on them. Peter, his youthful optimism shaken, looked at Tony, a question in his eyes.

Tony met his gaze, his expression resolute. "We'll get her out, kid," he said, his voice low and steady. "We'll make sure she's safe."

Part 3: The Truth We Unvile

[reidslovely]

If Your Love is in Trouble (Part One)

"If you're asking yourself, "How do you know?" Then that's your answer" Lana Del Rey, Margaret

Playlist here.

Authors Note: Yes, I am starting another series. Maybe I'll actually finish this one. This was born after playing Spider-Man 2, and I have no explanation for it, I just really wanted an excuse to write this. I know many people aren't into love triangles and that's cool. I still hope you guys read and enjoy because it will predominantly be Peter/Reader.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader x Harry Osborn

Content Warning: Slight mentions of suicidal ideation, couple swear words, pretty tame for the most part right now. Few mentions of a old hair color reader had.

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

“I can’t believe he’s really gone.” Peter muttered as he sat crisscrossed on the pillows scattered on his bedroom floor turning his best friend's game boy over in his hands. (Y/N) frowned at her friend, her cheeks stained red and swollen from crying, the insides of her cheeks sore from being bitten. 

“I know..it’s not fair.”

 She rested her head on Peter’s shoulder, her arms wrapping around his torso. 

“Norman is fucking evil.” Peter mumbled out, a glance at his open door making sure May didn’t hear the swear fall from his lips. “..and a terrible father, he never deserved to have Harry. But that didn’t mean he had to ship him off. He could have lived here, May and Ben would have taken him in. That’s like their whole thing!” 

(Y/N) listened, she knew the hurt Peter was feeling, but she also knew he knew how Harry was feeling. The three of them had been inseparable since they were six, did everything together and went everywhere. But now Harry has gone to some fancy boarding school in the English countryside, not knowing when they’d ever see him again. 

“We still have each other.” 

Peter laughed sadly, his hand engulfing hers a childlike smile on his face the blue color on his braces catching her eye. “Yeah. And I’m not letting you go anywhere.” Peter wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her down ruffling her hair. (Y/N) screamed out, thrashing around laughing, trying to fight Peter off. 

“Okay you two, okay. Dinner is ready c’mon.” Ben says from Peter’s doorway looking at the middle schoolers. Peter let go of the girl, holding his hand out for her to take helping her up. Ben stood back as the two bursted out of the door, racing one another down the stairs into the warmth of the kitchen. The smell of May’s cooking filling the homey kitchen, a news anchor talking excitedly on the small TV on the counter. 

…

Though the kitchen hadn’t changed in those seven years it was no longer warm, it no longer felt like a second home. The same new anchor talked on the TV, his voice no longer excited but now aged and filled with professionalism. (Y/N) looked around the once familiar area, now feeling like a vampire who’d crossed the threshold uninvited. But she had been invited, May stood in front of her two mismatching coffee cups in hand. 

“Take off your coat for a while.” 

She coaxed, motioning at the spring jacket on her shoulders. (Y/N) smiled at May’s motherly nature, she hadn’t changed a bit since the last time she’d seen her. Her head had a few more grays on it, and she was wearing her reading glasses more but other than physical she was the same old May. 

“I’m so glad I caught you walking, I was gonna call and have these sent to you but..I’ve been wanting to see you anyways.” 

“I know May, I’ve missed you. Sorry, I just..I've been..so busy.” 

May squinted her eyes, her crows feet becoming prominent. It was never an easy task to lie to May, she saw through everything. 

“I bet.” But, she always let the lie continue. May sat at the bar stool, the small photo book in hand as she opened it. (Y/N) settled next to her drinking out of the homemade Spider-Man cup, looking at the first set of photos. Three kids smiled in front of a carousel of horses, two boys and a girl standing in the middle. (Y/N) smiled, her mind flashing to the blonde boy in the photo, thinking about the last time they’d talk. Her eyes followed their muscle memory and looked at the scrawny brunette boy in the photo, his head resting on hers as he held up a peace sign. 

“Ben and I basically had to drag you three out of that park when that silly little carousel popped up. It was your favorite part.”

“We used to spend hours there. I used to steal money out of my dad’s wallet to get us rides for the whole week.” 

May laughed, nodding her head. (Y/N) smiled at the memory of her thumb rubbing over the slightly aged photo, it felt like her heart shook with grief for what they once were. 

“Now this..this is my favorite.” 

May held up a photo of two ghosts. 

One clad in an awkward fitting sports coat and slacks, the other in a deep blue dress and poorly dyed red hair. In Peter’s scratchy handwriting ‘Junior year winter formal’ was written on the back. (Y/N) swallowed harshly, but smiled at the image. 

“You two looked so cute. Your red hair really was something.”

“Mhm, I forgot the last time you saw me I was still a redhead!” (Y/N) hummed softly, sliding the photo back into its slot in the photo album. May hummed, putting her hand against her cheek. 

“When was the last time?” 

“It was ..I dunno, senior year we just got on christmas break, I had come by because I hadn’t heard from Peter in a couple weeks and I was worried. He’d gone upstate with Gwen’s family, and you gave me that knitted scarf and beanie set.” 

“Oh that’s right!” May smiled, grabbing onto (Y/N)’s forearm. “Have you two talked at all?”

(Y/N) laughed awkwardly, her hand coming up to push her hair out of her face. She shook her head rapidly. “No, I'm pretty much on the outskirts of his life now. I think we both go out of the way to avoid one another.” 

May shook her head, her nephew's behavior never failing to amaze her. “Whatever happened, have you two tried to fix it?”

“I dunno May, we just…grew apart. He had Gwen, photography and science club…and his other extra activities.” (Y/N) shrugged her shoulders, her hand patting May’s that rested on her forearm. “We grew up I guess.” 

May looked at her and it felt like she saw right through her, saw her heart and how Peter had smashed it into a million pieces. (Y/N) pulled her arm gently from May grabbing the coffee cup and taking a long sip. “Oh my god! Is this you and Ben?” It was a quick and easy subject change that May would allow. 

The front door opened and May turned her head. “Peter, why don’t you come into the kitchen? I have something I want to show you. I finally pulled those photos down from the attic!” 

(Y/N) looked around the kitchen like an animal being caged in, she looked for a quick escape but she could never move that quietly. So she settled with tucking her face away behind May’s figure and maybe if she willed enough she’d turn invisible. 

Peter's footsteps turned into a quick jog throughout the house. “May why would you..I told you I’d..” Suddenly all sound stopped. Time felt like it’d stopped with it. 

Peter had grown a couple inches since the last time they’d seen one another, she thought he’d looked taller in his birthday post on instagram but maybe she’d just started forgetting what he looked like. He’d finally cut his hair, and started dressing in more fitting clothes. He had become a full adult in the time they’d been apart, it felt like just yesterday they were eighteen year olds hanging out at the skatepark.  

“Hey.” He spoke softly, shock in his voice. 

“I caught her walking home- thought she’d like a trip down memory lane.” 

“Hey Pete.” (Y/N) spoke finally, her eyes following him as he walked to the fridge grabbing out the creamer and making his own cup of coffee. May had opened her mouth to speak before being cut off by the house phone. May grabbed (Y/N)’s shoulder as she stood. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

Silence, that was once comfortable and knowing, filled the room awkwardly. (Y/N)’s eyes locked to Peter’s back watching his movements. 

“Happy belated birthday.” 

Peter turned to look at her after the words left his mouth. She could laugh, at least he remembered one thing. 

“Yeah, yeah you too. We’re twenty, pretty odd huh?’

“Yeah..I feel like I’ve lived six times that.” 

(Y/N) nodded awkwardly, dropping her eyes from him and looking at the winter formal photo in her hands. Her phone vibrating from the counter, both of their eyes immediately looking at it. 

‘Harry - Hey, sorry we got cut short last night’

‘Harry - I’m actually grabbing a flight right now, I should be there tomorrow afternoon.’

She clicked the power button flipping it over. “How’s huh Gwen?” 

Peter nodded and leaned on the counter, his finger tapping a couple of the scattered photos. “Uh..well. Good, I think. We..broke up.” He spoke quickly, rolling his hand in a circle motion as he spoke. He looked up at her, for what felt like the first time in forever. She nodded, a frown on her lips. 

“I’m..really sorry to hear that Pete. I thought for sure you guys would..be together forever.” 

“Yeah me too..” He slumped his shoulders and shook his head. “Sometimes things just don’t work out.” 

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, it came out more bitter than she intended. Peter nodded, his lips pulling down at the notion. Maybe he knew he owed her a slew of apologies, maybe he was oblivious. She’d rather he be the latter. Clearing her throat she slipped out of the bar stool, grabbing her jacket off the back of the chair. 

“I should go. I have an assignment due at six I should get started on.” 

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Peter sniffled, his thumb rubbing against his nose. He pressed his fists into the countertop, his fingers popping as he did so. “Let me walk you home.” He offered up, rushing to get his coat from the living room. (Y/N) panicked, her mind moving at a million miles a second. Her brain refuses to process any type of response other than a small yes that she doesn’t even think he heard.

Taking the couple seconds alone she had she messaged Harry back: ‘So excited to see you! Miss your face :)’ 

“Ready?” Peter asked, he returned with a denim jacket on his shoulders, hands shoved into his pockets. (Y/N) pocketed her phone nodding at him, Peter reached around her holding the back door open for her as they stepped out into the slight chill of the spring weather. The two rounded the side of the house heading down the block. Peter fell into his previous routine, he always took the side of the sidewalk closest to the road, keeping (Y/N) on his inside. She smiled at him, dropping her gaze to her feet.

“I’ve been a terrible friend.” 

It wasn’t what she expected to fill the silence. Her mouth fell open, before closing again quickly trying to think of a response. 

“I like..totally left you hanging and I just..I’m really sorry that was so fucked up. There was just.” Peters fumbling through his words, it’s not an apology, but she’ll take it. 

“Hey Pete, it’s all good. We were kids, and hey what can you do it happened. I played a part in it too. We had a lot going on.” 

“You were always trying to excuse my bad behavior, I was a bad friend. I can admit that now, I should have admitted that two years ago.” 

(Y/N) shakes her head, a laugh falling out of her lips, her hand coming up to wave it off. 

“We were hormonal teenagers Peter, and that got in the way. I’m not mad, I missed you a lot. But maybe it was what we needed to grow.”

“I know but I should have said something. I left you on a fucking rooftop, I..” 

“I love you Peter, and I just need to know if you love me.” She screamed over the flow of the traffic below them. Sirens sounding off in the background felt like she was being laughed at by everyone. Peter’s face was numb, filled with shock as he held his mask in one hand, his bruised eyes searching her face. “I’m so confused. I don’t know what to think.”

“I don’t..I don’t know. I dunno, either.” 

He shook his head, the sound of the city around him felt like an icepick being stabbed into the back of skull. (Y/N) took a step back, wind blowing against her face whipping the dyed red hair around across her face. She turned and looked over the edge, before looking at him. Jumping from the 20th something floor felt like a better option than hearing whatever Peter had to say. 

“I just..is there a chance or is this all for..nothing? Am I holding out for nothing?” 

The sirens got louder, and Peter looked between the red head and the flashing sirens below them. 

“I’m sorry, we can talk later!” Peter swore as he slid the mask on his face, in a flash he’d thrown

himself over the side of the building a flash of red swinging off into the sky. 

The memory crawled into the forefront of her mind and for once it didn’t make her want to claw herself out of her skin. Peter’s hand had creeped out of his jacket pocket and into hers, his hand interlocking with hers. (Y/N)’s lips pulled down in a bittersweet smile, her thumb rubbing across his. For a moment she’s convinced herself nothing changed, for a moment she’s in school sneaking kisses with Peter in the darkroom of the photography club. Waiting for him by his locker ready to trade lunches for the day with silly notes written on the inside. 

“It hasn’t changed a bit.”

 Peter laughed as they reached the front stoop of her home, his hand still in hers. It was comforting, both having a sneaking feeling of home that they hadn’t felt in almost two years. However, the moment died quickly. Peter let go of her hand, stepping in front of her slightly as he looked around. (Y/N) furrowed her brow as she opened her mouth to talk, the scrapping of a chair drew her attention to the corner of the porch, a figure standing up. 

“Mhm that’s what I said. I gotta say though I don’t remember the glass in the window being pink”

The deep voice drew the friend's head towards the sound, (Y/N)’s jaw dropping as she grabbed a tense Peter’s shoulder. 

“Harry!”

They both yelled. The sandy blond started down the steps, (Y/N) took off meeting him half way engulfing him in a hug. Peter stood back in shock, looking at his lost friend as if a ghost had just crawled out of its grave in front of him. A small vibration of alert hanging in the back of his skull as the two embrace.

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