#plushparkerwc

[breathinginthevapor]

“At least think of me while you’re gone”

Summary: your relationship with Tom is a secret, and you hate it. At a party, your feelings are finally confronted.

A/N: This is a very, very, very late (im so sorry taylor!) entry for @plushparkers 2k writing challenge, so a big congrats to her on reaching on that amazing milestone! I hope you guys will give it a read and tell me what you think afterwards!

Word count: 5600+

T/W: alcohol and swearing

My masterlist

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

When does your plane arrive?❤️ (heart emoji)

You hit send, putting your phone down on the sink. You pick up the mascara instead, painting your eyelashes black before the “Ping!”-sound from your phone startles you and causes you to draw a dark line just below your eyebrow.

“Fucking shit,” you curse, searching through your cabinet with frantic movements for a cotton pad and makeup remover.

While you try to remove your mistake, you look at your phone.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Around 5. Don’t have to pick me up, though.

Throwing the cotton pad in the bin, you quickly type an answer.

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

You know I want to. Missed you😘 (kissing emoji)

You smile at the thought that you’ll see him today, and that these last months spent longing will finally be over. In just a couple of hours, you will be able to smell him, talk to him, touch him. And yeah, maybe he won’t kiss you at the airport, but he definitely will later, when it’s just the two of you.

Another “Ping” lets you know you’ve gotten a new message, and you try to keep your cool by applying some lipstick, but your whole body is buzzing, eager to see his answer.

Soon, your lips are coated in a beautiful red shade, perfectly kissable in your own, humble opinion. Tom loves having your lips mark him, his jaw often covered in lipstick marks after you’ve been hanging out, and the fact that the popping colour draws attention to your lips doesn’t hurt, either.

You want him to hug you in the airport while he’s yearning to kiss you, yearning to see if you taste like that cherry lip balm he likes, and maybe you won’t when he finally gets you alone, but by then it won’t matter.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

There’ll be a crowd, and I’ll be too tired to do anything but sleep anyway.

You don’t understand. Does that mean he doesn’t want you to come? Or that he thinks you’ll get uncomfortable surrounded by his screaming fans?

Because you can deal with the fans, you’ve done so before, but if it’s because he doesn’t want you there, you won’t know what to do.

Before you can answer, though, another text shows on the screen.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

I’ll just see you at the party🕺🎆 (dancing man and fireworks emoji)

The welcome home party might already be tomorrow, but you still feel stupid. Here you’ve been, ecstatic for his return for weeks while he doesn’t even want you to be there in the airport. Besides, who knows how much you’ll even see of him tomorrow, everyone’s there to see him, after all.  

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

👍 (thumbs up emoji)

And yeah, maybe your answer is passive aggressive, but right now, you really don’t care. Not when you’ve spent days debating what to wear for picking him up and figured out exactly what amount of make-up you should go for to ensure you looking great but not over the top.

And now, he doesn’t even want to see you.

You find the makeup remover once more, this time removing all traces of the makeup you’ve just applied. You slide the cotton pad all over your face with harsh movements, and while it might not be the best way to clean your skin, it helps relieve some of the anger.

Both your skin and your eyes are red when you’re finished, but you don’t look at yourself in the mirror long enough to see the tears sliding down.

Instead, you go back to bed, crawl under the covers and cry to a sad teen movie you loved when you were younger.

The worst part is, you find that you still love the movie just as much as back then, all too similar to the way your love for Tom has done nothing but increase since you first discovered it in your teen years.

   Tom’s parents’ house is filled up with people, but as Tom’s best friend through most of your life, you know the bigger part of them.

You spend a couple minutes talking to his aunt about her hip problems, but then you figure you want something to drink and excuse yourself.

There’s a lot to choose from, delicious sodas and expensive-looking bottles of champagne and wine, but you pick up a canned beer instead. You figure you need some alcohol as soon as possible. That way, you hope you’ll have the courage to face him when you have to.

You definitely can’t keep avoiding him, because even though the house isn’t small, it isn’t exactly a mansion, either.

You sip the beer, taking a few steps towards the wall to let Tom’s young cousins access the drink’s table.

Then, your eyes meet his, and you feel slightly dizzy as it seems almost unreal to finally see him in real life and not through a screen.

Still, you’re angry and hurt, and there’s a knot in your stomach. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this, the last you were angry at him. And maybe it’s petty, but you just hate the fact that you always plan everything around him, while he, when it comes down to it, doesn’t even want to see you after spending four months apart.

“Hey,” he greets you with a smile while still making his way to you, squeezing in between people and excusing himself.

“Hey,” you repeat, but your voice is cold as you take another sip of your beer. There’s a flicker of worry breaking through his confident, happy exterior, but it disappears quickly.

When he’s finally standing close enough to you, he engulfs you in a tight hug, and although you’ve dreamt about this reunion, this first hug in months, it doesn’t even feel that nice. Your body is tense, and your attempt to reciprocate his hug is half-hearted, so he finally lets you go and looks inquiring at you, still with a grip on your elbows.

“We cool?”

You swallow a lump, trying to put on a fake smile. You hope he doesn’t see through it, because although he used to be able to read your face as if it was a stop sign or a stupid brochure for a new pizzeria, it’s been a long time since you last saw each other.

“Sure.”

“Why are you acting weird then?” he asks, and you know he’s split between knowing you’re lying and the fact that it probably won’t help his situation to call you out on it.

You shake his hands off you to gulp down some beer.

“I’m not.”

He crooks his head, scrunching his eyes and looking down at his hands that hang loosely down his sides after returning from you. They start fiddling with the red polo he’s wearing, and you let your gaze wander slowly up his body, not missing how strong his biceps look or the broadness of his shoulder, before you get to his face to find him already watching you.

“You are.”

This time, you don’t argue. Why even bother?

A silence settles between you, so different to the happy chatter filling up the room, and you don’t know how to act. You don’t think you’ve ever experienced anything so awkward with Tom, he’s always been the one you could talk to for an endless number of hours, the one you could be quiet with, the one person in the world you were most comfortable around.

“Nice party,” you say when the silence becomes too much for you, but you hate yourself for being the first one to bow down. It seems that you always are.  

He shrugs, “You know my mum. Always inviting people we don’t even talk with often.”

Perhaps it just runs in the family, you wonder; making people feel like they’re more important than they are.

“They’ve missed you,” you just tell him, knowing that it’s true. He tends to have that impact on people, squeezing himself into their hearts in a matter of five minutes. And once you’ve met him, it’s impossible to forget him.

“They?” he softly asks, and you know he wants you to elaborate.

When you don’t, he asks again, this time phrased so you have no chance to get out of answering, “What about you? Haven’t you missed me?”

You look away, your gaze landing on Harrison who’s laughing with Tom’s grandma.

“Don’t know why you would ask something so stupid,“ you mutter.

He steps closer, and you can feel his presence all over your body. His breath hits your face, and you can smell both beer and the homemade chips his dad is famous for.

“Wanna hear you say it.”

You look at him again, and like countless of times before, you are hit by his beauty. You don’t think there’s a single person in this world as handsome as him, but you might be biased.

Being in love with the same guy for years tends to do that to someone.

���Missed you so much it hurt,” you admit, and you watch his face soften. He’s so close that you could just lean forward and kiss him.

Needless to say, it takes everything in you not to.

Luckily, he steps back, and the enchantment is broken.

“I should probably talk to the other guests. Don’t want them to feel left out, do we?”

You force yourself to laugh, “Of course not.”

But everything in you is begging and hoping that he just takes your hand and leads you away from everyone.

You want him to say that he’s missed you too, that he’s been thinking of you constantly, but you know he hasn’t. Or, maybe he’s felt a pinch of pain occasionally, but then he’s moved on and forgotten about it. Unlike you, who has spent so many nights crying, wishing that he was laying right beside you. And you know that it’s not his fault, that your circumstances are different because he’s out there, doing what he loves most while you are drowning in boring schoolwork and waiting impatiently for his return.

He steps closer, and you think he’s going to kiss you, in front of all those people, and your heart starts beating terribly fast, but then he turns his head and whispers in your ear, “Will I see you later?”

You know what he means: Another quickie in the dark, no one finding out there’s any more than friendship between you. Because that’s how he wants your relationship to be, a secret, even from his own family.

It feels like a stake to the heart, and honestly, you don’t feel like he deserves an answer. Instead, you opt for a small smile that could mean anything and then you down your beer, leaving him there and walking over to your other curly haired friend, but not before handing him the empty can.

If he’s so determined to be the perfect host, he might as well clean up a bit.  

“Hey Haz,” you mumble, throwing your arms around Harrison’s torso from behind.

He looks back at you and smiles widely, and contrary to what one might think, you aren’t completely oblivious to how good looking he is.

You wonder if you should have thought of getting some less pretty friends to make yourself shine a bit more in comparison, but you don’t think you’d be able to find someone who could make you laugh as much as Tom and Harrison can, not even if you searched the whole planet.

You just have to live with the unfairness of their unarguable attractiveness.

“Hey Y/N. Tired?” he asks softly.

You yawn, realizing that you actually are and confirming his question. He chuckles, and you press your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a second.

“I like this sweater. Really soft.”

“Hi nan,” you then greet Tom’s grandmother who has always insisted that you treat her the same way her grandkids would.

Measured in how much time you’ve spent with her and the rest of the family, you might as well be.

“Hello, darling,” she says, sending you a sweet smile. “I have to serve the cake now, but come catch up with me later, won’t you?”

“Of course, nan,” you promise her, watching her leave and then letting go of Harrison.

“Everything alright?” he asks after turning around to face you.

You shrug, “I guess.”

He rolls his eyes, pointing his finger at you in a reprimanding manner, “Tell me what’s wrong or you know what will happen.”

You can’t help but smile, but then you play along and squeeze your eyes shut and crossing your arms, “I’m not scared of you.”

“You’re not? Then you won’t mind if I TICKLE YOU?”

Harrisons hands reach for you, but you run away, squealing, before he can catch you.

“You’ll never catch me,” you mock him, running up the stairs and into Tom’s bedroom before realizing the inevitable: that you’re trapped.

“NOOOOO,” you scream as he pushes you onto the bed and starts tickling you, hands gripping your sides.

“Let me go, please, Haz,” you beg in-between laughs.

“You know what you need to say, Y/N,” he grins, and you shake your head.

“Never.”

However, it doesn’t take long before you surrender, throwing your hands up and rolling your eyes.

“Alright, alright, you are the hottest, coolest, cleverest, funniest person in the world, Harrison Osterfield.”

He immediately lets you go, plopping down on the bed beside you.

“Finally. My arms were getting tired,” he sighs contently.

You grunt, “Should spend a bit more time in the gym, then.”

“Oh, shut up, Y/N.”

He hits you playfully, and you both laugh, looking up to the ceiling and catching your breaths.

When you’ve stopped panting, you speak up, “Would you be ashamed of me if we were dating?”

“How can you even ask me that? You’re the dopest person ever,” he reassures you, turning his head to the side to look at you.

You laugh, “I can believe you still say dope.”

“What can I say, I’m just a dope person, too, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes at his stupidity, before a pang of sadness rushes through you. For a second, you wonder why, but then you remember why you’re feeling down and repeat your question for Harrison.

“No, but honestly, would you be ashamed of me?”

His blue eyes watch you intensely like it’s very important to him that you understand what he says, “Never.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He laces your little fingers together, the ‘pinky promise’ an old ritual of yours.

“But why are you asking?” he inquires softly.

“I just- I’m just so damn tired of being his secret, you know?”

He gives you an empathic smile, letting you continue instead of answering your rhetoric question.

“I’m not even sure he likes me like as more than a friend anymore.”

You don’t mention a name, but you both know who you’re talking about. Although neither of your families know, it was clear to both of you from the start that Harrison would figure it out no matter what, and that you might as well tell him yourself.

“That bad, huh?”

You sigh, “Yeah. Not even exaggerating, I’m really not sure.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, that sucks.”

“Sure does,” you agree, laughing involuntarily at the tragic situation, and Harrison soon joins you.

Then, he says softly, “If you aren’t happy, Y/N, you should let him go. You deserve better.”

“I know,” you whisper, “But I don’t think I can.”

He takes your hand, squeezing it and interlacing your hands, and no words are needed. You know he feels bad for you, and you both know there’s nothing he can do to ease your trouble.

“I wish it was you instead. We’d make such a great couple,” you tell him, trying to lift the mood.

He nods, grinning, “Legendary.”

“Shame we don’t like each other like that, really. Our kids would be so beautiful.”

“Maybe that’s why. Would be unfair to their peers when they’d be so much uglier.”

You shake your head, smiling at the thought.

Then, on a more serious note, “Thanks for being here, Haz.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

He squeezes your hand once more and then helps you get up.

“If it makes you feel any better, he looked terribly jealous when you hugged me,” Harrison tells you, and though it shouldn’t, you catch yourself being happy with it. At least he’s not totally indifferent.

You return to the party, Harrisons hand laying comfortingly on the swell of your back the whole time, until it’s to go home. He presses a kiss to your cheek and tells you to hit him up soon, and you thank him for being such a good friend. He truly deserves the world.

You wish you could go with him, but still, you stay, having been tricked into helping with the cleaning by Tom’s mother, and really, you’d be happy to if it didn’t involve seeing Tom.

It’s hard to even remember what made you mad when you’re near him, and if that wasn’t enough, you’re afraid that you’ll say something you’ll regret later.

Because while this might be tearing you to pieces, you know it’d be much, much worse if you lost him completely.

Although you are deep in thought, you probably shouldn’t be as startled as you are when he speaks, considering you are cleaning the same room as him.

“I got a bit cold out by the grill, so I went to see if I had a sweater in my room, and I didn’t mean to, but I heard you and Harrison,” he softly tells you, eyes scanning your face for a reaction. You try not to give him one, pursing your lips tightly together and remaining silent.

He sighs, running a hand through the curly locks of his hair.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” you mutter, looking away.

You wish this conversation wasn’t happening. You don’t even dare to imagine the outcome.

“That you feel like I’m keeping you a secret.”

You scrunch your eyes, looking at him again, “What did you think I felt, Tom? Honestly? You haven’t even told your mom, and we both know you tell your mom everything. I feel like I’m nothing to you.”

Your words are harsh at the beginning, anger in your body, but it quickly deflates and leaves you sad instead, making your last words soft and fragile.

And Tom looks taken back by your statement, stuttering when he replies, “I- I- I guess I just thought we were on the same page. That you didn’t care whether people knew about us or not.”

You roll your eyes, “If you truly believed that, you don’t know me like I thought you did.”

You let go of your hold on the black rubbish bag you’re throwing empty cups into as you wait for his answer.

“I guess you’re right,” he admits with a whisper, “I guess I did know.”

You nod, throat tight.

“Yeah,” you just say.

You stand there, looking at each other in silence, and you don’t even try to hide your tears. If there was anyone but him watching, you probably would have tried, but this is Tom, your best friend, the person that has broken your heart but also someone with hands you wouldn’t hesitate to put your life into.

He takes a small step closer to you, looking at you with desperation.

“I wish we could tell everyone, Y/N, I really do. But you know how my agency feels about my image and my availability,” he pauses, swallowing down a lump in his throat before he continues, “But if my next movie just gets big enough, it will be different, Y/N, I promise. Then they can’t refuse.”

You shake your head, your vision to blurred to see anything, but your mind is surprisingly clear. You don’t believe his words, and really, you just wish he would tell the truth, because to you, it seems that this mess has gotten so bad because of lack of honesty, and you’re done with it.

You’re done with being anxious all the time, not knowing if he’s uncertain about his feelings for you, even doubting whether you’re the only one he goes home to. You’re done with feeling inadequate and unlovable and stupid, waiting around for someone who doesn’t want to come home.

“Far from home was one of the best-selling movies ever, but apparently, that still wasn’t big enough. So, what’ll it be, Tom?”

“Are you asking me to choose between you and my career?”

You shake your head violently, not understanding how he could accuse you for doing such a thing, but then you nod, realising that maybe you are. And surprisingly, you don’t feel selfish doing so.

“Not between me and your career, Tom, but yes, I am asking you to choose between me and the stupid rules of your agency.”

Now, he looks angry, brow scrunched and tight jawline, “My agency and their stupid rules,” he starts, emphasizing the last three words mockingly, “is what gets me jobs, Y/N! They are the reason I can live my dream, don’t you understand?”

You step closer to him, not believing he would dare to treat you like a stubborn child. “Of course, I understand, Tom! I’ve done nothing but understand ever since we started this damn relationship, but I’m fucking sick and tired of it!”

Your loudness seems to surprise Tom, who takes a few steps back from your anger, almost tripping over your discarded rubbish bag.

“Please don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t make me choose,” he begs, and there’s a part of you that wants to give in, but the bigger part of you knows that nothing will change if you do, and that you’ll just stay miserable.

“I’ve known you for most of my life, Tom, and I’ve been in love with you for years, but I can’t do this, not if you’re not in it like I am. I can’t keep giving you my everything when I only receive 30% in return.”

Then, he says those words that you know will haunt you forever, “I’m- I’m- I’m so sorry, Y/N, but I just can’t. Please understand, I just can’t.”

You nod, but you don’t, you don’t understand. He won’t even meet you halfway.

You look at each other, and you watch how he clearly fights to keep himself together, and you can’t stay mad at him when he looks so broken. You’re always putting him first.

“Will you- will you promise me one thing, though?” you ask, voice hoarse and broken.

He nods, eyes wet and lips pressed tight together.

When you speak, there’s a salty taste on your tongue, and it feels like goodbye, “I know there’s so many incredible things out there, and I promise I don’t expect anything else from you anymore, but at least- at least think of me while you’re gone, won’t you?”

A sob escapes his lips when he nods, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you gather your belongings in silence, walking into the hallway, Tom only a few steps behind you.

Your hand has just reached the doorknob when you realize that no matter how hurt you are, you can’t just leave him like this. So, you turn around, throw your things to the floor and hug him, relishing in the smell of his cologne and the soft material of his shirt against your cheek.

His chest is shaking with sobs, and his lips feel chapped when he kisses your forehead like he’s done so many times when you were nervous or sad, even before your friendship turned into something more.

There’s a wet spot on his shirt when you pull away, and you smile through your tears, watching him through your blurred vision.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him, but you don’t know if you’re lying.

You pick up your things, and he looks like he wants to stop you from leaving, but he just nods and says goodbye with a broken whisper, “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

Then, you close the door behind you, your body a mess while nostalgia, sadness, despair and love fights for dominance in your body.

If you weren’t so busy being heartbroken, you might have wondered if it was worth losing your best friend in return for some months in paradise, spent kissing and making love under the covers. And you would quickly have come to the solution that it wasn’t, that if you could, you would go back and undo all this mess and settle for being his best friend.

Luckily, you don’t think any of these thoughts, not yet. That sorrow is for another day.

   “Ping!”

The screen of your phone lights up along with the sound, telling you you’ve got a message. You figure it’s Jake, asking which chocolate you want or if you need more tampons. You smile at the thought, finding it funny how Jake’s biggest fear seems to be that you don’t run out of sweets and sanitary items when you’re on that time of the month. You wonder if he’s scared you’ll turn into some weird monster, but it’s probably just him being sweet.

However, the text isn’t from Jake.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Hey. I’m home for a couple weeks and I really want to see you

You can’t believe he still has that stupid name on your phone.

You delete all the emojis and text and write his full name without any emojis to follow, but your index finger lingers over the save button. Then, you go back without changing anything.

It feels wrong to do so, like deleting a period of your life that should, at worst, be packed away in a box in your closet and not completely thrown out.

On the other hand, though, the box seems to have jumped out of the closet and into your living room instead, making its presence known where it isn’t appreciated.

Still, there’s a small part of you, the part that was Tom’s friend and nothing else, wants to meet him and see how he’s doing. 

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Hi Tom

You don’t want else to say, or write, so you just hit send and put the phone down again, your breath quicker and a spark of panic rising in your body. Even after all this time, he still gives you all the motions.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Please don’t be like this

Be like what, Tom, you wonder, but you just text him the name of a coffee shop and ask him to meet you there in a few hours. If anything needs to be said between you, it should be in person and not through text.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Thank you, Y/N. Really❤️ (heart emoji)

You really hope you’ve made the right decision.

   “Y/N, I’ve been a fool, no, worse than that, I’ve been a big, stupid idiot, but I need you.”

His grip on your hands are tight, and you gently try to get him to let you go, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“We’ll do it properly this time, tell everyone, and we’ll go on the red carpet together and-“

“Tom,” you interrupt him softly, and you just want him to stop talking. This will get embarrassing for both of you if he keeps going, and you don’t want that.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t let you save him.

“And I’ll be home a lot more, Y/N, I promise. We can travel together, to Paris or Seoul or Rio, and I won’t care who’s watching-“

This time, your voice is a bit louder, hoping it’ll get through to him. “Tom, please, stop,” you plead. Still, it seems like he doesn’t hear you.  

He leans closer to you and looks you right in the eye, “I love you, Y/N. More than anything, and I don’t know why it’s taking me so long to realize, but I do, and I’m terribly sor- Why are you crying?“

You haven’t even noticed your tears before he comments them, but then you carefully, as if he’s made of glass, untangle your hands from each other.

“I’m with someone, Tom,” you tell him, and it feels like a knife to your heart when his face slowly falters as he realizes what you mean.

“I- what- who? When?”

“You don’t know him, Tom. He’s from school.” There’s a flash of relief on his face when he finds out it isn’t someone he knows, maybe even one of his friends, but then the hurt returns.

“When, YN?”

You swallow a lump, looking down at your coffee.

“Almost a year ago,” you tell him, knowing that he won’t understand. That he’ll think that you got over in the span of a minute and moved on, but it isn’t true.

So, before he can say anything, you explain, “He was in one of my classes and had asked me out before, and when you left, I just needed to spend time with someone who didn’t know you, someone who wouldn’t ask or talk about you.”

Most of your friends were friends with Tom, too, or at least they knew him, but you needed to be someone who didn’t.

“I told him from the start that my heart was broken, but he was so patient and waited until I was sure I was ready. He really helped me a lot, Tom.”

Tom nods, and you know he understands. Everyone has different ways of coping, and for all you know, he could have slept with half of the world in this past year. You know he probably did with a couple, and the thought doesn’t make you sick like it used to do.

You’re just sad that he probably didn’t have anyone taking care of him like Jake had taken care of you.

“Does he make you happy, Y/N?”

“I-“ you start, but it’s hard to get the words past your lips when you know that they’ll hurt him.

For a long time, you wanted him to hurt, to know your pain and know that he had lost one of the best things in his life, but now, after doing a lot of growing up, you wish you could find a way not to hurt him. Maybe if you lied, but he’ll probably always be able to see through you.

Knowing you have no other choice, you answer him honestly, “Yeah. He does. He really does.”

He gulps, looking away for a moment. You follow his gaze, watch the busy streets of London packed with stylish locals and less stylish tourists, and you wonder if it still feels like home to him. If home becomes a fleeting place when the whole world is at your disposal. You wonder if you’ll ever know, but you don’t think you will.

And as for yourself, you might never get to travel the world like you used to dream of doing, but you’ve realized it doesn’t matter. You have so much else, so many wonderful people in your life, so much love around you. 

“Do you love him?”

You look at his face and know that he wants you to say no, that he wants this to be like a movie where everything works out in the end, and the guy gets the girl, and everyone lives happily ever after.

But this isn’t one of his beloved movies. This is real life.

“Yeah.”

A tear slips out of his eyes, and you notice they are beginning to turn red. You don’t know if your next words will make him feel better or worse, probably the latter, but you still say them.

“Not the same way I loved you, though. Don’t think anything can really compare to that. But I really do love him.”

It’s clear he tries to contain it, but still, a broken sob leaves him, and every fibre of your body yearns to soothe him, to protect him, but you can’t, just like he couldn’t protect you.

“Do you remember that last day? You told me to think of you when I was gone. How could you think I’d do anything but?”

“Tom, please.”

“I think about you every single day, Y/N, knowing that I made the wrong decision.”

He grips your hands again, this time so tight it turns his knuckles white with desperation.

However, you both know it’s not only your hands you’re talking about when you beg, “Let me go, Tom, you’re hurting me.”

His grip on your hand disappears immediately, his face painted with both sadness and guilt, and you don’t know who’s to blame for the fact that both of you have lost your best friend.

And you wonder if the two of you can work it out, if you can get at least an inkling of your old friendship back, but to be honest, you don’t have the courage to try.

Instead, you leave him there, in a coffee shop in London you used to love. And you know you will never have the strength to go back, not to the coffee shop and not to Tom, both places too haunted by bad memories now.

[complcatedfreak]

promise

in which peter makes a promise he is unable to keep. (aka my submission for @plushparker‘s wc).

peter started his day like any other; quickly getting his school things together, then sending a quick text to y/n as he attempts to shove an entire cream cheese bagel into his mouth. he, then, left the house and made his way to school. just like any other day, peter walked up to his locker and greeted his locker-neighbor. “hey peter,” the freshmen smiled at him. “hey, how are you?” he asked, knowing she wouldn’t reply. peter didn’t even know her name, but it felt nice to have someone greet him every morning. not that he didn’t also have y/n, ned and mj to do just that in the “ned x peter love fest” groupchat, as well as the cute “good morning bub” text y/n sends him every morning (which he always replied with “good morning <3” to). but his interaction with the freshmen who couldn’t open her locker the first two weeks of school was in person, it felt more real.

peter grabbed his books and made his way to the cafeteria, where they served breakfast for students. he wasn’t hungry, but he knew that’s where mj and y/n met to discuss last night’s reading of Twelfth Night, since the Shakespearean language tended to confuse y/n and she didn’t completely trust online summaries. ned might show up there too, if he makes it to school any earlier then a minute before the warning bell. peter made his way to the girls, ignoring flash’s, “good morning, penis”. mj was in the middle of explaining the role of cesario and the masterplan of viola’s disguise, so peter didn’t interrupt. he placed himself on the chair next to y/n and reached for his phone to see where ned was, and if he was even coming to school. “that makes more sense,” y/n laughed, reaching for her pen and crossing off something in the notebook that was laid out in front of her, “and is kind of genius.” mj nodded in agreement while y/n finished tweaking her notes. she put her pen down and reached for peter’s free hand, giving him a gentle squeeze. peter smiled, pressing send on the text to ned that instructed him to meet in the usual spot in the cafeteria.

“what’s the plan for tonight?” y/n asked, turning to face peter. mj got up to grab a fruit cup, leaving the couple alone. “not sure yet, i slacked last night so i’ll probably be out late,” peter recalled last night’s spider adventure, which was cut short as he went home early to facetime y/n. they had a math quiz today and peter needed help understanding derivatives. y/n was a math whiz, so she was able to not only explain it, but also teach peter how to use it. “be safe, please.” y/n instructed, reminding peter of the nights he had shown up to her apartment a little too beaten. “always,” peter answered, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead, “we should get to homeroom.”

the rest of peter’s day was the definition of normal. each class seemed to flow into the next, until he was sitting in mr. barnett’s last period calculus class. y/n’s seat was two rows to the left of peter, and he couldn’t stop staring at her. she seemed to be enjoying herself; breezing through the quiz. he wanted to be her in this moment, all he wanted to do was pass this quiz. it wasn’t even like this quiz was going to make or break his grade, but he just needed to feel validation in this particular unit. peter broke himself out of his trance and forced his eyes back onto the blank quiz sitting in front of him. he sighed, picked up his pencil and began to rack his brain for whatever little information he had about derivatives before attempting to answer the questions in front of him. it took him up until the final bell of the day, but every question had an answer that was circled at least twice, just so mr. barnett could tell peter put effort into each one, even if it was wrong.

“how’d it go?” y/n asked peter with a sweet smile on her face. she had waited for him to finish and turn it in, even though he was the last one out, about two or three minutes after class had ended. “it was rough,” peter groaned, reaching for y/n’s hand. she had a small frown on her face as she answered him with words of encouragement, “but you did it and it’s done. plus, you’re grade in that class isn’t bad, you’ll be fine.” peter knew she was right, but something in him told him he could’ve done better. “your locker first?” peter asked y/n, trying to steer the conversation away from his disaster of a math test. “yeah, sure,” she hummed out in reply, lightly pulling peter in the direction of her locker. she grabbed her things then headed to his locker, all the while discussing peter’s plan for tonight. it was friday, meaning y/n didn’t have to worry about being in at a certain time or having any homework done for tomorrow. honestly, y/n just needed a night with peter. it had been awhile since the pair had seen each other outside of school, unless you counted late night facetime calls when one of them needed help with homework. y/n was more than grateful for the help peter provided with the classes she struggled with, but she missed the late-night cuddles and conversations they would have.

“if i can’t come by tonight, i’ll make sure to see you tomorrow,” peter stopped, turning to look at her before they separated. he was taking the back alleyway so he would be able to change into his suit. y/n knew about this, as well as about spidey, so she always did her best to be understanding of his circumstances. yes, he was her boyfriend, but he was also an awesome, crime fighting superhero which the city needed. the least she could do was not badger him about how much time he spent with her. “okay, bub. just, please, be safe.” peter nodded at his girlfriend’s words, then leaned down to press a short kiss to her sweet lips. he backwards walked for a few steps, smiling at y/n and declaring how much he loved her, before he was breaking out in a run towards the alley he was going to change in.

peter swiftly changed into the suit he had kept in his backpack and made his way to the closest rooftop he could find. patrolling during the day was especially fun, as this was when people were the least weary, meaning he could connect with them more than he usually got to during the night. peter did a quick scope of the neighborhoods closest to midtown high school and made sure to end at y/n’s apartment building. he had worked out his schedule so that he landed here just a few moments before she made it, just so he would have the peace of mind that she was home while he was out doing his thing. following the usual routine, peter saw y/n approach her building, but stop to pet mrs. kinder’s french bulldog that was outside every day, before actually walking inside. now that peter knew y/n was safe, he made his way to the busier part of the city.

once he landed atop a rooftop, peter regretted not picking up food before he hastily traded in his normal school clothes for his spidey suit. however, the small growl of his stomach became less of a distraction when his eyes landed on an altercation taking place on the sidewalk beneath the building peter was perched on. an old lady was on her way out of a shop and a man began to approach her. peter didn’t like to judge people, but he seemed suspicious. he looked like he walked with a hunchback and had his focus set on the old lady. peter could tell the old lady was loaded, the way she dressed and the store she walked out of were high-end. he hesitatingly took a step toward the altercation. taking a second to observe, he launched his web towards the building across from him. the man reached for the old lady’s purse and peter immediately sprung into action. with a swift launch, peter knocked the man over, and webbed his hands to the ground. “that’ll keep you grounded,” peter smiled to himself, then reached for the old lady’s purse. “here you go,” he handed it back to the old lady. “is there anything i can do to repay you, sweetheart?” she asked. “i mean, i am kind of hungry,” he said with a soft smile and slight blush on her cheeks, even though she couldn’t see it.

once peter got his food from the nice old lady, and made sure to walk her home, he took a break. his legs were hanging over the edge of a shorter building in the center of queens as he opened the bag of greasy food. peter’s mask was pulled just above his mouth as he ate the greasy burger that the kind old lady had gotten him. he watched the sunset. he took a breath. he relaxed. his worries seemed to disappear, just as the sun did.

however, this sea of calm was short lived. peter’s next enemy swept in like a storm, his wave knocking poor peter off his very own surfboard.

luckily, due to his spidey sense, peter was quickly able to recover, but he didn’t know who -or what- he was fighting. peter launched himself to the building across the street, allowing him to have a few seconds to find his balance and get back into protector mode. but, this villain didn’t seem to be going after new york. no, he wanted peter. something about this fight was personal.

peter steadied himself and waited for the tall, human-looking villain to catch up. to peter’s own surprise, he was able to simply jump from building to building. it wasn’t quite flying, but he was able to make it across quickly. naturally, peter launched himself upwards, circling around the guy with his webs. it held him down, but only for a moment. “you can not beat me, peter,”.

peter froze. he knew his real name. this was personal. “that’s what every villain says,” peter quipped back, refusing to let this enemy know he had faltered. peter saw his enemy’s face turn into a devious grin, the action slightly moved the black and silver mask that covered half of his face. as he pulled out of the webs he was previously wrapped in, the man spoke: “not every villain knows you, peter,” the use of his real name made the hair on the back of peter’s neck stand up, “not every one knows your weak spots, peter.” the villain’s arm stretched out, pulling peter right off of the web he’d been swinging on and slamming him into the ground. peter landed with a huff, but immediately used the low angle to trap his legs, wrapping his web around him tightly, not stopping until he was struggling to move.

as the man’s grip on peter loosened, peter was able to wiggle out. only for a second, however, because he was immediately pulled back down. the villain retracted his arm, pulling peter closer to his body. as this happened, he was fighting against the webs wrapped around his legs, eventually breaking free. “not every one knows peter parker. they don’t know his aunt. they don’t his girlfriend,” peter swore his heart stopped at the mention of his two most important girls, “not every one knows the promises of staying safe that you always make.” he finished, moving to straddle peter. he immediately began to land punches on peter’s face and jaw.

peter was trapped. he didn’t know what to do. his mind was boggled. how did this mystery man know the conversations he had with y/n? was y/n in danger? was aunt may? these thoughts ran through peter’s head as he took punch after punch, before realizing his hands could probably slide from beneath the masked villain if struggled hard enough.

so, that’s exactly what he did. as his lip was split and he could feel his left eye begin to swell, peter flailed his arm. just as he thought, his arms were soon free, and he was able to push him off.

a new fire seemed to ignite in peter, spreading across the rooftop and allowing him to knock this new enemy over. without hesitation, peter webbed him, stuck him to the ground and, eventually, won the fight.

but peter wasn’t done.

“who are you?” peter demanded, feeling more anger in this very moment than he had for the rest of his life. “if only you knew,” he replied with a broken voice. with that, he seemed to dissolve. peter was stunned. he was gone. one minute he was here, the next he was gone. it wasn’t like he died; peter was not a murderer. peter was not a killer. there was no body. peter’s newfound enemy just disappeared. even though he had technically won, peter felt defeated.

with a weight on his shoulders, peter took himself to the only place he could think of right now: home. on his way, he wanted to stop at her house. he need to know y/n was safe. so, without checking the time, he made his way to her third story window. luckily, her light was still on, signifying that she was awake. peter lightly tapped his suit-clad knuckles against her window, feeling bad about the fear he knew was coursing through her veins from the sudden noise.

“peter?” she mumbled, pulling open her window. “can you come with me?” peter asked, still wearing his mask to hide his injuries. “i’ll have to ask my parents, but probably,” peter nodded. she moved to open the window more, before making her way to her parents’ room. peter crawled through the window and made himself comfortable on his girlfriend’s bed. he smiled at his midtown sweater that was thrown over her desk chair. he waited there for a few minutes as she persuaded her parents. it took a little while as she had to convince them that she could take the train to his house by herself, as they could not know he crawled through her window and would be escorting her to his apartment.

soon, she rejoined him in her own room. “they said yes, but i have to be on the phone with you the whole way and text them when i’m there,” she smiled, thinking it was ironic they said she’d have to be on the phone with him. “i guess i can stay on the phone with you,” he whispered, happy to be able to focus on her instead of the cuts and bruises adorning his entire body. “i have to go out the front door, you know, so they hear it, but i’ll meet you out front?” peter nodded at her question and made his way to her window. he did his best to move normally. he didn’t want her to know about his pain quite yet.

the couple met out front and it wasn’t long until peter had successfully webbed them to his apartment, and he was helping her through his bedroom window. once they were both safely inside, peter said he was going to shower. on his way to the bathroom, he popped his head into aunt may’s room, checking that she was safe and sound. as soon as he had that peace of mind, he made his way into the bathroom. he took the longest shower he’s ever taken, then went to rejoin y/n in his room. despite the pain that was striking his entire body, peter felt his heart flutter at the sight of his girlfriend pressed against the wall, cuddling his blanket as she slept. ignoring his body aches, he climbed into bed next to her.

the next morning, peter was woken up to a movement in the bed. y/n was climbing out of bed, and the slight rustle made a pain shoot through his entire body. “petey,” she gasped, finally seeing the cuts on his face, “what happened?” she asked, reaching out to touch his jaw, but quickly retracting her hand because of the bruise covering it. “it was a fight, i don’t want to talk about it,” he said, eyes glancing down to where his feet poked out from under the blanket. she was still against the wall, sitting up, on her knees. with a sigh, she moved to the bottom of the bed. she was leaving. she was mad. he broke their promise. “wait,” peter spoke up, reaching for her, “please stay with me. i need you,”. y/n looked at him with a soft smile, reaching to rub one of her small over his legs. even though it hurt, peter appreciated the gesture. “i’m not going anywhere, just to get what i need to take care of you. i don’t like seeing you in pain.” she said, finally climbing out of bed. y/n pressed a kiss to peter’s forehead before she disappeared out of the room.

[spideyspence]

communication; peter parker

heya, this is (late & unedited) for @plushparker‘s 2k writing challenge. i hope you all enjoy this fic bc it was based on the prompt ‘i’ve been trying to talk to you all night’ and i got a little carried away. enjoy!

(warnings: the readers a dumbass in this fic but like,,, plot & angst. also there’s some violence bc there’s a fight scene at the end)

my masterlist

-

‘Peter why the hell couldn’t I communicate with you during that fight? Why weren’t you responding? I’ve been trying to talk to you all night.’ You yelled to your best friend on the top of a building in New York City.

Your best friend and you had just worked together in taking town a robbery of a bank on the Upper West Side that had been in the works of Wilson Fisk’s men for nearly a year. Peter and you had been working for hours each night, trying to plan how they were going to stop the crime. Peter was in his Spider-Man suit while you were in your own, a sleek black and purple outfit with your mask littered somewhere on the roof where you had thrown it in anger.

‘I’m sorry Y/N but I was punched, and the Bluetooth stopped working. I’m sorry that I was punched.’ Peter rolled his eyes.

He would be yelling at you too if he wouldn’t have been able to speak to you during dangerous events of that night. He was stressed because he was beginning to do more appearances at FEAST to help out Aunt May and he had a physics test the next morning he hadn’t studied for, and he was tired.

‘Those men were still stronger than we anticipated Pete. I was scared okay, I refuse to put you in danger which seems stupid because we’re a team, but you know I will always jump in front of you to save you but I can’t handle the idea of fighting on my own.’ Your lungs were starting to take in as much of the night air as they could during your angered rant.

‘No matter how much time we spent planning Y/N, they were always going to be stronger and have the upper hand on fighting. We have to rely on our ourselves and each other while they have thousand-dollar guns aimed in our direction.’ Peter said to you, his voice softer than yours.

‘You still could’ve contacted me! Karen still freaking works, right?’ You questioned sarcastically.

‘Yeah, but-’ Peter was stuck. You had a damn good point.

‘You know how important communication is, especially during a fight like that, knowing that our lives were at stake!’

‘Well if you’re going to be this panicked maybe we shouldn’t be working together!’ Peter yelled.

Silence.

It was always the two of you. Worked together on group projects in school, going to go see the new Star Wars films at the cinemas (Ned came along for a couple of them), studying, working together to take down the bad guys.

It was Y/N and Peter, that’s how the world works.

You stared at Peter, struggling to believe that your best friend would say something like that.

‘You really think that that is how we should go. Work alone? No longer help each other out?’ You questioned as you walk away to pick up your mask to put it back on to hide your tears from your best friend.

‘Y/N I- I didn’t mean that.’ Peter said softly, his voice starting to shake.

‘You seemed pretty certain about it.’ You snapped.

You didn’t want to leave your best friend. You knew that you and Peter were the best team. You understood each other’s movements. You knew that what you were about to do was completely unreasonable and stupid, but you were too clouded with your emotions and Peter’s words still racing through your head.

Peter started to slowly walk towards you.

‘Y/N, I swear I didn’t mean that. We’re a team, we always work together, and we work well. I’m sorry I’m just frustrated.’

‘Don’t bother apologising Peter, just, I’ll see you tomorrow at school.’

You turned around and leapt off the room and headed back home to get some sleep.

-

Walking down the halls of midtown, you kept your eyes focused on your locker because there was no way that you were going to face Peter.

Grabbing your books seemed like the perfect time for Peter to go up and talk to you but when you saw his New Balance sneakers next to you, you slammed your locker door shut and turned in the opposite direction, taking the longer way to your maths class.

You knew that you had to get over Peter’s words, and you knew you would eventually, but they had hurt so bad.

It wasn’t fair that Peter snapped at you just because you wanted to make sure that he was safe.

Sitting in maths you didn’t make eye contact with Peter. You had made the mistake of looking at him once and seeing the pain in his eyes made your stomach turn.

-

During lunch you didn’t talk to Peter, you just sat there reading your book, not taking in any words that were on the paper. You couldn’t focus on the story when thoughts of Peter were racing through your head.

Peter and Ned were whispering quietly to one another and Ned could sense the tension between the two of you. MJ was a lifesaver however because she sat down next to you.

Peter must have told her that something was going on, but you could tell from the look on MJ’s face, she didn’t know why.

-

After lunch was English with MJ. You didn’t have the class with Peter which was a gift for that day because you did not want to deal with your ‘best friend’.

MJ sat next to you and she questioned about you and Peter.

You two would always sit together at lunch, discussing whether the movie night this week was going to be at yours or his, whether the book was better than the movie (which MJ usually sided with you, because the book is (nearly) always better than the movie while Ned would side with Peter) and talking about what you learnt in physics. You two never talked about your teamwork outside of school, in fear of endangering others or if anyone was listening who shouldn’t be.

‘Peter and I had an argument last night over something. Just, he got on my nerves last night because he stressed me out.’

‘Okay, but we all know that he is an idiot, sometimes right?’ MJ laughs.

‘I know, and I know that I’m overreacting but it’s just really getting on my nerves. Peter’s my best friend and I want him to keep in contact you know?’ You said, straying closely to the truth, but not too close.

‘Peter sucks at texting back. He either texts straight away or at 3am, there’s no in-between.’ MJ smirks.

You sigh and continue to work on your English assignment.

‘I’m just distancing myself and I’m gonna work my own for a bit, rather than working with Pete.’

‘Okay, just remember that Pete will always be there for you, but  I know I don’t have to remind you.’

-

It was a week later. You had finished your homework for the night and told your parents you were going to bed, but you snuck out onto the fire escape and went to patrol for the night.

You hadn’t heard too much of Spider-Man’s activities in helping your city, only the small things such as helping the man find his pigeons.

Jumping from building to building, you were keeping an eye out for any odd behaviour when you spied a group of people hanging around a jewellery store. They were wearing homemade masks, so you knew this wasn’t a night where these people were getting a couple of drinks.

You eyed one of the masked people and jumped to a streetlight that was across the street from the store. Even though you never admitted it to him, you always had to thank Peter for teaching you how to stay balanced on the lights because there were too many laughter-filled nights and bruised legs the next morning from when you would slip.

When one masked people pulled out a hammer, that was when you interrupted.

‘Sorry to ruin your lovely night, but I’m not too sure that what you’re doing is legal.’ As you made your way over to the streetlight on their side of the busy NYC street.

The people on the ground started squabbling and pulling out their weapons that you had managed to not see in the first place. As they were pulling out their weapons, you told them to ‘take their time’.

You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Of course, they would’ve had weapons. So you stole your moment to think about what to do.

You saw an opening and leapt onto the tallest of the masked group and rebounded onto the smallest, ready to take them on.

‘Honey, you only just missed me. What a pity. Aim better next time.’ You teased as you dodged the female masked lady and then kicked her aside. Then you spun around to kick the tallest in the group on the temple, knowing that it would only knock the guy out.

You were down to the last three people, and you weren’t even tired. You were just doing your usual patrol and you were glad that the other ‘protector’ of New York hadn’t joined the party. However, when you looked to your left, you were ready to forgive your best friend so you could make it out of the night alive.

Many black SUV’s came screeching down the avenue, a never-ending line of them.

Your guess what that the people who were planning to rob the jewellery store, weren’t just a group of bored people.

In your moment of distraction, you felt someone punch you in the abdomen but after a year of fighting, you knew not to lean down. Instead, you gasped for air and hit back twice as hard. You spun, dodged and jumped, knocking out all of the robbers, wanting to get that off your to do list at the moment.

You saw many men run jump out of the many cars when you turned around, all now holding guns that you weren’t expecting.

Now you understood why you and Peter couldn’t work alone.

You always needed each other.

When the first shot was fired and you only narrowly missed, you knew you had got yourself into a bit of a mess.

Then you heard a familiar ‘pist’ sound.

However, you didn’t let your eyes flick over to your right, because in that moment, you were going to use Peter to your advantage.

It’s strange, there was a silence, as if the world was still but then you heard a voice in your earpiece.

‘Look Y/N, I’m sorry but we were both wrong. Could I be starting more unnecessary shit by saying this? Probably but we both had our faults. I should’ve contacted you, but you also didn’t have to ignore me. We didn’t have to have a ‘fight’. Anyway, I’m not gonna have a whole big speech right now because we’re about to be in the middle of something, but are we ready to work together again?’ Peter asked?

‘Okay yeah we’re all good. I’m sorry, and here we go. Start from the back and don’t be seen.’ You said quietly to Peter.

‘Yep spectacular spidey silent.’ You rolled you eyes and you saw out the corner of your eyes, a flash of blue and red jump to the corner of the building, and start taking out the men out the back. Even you could hear the ‘thwip’ from Peter, and even though he was saving you, you still needed to help his spider ass.

‘Okay, now let’s have some fun.’ You said as you ran forward to the army in front of you.

Now that everything was back in place, everything felt a lot smoother.

You flipped over about twenty men in front of you and you met the first guy with a kick to the throat and he stumbled back onto the ground and then you kicked another one of his buddies who landed right on top.

The two of you kept in touch the whole time, working well together and when you had your last five guys, you decided to have even more fun.

Finish things up by taking one of the guys and swinging him around to take out his other four mates.

You heard Peter laugh. It was your style to muck around a little bit, even when it was a dangerous situation.

Peter was the one to muck around with words, while you were the one to muck around a little bit when fighting, and it meant that the two of you worked well together.

You smiled at your best friend after the two of you took out the last guy and you went to hug your best friend when you looked over his shoulder only to shove the both of you to the side.

You could still hear the whistling of the bullet in your ear.

That’s when you saw one more car coming towards you, except you didn’t think this was one going to stop anytime soon.

‘Pete, do you wanna lift me?’ You turned to your best friend.

Peter nodded and grabbed onto your arm and swung the two of you up to the top of the building on the corner of the street.

The new black truck was driving past you and from the back on the building, a new problem arose.

You saw more men jump out, but then you saw the leader of the masked men.

Wilson Fisk.

The big (the only word that could describe him) man jumped down from the truck and you could see the metal bouncing back from the heavy man.

‘So here we are Spider-Man and his little girlfriend.’ Fisk looked up at you with a evil smirk.

You couldn’t care less about being called Spider-Man’s ‘girlfriend’, but you weren’t happy about the fact that Fisk had only called you that.

You weren’t Peter’s sidekick, and Peter wasn’t yours.

You were equal.

Now you were ready to fight.

Peter shot his webs over to the building opposite the two of you and swung the two of you over them. You dropped from Peter’s hold and knocked out one of the men cold.

You saw Fisk load his gun and before you could say anything, webs were shot, and the weapon went flying from Kingpin’s grasp.

You nodded to your friend in acknowledgement of his smooth move and the two of you went back to fighting the men.

Take down the pawns in order to take down the king.

Peter was dodging bullets and you had taken down the last men when you turned around to see Peter held by his neck by Wilson Fisk.

Your best friend started kicking, flailing around, suffocating.

You gasped, scared but you had no time to let the panic set in.

You took a deep breath. Panic was going to be no friend here.

The fire hydrant wasn’t going to be a good distraction, but you always had some stuff up your sleeves.

Peter wasn’t the one who was also inventing, nor Tony. You worked with Peter a lot when it came to improving his suit. It also meant that you had made a few little toys for yourself.

You threw a smoke bomb in Fisk’s direction hoping that it would release his grip of Pete just a little and then you climbed to the top of another streetlight and leapt onto Fisk.

You were right and landed on the crime lord’s shoulders and in surprise, he dropped and spun around to try and throw you off which you allowed.

Peter always recovered fast and it was something that you never completely understood, but soon enough you felt Peter’s webs stick to you and the next moment you were flying in Fisk’s direction and you kicked the man in the stomach which caught him by surprise. It then allowed you to distract Fisk as Peter snuck up behind him and began to tie him up with his webs.

Once everything was handled and Fisk was not able to move due to the number of webs that were trapping him, you called 911.

‘Yeah we’re all good. Yeah on the corner where the jewellery store is. Yep that’s the right one. Yep where the bus stop is. Yep on 5th avenue. All good? Anytime. Have a good night now guys.’ You wished the police a good night.

‘Well that was fun.’ You laughed.

Now that the adrenaline had stopped for the two of you, you realise how tired you were and how much your bodies hurt.

‘Can’t wait to see the bruise tomorrow. And shit, it’s 10:30pm.’ You said.

‘Did you finish the chem work?’ Peter asked as the two of you swung across the city.

‘Yeah I did. Do you need to borrow my answers?’ You laughed.

‘Okay yeah, just this once. Thanks.’ Peter chuckled.

‘You said that the last five times dumb-bum.’

It then returned to silence, and you knew what was coming next.

‘Peter, I’m sorry. Just, I got really scared and I panicked and yes, I was kinda rude with ignoring you and I know it was a bitchy thing to do but I was so angry. Pete, I was so scared.’ You explained. You didn’t have a good reason or your actions, but you were trying to make sense of them.

‘Y/N, I get it. I would’ve panicked too if the roles were swapped but we both acted out okay. We all good now?’ Peter smiled.

‘Of course, buddy.’

‘Okay shut up.’ Pete groaned at the nickname.

‘Be nice if you want the answers.’ You shouted as you returned to the ground, as you were now going to walk the couple more blocks to return to your apartment complex.

‘Sorry. Good night, love you!’ Peter swung away.

If it were any other city, people would be annoyed at the shouting.

‘Love you too buddy!’ You shouted from the ground.

You walked home with a smile on your face.

-

The next morning, at school, Peter thanked you again and called you a ‘lifesaver’ for giving him the answers to the chemistry homework.

Peter maybe smart, but he sucked at remembering to do his homework.

MJ smiled and you nodded to her from across the hall.

Everything was back to normal between you and your best friend, with one lesson learnt.

Just fucking communicate.

[imagine-lovebug]

Sunshine and Good Things (Tom Holland x Reader)

f(A/N) - So this fic is actually a part of Taylor’s ( @plushparker ) 2k writing challenge. Congrats, girlie! Your writing is incredible, and you totally deserve all the traction that your fics have been getting recently. Can’t wait to read all the other collaborator’s fics and everything else you write in the future. <3

Summary: You’re everything to Tom, even if he doesn’t make you feel like it.

Word Count: 2k

You’re snuggled up in bed, almost asleep but not yet, when you hear the heavy slam of the apartment door and the violent clattering of keys hitting the decorative ceramic plate kept by the entrance. The faint sound of feet shuffling across the hardwood is mixed with huffs and grumbles, and a dim light penetrates the small gap between the floor and door of the bedroom. With a sigh, you peel yourself away from the comfort of your duvet and twist to sit on the edge of the bed, your legs dangling. You know you should move, go and comfort the man you love after his rough day at work but, instead, you just sit there, digging your thumbs into your temples and your elbows into your exposed thighs. 

“You can’t keep doing this,” you told him last night, exasperation in your voice, “you work yourself too hard, let all your stress build up, and then come home to take it out on me! Stop!” This is the ninth night in a row where you’ve had an argument. Well, ‘argument’ is a stretch seeing as this is the first time you’ve actually yelled back. You never see him anymore: he’s out of the house before you wake up, either at the gym or an early call for work and then he’s home at ten or eleven at night, craving inebriation and a rant. 

He laughed apathetically and looked to the ceiling. “Well I’m sorry,” he sneered, “I didn’t know I was asking too much when I wanted to come home to a loving girlfriend after working for almost seventeen hours.”

A scoff left your lips, “No, Tom, that’s a perfectly acceptable thing to want to come home to. My problem,” your fists had clenched at your sides, nails digging into the skin of your palms as your hands shook slightly, “is that you immediately get drunk the second you get back, and then proceed to yell at me for an hour until I go to bed. That’s my fucking problem.”

“What’s wrong with me wanting to relax with a beer when I get home?” he yelled, his fingers pulling at the roots of his hair. 

“Nothing!” Your hands shot out in desperation, gesticulating wildly before settling against your forehead in an attempt to disperse the tension that had collected in your temples. “Absolutely nothing. Relax all you fucking want! Just don’t unload all your fucking stress onto me, because if you can’t deal with that shit then why the fuck would I be able to.” You sighed and looked to your feet, your voice mellowing out,  “I’ve tried so hard to give you advice or sympathize with what’s going on, but when you don’t take it, what the fuck else am I supposed to do? Your problems seem fucking endless and it’s ridiculous.”

Another humourless laugh passed his lips, making you grip at your hair in anger. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he scoffed quietly, “This shouldn’t even be a problem! There are so many fucking girls who would kill to be in your place; why the fuck are you acting like such a bitch right now?” You felt all the blood in your body run cold. The anger and exasperation you were feeling had seeped from you entirely, and numbness expanded in their wake, consuming you. He knew it was a low blow when he said it— you’ve repeatedly expressed your hesitation and anxiety around the idea of his fans, and he’s seen firsthand how their hate-speech affects you—  but when he saw all the colour in your face drain and noticed the tears welling up in your eyes, he immediately went to take it back.

“Baby,” he whispered, regret flooding the affectionate nickname as he reached a hand out towards you. You pulled away as if his touch would brand your skin. “I... I can’t do this right now,” you whispered breathily, your words sticking in your throat. He saw you swallow, the tears in his eyes threatening to fall. You’d never pulled away from him before, and the way you recoiled— like the idea of his touch repulsed you at the moment— killed him.

“Well, this bitch,” you hissed finally, your voice thick with emotion as you held back a sob, “is going to bed. Don’t you fucking dare try to join me.” Tom stared dejectedly at the floor and a sigh left his lips as you stormed off down the hallway. The sound of the door slamming echoed around the apartment, and he felt his heart drop. “For fuck’s sake,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes with the hem of his t-shirt, willing his socked feet to pad their way over to the couch. Tom’s fallen asleep on the sofa many times with ease, usually cuddled up with you, a velvety blanket draped over your laps, and your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. This time, however, he struggled to find a comfortable position, his body just not melting into his spot like usual, but he eventually drifted off into a restless slumber.

When you woke up this morning, a tepid cup of tea sat on your bedside table and the doors to your bedroom and shared wardrobe were open slightly, making a small smile grace your lips. He never remembers to close them, even the doors to the cupboards in the kitchen. There have been too many times when you’ve walked late at night to get a glass of water and you’ve hit your head on an opened cabinet. It wasn’t too hard to peel yourself from the bed to look further since his side of the mattress was so cold. You tread through the house sleepily, finding that Tom’s keys were no longer on the plate by the door, and the blanket in the living room was thrown haphazardly across the back of the sofa. A pink sticky note was stuck to the front of the fridge that read ‘I’m sorry about last night. I’m back at 7. Chinese for dinner?’ in his scratchy handwriting, a little heart scribbled at the end of his message. 

After a day of nothing, you called in your usual order to the local Chinese restaurant down the road. It showed up at quarter past seven, but Tom still wasn’t home so you put it in the oven to stay warm. You were still mad, but your heart swelled at the thought of that pink sticky and the mug of tea he had made you. You’d found a movie to watch, placed a bottle of beer for him next to your half-drunk glass of Ribena, and waited. At half seven, you shot him a text asking if he’d be home soon and started the movie yourself. At nine you despondently decided to dish up your own meal and eat. At half ten you went to bed.

And now, at almost one in the morning, you sit at the edge of your mattress, contemplating whether you should just lie back down and going to sleep or go and see him for the first time in twenty-four hours. You shudder as your bare feet make contact with the chilled floorboards and a sigh leaves your lips. The door doesn’t creak when you open it and you embrace the silence that fills the flat. The only light that’s on is in the kitchen, but it illuminates the room enough for you to see Tom’s silhouette slumped on the couch, resting his head against the top of the square cushions. Heavy sighs continue to leave his lips as he rubs his temples with his forefingers, his eyes screwed up tightly. 

You quietly shuffle your way behind him and place your hands on his bare shoulders, his shirt balled up at the other end of the sofa, squeezing the muscles there to help alleviate tension. He jumps initially, but soon enough he has melted into your touch, letting quiet sighs and groans leave his mouth as you massage his shoulders, neck, and biceps. With his head still leaned against the back of the couch, he opens his sleepy eyes to look at you. “I don’t deserve you,” he mumbles, his arms lifting to make a childish grabby motion to your face. Your eyes roll, but you lean down anyway and indulge him; you let him cup your cheeks to pull you into a sweet, upside-down kiss. “I don’t think that’s true,” you whisper, pulling your face from his to clamber over the back of the sofa and settle down beside him, “we deserve each other. We just have to work on some stuff, yeah?”

He nods and snuggled his face into your neck, his arms going around your waist to pull you onto his lap. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was just,” he pauses, hesitation in his voice, “I was just tired and worked up, but that doesn’t excuse what I said. I love you. You’re perfect. Don’t let anyone, especially me, tell you otherwise because we’re all lying.” You shake lightly in a silent chuckle and thread your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. Tom groans lightly and places his lips against your neck and jawline. The warmth of his kisses radiates throughout your entire body.

“Everything about you feels like sunshine and good things, y’know?” he mumbles into your skin, “It’s like you’re too pure for this world, and I’m constantly baffled that I’m the one that gets to come home to you every day.” His kisses trail up from your collarbone to your lips, and one hand moves from around your waist to the back of your neck, pulling you further into him. The kiss is slow but demanding and, in every way of the word, intoxicating. Tom hasn’t taken one sip of that beer you left out for him, yet he feels that swell of unadulterated happiness that comes with being drunk. He keeps trying to tug you closer, feeling the desire to hold you tight and never let go; the hand on your waist pushes itself under his hoodie that you’re wearing and dances along the smooth expanse of your back. 

Tom lets his thumb trace the curve of your waist as you pull away reluctantly. You withdraw only when your lungs are frantic for air, decidedly pressing your forehead against his to maintain as much contact as possible, letting your harsh panting breaths intertwine between you. His light chuckle pulls you from your daze. “What?” you ask, a small smile gracing your lips. A cheeky smirk crosses his features, “You taste like Lo Mein.” You throw your head back and roll your eyes, throwing playful punches at his chest as you fight the grin that so desperately wants to emerge on your lips. “You suck.”

“You love me really,” he offers cockily.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I do, don’t I?” His smirk softens into a delicate smile, his arms coming back around to pull you into him. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, “So much.” The two of you stay there, snuggled up on the couch; you’re straddling his lap and leaning into the crook of his neck while his arms pull you into him, his head leaning against the back cushions. Nothing has changed about the sofa since last night but, suddenly, Tom finds it to be one of the most comfortable places in the world. With you cuddled peacefully into him, he has no problem falling asleep.

Tags: @ptersparkers // @lousimusician // @stephie-senpai // @flirtypeter // @stuckonspidey // @lostparker // @dej-okay // @somethingtoavenge // @shadowsingeraxolotl // @demonsintheair // @parkeroffline // @thegirlwiththeimpala // @plushparker

If you want to be added to my tag list, just msg me!

[tommybaholland]

Far From You | Peter Parker x reader

(:((( gif is not mine)

READ “After Ashes” FIRST 

Summary: what happens after defeating Thanos?

Word Count: 4K+

warnings: angst, swearing, post-Endgame, ffh spoilers 

a/n: phewww finally got this donE...i’ve been thinking about it ever since i saw ffh so im real excited to finally have written it and am now sharing it w you :’). this is also for @plushparker ‘s 2K writing challenge congrats bby!! 

Prompt: “I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” 

––––––––––––––––––––

“We wait for Mr. Stark to save us.” 

And so you waited, you and Peter. 

It was pretty agonizing, to say the least. There was nothing to do but wait. You and Peter were completely alone, surrounded by orange. 

“How many people do you think are also trapped here?” You asked as you cradled Peter’s head in your lap.

“Thanos said he’d wipe out half of Earth’s population, so a lot,” Peter responded with his eyes shut, enjoying the sensation of your hand playing with his hair mindlessly. 

You looked up, scanning the orange horizon, still seeing nothing. 

“Where is everyone? It’s just us here,” You noted.

“I’m not sure. Maybe everyone has their own section of the stone,” Peter proposed, opening his eyes to see your reaction. 

You smiled, chuckling. “Then it’s kind of a miracle that we got to have our own little section together.”

Peter smiled back, sitting up and turning to lean towards you. 

“Yeah, it kind of is,” he agrees.

He leans in slightly to give you a small kiss, with his suit-covered hand on you shoulder while yours came up to cradle the back of his neck. 

It was scary, that unknown feeling. You might be gone forever, and never see Ned or MJ or your parents again. Peter may never see May or Tony again. You may never get to experience life, or living, ever again. 

It was a hard pill you might have to swallow. 

But being alone Peter was enough to get you through it, for now. 

Pulling back slowly, you opened your eyes to admire your whole world, smiling at the tiny details around his eyes as you stayed close to one another. 

Suddenly Peter looked behind him, as if he were anticipating something. 

“Peter? What is it?”

He looked around the orange space, searching for the threat that triggered his senses, the little pulses vibrating throughout his body. 

“Something’s...happening,” he voiced before lowering his eyes back to you, making sure you were okay. 

You felt something on your hands, tickling in between your fingers. Looking down, your eyes widened as you saw your hands begin to crumble into dust.

“Peter! Wha—what’s—” 

Your breaths became heavy as you tried to reach out to him, frantic that you would lose him again. 

“I—I,” Peter didn’t know how to respond to what was happening. He watched as tears fell from your eyes, his heart breaking at the sight. 

But he wanted to remain calm for you.

“I’ll find you, babe, okay? It’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re alright,” he soothed, his arms enclosing around you as you nodded.

“Peter,” you sobbed before the remaining parts of you blew away, reduced to nothing but dust. 

Peter’s senses continued to pulsate through him, and he waited for something to strike, to explode, to end. 

He assumed his attack position, crouched down with a fist pulled back, ready to strike whatever was coming. 

“C’mon, Mr. Stark.” 

The orange soon began to fade, and Peter let out several short breaths, hyping himself up for the finishing fight with Thanos. 

“This is it.”

—

You woke up in a startled panic. Sitting up moments after you opened your eyes, your saw that you were back in your room, laying on your bed. 

You surveyed the space, seeing that not much had changed physically, but the atmosphere was almost haunting. All of your belongings were left untouched, unmoved, unloved. Everything seemed normal, but a dull normal. 

Getting up from your spot on the bed, you went over to the window to look out at the city. Lights in apartment buildings were on, cars were moving, and the night was still young. It was almost as if you dreamt the whole thing, and at this point you were considering it. 

You felt uneasy.

After everything that happened, everything that Peter told you happened, something had to be different. Walking over to your desk, you looked at your pictures on the wall. Pictures of you and your friends, pretty places, you and Peter. 

Was Peter any different? Did they actually do it? 

Turning back to your bed, you reached over the mattress with haste to grab your phone, the screen lighting up to show the current date. 

April 27, 2023 

You eyes widened as you clapped a hand on your forehead. 

You were gone for five years??!

It seemed like only hours, a school day at most, in the soul stone. 

You unlocked your phone, clicking your way to call the last person you saw. 

“Please, please, c’mon..”

“Hey, this is Peter! Leav-“ 

“Fuck,” you swore as you pulled the phone away from your ear, the call disconnecting, your phone shutting off from low battery. 

Talk about major deja vu. Except maybe Peter would come back this time. Or maybe you wouldn’t find him in some unfamiliar place as a prisoner to an alien who wanted half of humanity dead only to come back finding out that you’d been gone five years. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring back up at the wall of photos. You weren’t even looking at them, just staring. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. The desensitization kicking in, you passed time easily and quietly. 

You eventually decided to exit your room to see if your parents were there or not. You didn’t even know if they had been in the stone with you. You had no way of knowing who was there with you. Turns out they had been snapped too, leading to you explaining everything you knew about what happened. 

After catching up with your parents, you went back in to your room, you intentions set on sleeping on it. Upon opening your door, you flinched as you discovered Peter, who was sitting on the edge of your bed just as you had done earlier. 

“Peter!” 

You exclaimed as he stood up quickly and taking a few steps to meet your embrace, tightly hugging you around the waist. Your cheek felt cool against the surface of his iron suit as you leaned your head on his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, what happened? Did you win? Is Thanos gone? Is everyone okay?? Did you know that we were gone for five years?” You threw out a bunch of questions as you released him, getting a good look at him for the first time since he showed up in your room. 

He looked like he had just stepped off the battlefield. Messy hair, dirt-smudged face, and glossy eyes adorned his features. He didn’t respond for a few moments, just looking as you as if he was trying to conjure the right words. 

“Yeah,” he finally replied, stepping back to reclaim his position on your bed.

“We won. He’s gone.” 

You followed his lead, sitting next to him, turning towards him with one knee up on the mattress. 

“You don’t...seem too happy about it,” you commented on his forlorn tone. 

You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention. 

“How does it feel to win your first fight as an Avenger?” 

You tried to perk him up, not understanding what was causing him so much...anguish. 

He turned his head towards, reluctant to meet your eyes. 

“He’s gone.” 

“Yeah, P, Thanos is gone–“ 

“No,” he cut you off. You noticed tears surfacing in his eyes, darkening the chocolate brown color of the iris. Fear struck your heart trying to guess what he would say next. 

“Mr. Stark is gone.” 

You shook your head slightly, somewhat in disbelief. 

“Wha-“

“He’s gone, y/n! Mr. Stark is gone. He’s dead! And I-I didn’t–I didn’t—“ 

“Shh, Peter. It’s okay.” You shushed him, pulling his head down for him to cry into your shoulder. 

You smoothed down the hair in the back of his head, your other hand rubbing his back comfortingly.

“It shouldn’t have been him. I should’ve saved him, I should’ve–“ 

“Shh, it’s okay, babe. I’m sure you did everything you could to help,” you comforted. 

It was hard to see him like this, especially when you didn’t know exactly what went down during the final battle with Thanos. 

“Baby, let’s clean you up, get you out of this suit and lay down,” you offered, starting to move away from him. 

“Noooo,” he whimpered, pulling you closer to him, pressing his face deeper into your shoulder. 

“I just want you to hold me.” 

“Peter, let’s just lay you down so you can rest, okay?” 

Peter nodded into your shoulder, leaning his head up to let you move back to the head of your bed. Peter followed suit, crawling up to the other side of the bed beside you, wrapping your arms around him. You guided him to lay his head down on your chest, right over your heart. His arm was thrown over your waist, the cool metal of his fingers brushing over your hip. 

He relaxed, closing his eyes as he listened to the loud thump of your heart, feeling you fingers in his hair once again. You laid there, letting everything sink in, again. 

“Dr. Strange said there was only one chance for us to win,” Peter spoke up, his voice hoarse from crying. 

“Why did that one chance have to be the one that killed him?” 

It broke your heart that Peter watched the person he looked up to the most die. It wasn’t meant to be like this, or maybe it was. 

You didn’t know what to say or how to help him. You wish you had powers, and could take away his pain. But for now, all you could do was remain calm for him. 

“It’s going to be okay, P.” 

—

The next eight months would prove to be tough. On everyone. And starting over the school year after the Snap didn’t help. 

However, everyone who was gone adapted rather quickly once they came back. It was weird seeing people, friends and teachers, who survived the Snap and are now five years older. But you and everyone else soon returned to your day-to-day routines, acting almost like nothing happened. 

Peter had it the worst. 

You didn’t want to go with him to the funeral, wanting to spare yourself of the pain, but he wanted you to be there with him. He held onto your hand throughout the entire service, squeezing it every now and then to make sure you were still there. 

You didn’t know Tony too well, only having seen him a few times since he gave Peter the suit he made for him after Peter went to Germany. That was even before you knew he was Spider-Man, before you were dating. You though he was just a regular, nerdy cutie who liked to play with Legos and eat smushed sub sandwiches. 

And you still loved all that about him. 

But he was gone way too often and you were in way too deep to not figure it out, with the help of MJ. 

In a way, Tony brought you two together. Peter would always mention the “Stark Internship” and vaguely how he was working right alongside Tony and the Avengers. And even when his cover was blown, and that ended up to be mostly not true, Peter would still take every chance he could to impress Mr. Stark and protect the city. 

Peter was Spider-Man all on his own but meeting the high expectations of Tony Stark was what, he thought, made Spider-Man great and amazing. 

For the first few months, Peter was mopey and sad. You didn’t see him as much as you used to, even when you wanted to help him. But you had to admit, it took up a lot of your own energy to see him sad and trying to help him through it. 

You really didn’t feel like you were helping at all, and felt more like a burden to him, if anything. 

But for the last few months, he had gotten better. That spark in his eyes and the pep in his, now deeper, voice was coming back. He went out to patrol the city more and even made appearances at FEAST shelter charity events that Aunt May hosted. 

You knew he was still hurting. 

You knew he was trying to distract himself from the unfortunate end for Tony, those images of him dying right before Peter’s eyes. 

The school year was ending and the school science trip to Europe was coming up, and Peter couldn’t be more relieved. 

“We’re going to have so much fun and see all the famous parts of the world!” He beamed laying next to you one night after going out on his nightly patrols. 

You hated to mention it but it was itching at your mind. 

“What if someone here needs help while we’re gone, or while we’re on the trip?” 

Peter picked his head up off your shoulder, leaning on his elbow to look at you. 

“Well...I was thinking…” he began, his eyes shifting from yours. “I’m not gonna take the suit.” 

You knew he had been through a rough spot, but you thought he was starting to enjoy having these abilities and using them for good again. 

“But you love being Spider-Man.” 

“Yeah, I do, babe, but I just need a break. I just want to be Peter Parker, going on vacation and enjoying it with my friends and making out with my beautiful girlfriend at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

You giggled as he got closer to you, hovering over to bring his lips to yours for a few sweet kisses. 

“You’ll always be Peter Parker to me,” you replied, pulling back slightly but still close enough to see the small, minute details of his pretty face. 

He smiled and continued to kiss you, enjoying hearing your laugh as his lips tickled your cheek and neck. He thought about all the plans he had for you on this trip, some of which you knew nothing about.

He sold all his Star Wars figurines and memorabilia to make money and buy you a glass blown necklace in Venice with an orchid charm, your favorite flower. He wanted to give it to you in Paris, at the top of the Eiffel Tower, the most romantic spot in the world.  

He’s told you ‘I love you’ before but he wanted this time to be special. 

Truthfully, he felt like he had neglected you. You were there for him through it all and he wanted you to know that he appreciated that. He really loved you, everything about you. 

—

The trip was not going well for Peter. 

The first day in Venice was alright and he was somehow able to sneak away for a moment to get the necklace for you. It was prettier than he imagined and it would look even better when he’d put it on you. 

So it was going well, until that water monster thing showed up. And if it weren’t for Mysterio, he probably wouldn’t have been able to control the situation without his suit, which May packed, much to his dismay. 

Mysterio, or Beck, as Peter knew him, was the only good thing about Nick Fury inserting himself into the vacation. 

He understood and praised Peter for being a smart kid who was being bogged down a big responsibility. And you were happy listening to Peter talk about him as you walked together through the streets of Prague, making up for lost time. 

“So he had me try on the Edith glasses, right? And he was like ‘They look stupid’ so then I passed them over to him and he put them on and oh my god, y/n! He looked just like him,” Peter exclaimed.

You smiled at his beaming tone, enjoying that he was obviously excited to have another ‘super person’ he could be friends with.

“So then I thought, ‘It’s him’ and I gave Edith the confirmation to let Beck have command of the glasses. Isn’t that great, babe?”

You frowned slightly at the last part. “Why did you give Edith to him, again?”

“Because this is what Mr. Stark wanted me to do! He gave me the glasses so I could find the next Tony Stark. Don’t you see?”

“Peter, I think he gave you the glasses because he wanted you to have them,” you responded. 

He seemed to be overthinking it. Why wouldn’t he cherish something that was given to him by someone he cared for a lot?

“I’m not the next Iron Man, y/n, Beck is. He’s the only one who knows how to beat the Elementals, Nick Fury trusts him, he fits the Avengers to a T; he’s perfect!”

You shook your head. “I just, I don’t know about this, P. You haven’t known him for very long and since when does Nick Fury trust anyone?” 

“Listen, babe,” he answered, putting his hands on your shoulders. “It’s going to be okay, I have a good feeling about this. And if I didn’t, I would feel it.” 

You sighed. “I have something to show you.”

Taking off your backpack that you’d brought, you pulled out a small metal device that had some of Peter’s webs hanging off of it. 

You handed it to Peter as you began to explain. “I found it after you knocked it off of that fire thing. I don’t know what it is, but it seems...strange.”

Peter looked at it, thinking it looked like a light or something before it sparked, causing him to drop it. Hitting the ground, the device projected a cloudy, ghost looking monster, similar to the other Elementals. 

Peter was confused, trying to put it together in his head. 

“I-I don’t understand…”

“Peter...I think all those fights, the Elementals….” you started, getting his attention. “They were fake.” 

How could that be? Peter fought them himself, they seemed so real. 

“No, no. That can’t be true,” he denied, shaking his head.

“It has to be,” you corroborated. “Why are there projectors falling off of the Elementals? Why do they suddenly surrender when Mysterio shows up? It all makes sense, Peter!” 

He didn’t want to believe you, but everything you were saying didn’t make Beck look good. And what made it worse was—

“Oh god.” 

Peter trusted him. 

—

Peter was left alone, again. But this time he was betrayed by someone he thought he could trust to be like Mr. Stark. 

“I’ve gotta get to Berlin,” Peter voiced, frantically tearing his clothes off to put on the ‘night monkey’ suit. 

You just stood there in your room, not knowing what to say. 

“You were right, y/n,” he admitted as he finished putting on the suit, holding the mask in his hand. 

“I shouldn’t have given him the glasses. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

He was closer to you now, a hand caressing the side of your head, brushing some of your hair back. 

“It’s okay,” you accepted, grabbing his forearm. “What are you gonna do?”

Peter shrugged slightly. “Try to stop him, I guess? I’ll figure it out once I find Mr. Fury.”

You nodded, not wanting to say goodbye. 

“Cover for me and warn the others. I’ll try to get in touch with Happy. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You nodded again, a quiet confirmation just barely passing your lips. You squeezed his forearm as he leaned in to place a small kiss on your forehead. 

He put the mask on, turned and went to the window to jump out of the hotel, taking all your hope with him. 

Going to London didn’t feel right. You didn’t know what was going to happen or what was currently happening, but you didn’t feel very good about it. No one really noticed that Peter was gone, excluding Ned and MJ, not even Flash, who was too busy vlogging for his Spider-Man fan account. 

It was very cloudy and overcast in the city, looking like a storm was coming. It was getting windier by the second and it wasn’t just because you were on top of a double decker bus. Ned and MJ looked out at Tower Bridge with you, seeing a big cloud start to take shape. 

“Is this Mysterio?” Ned asked. 

“It must be, but it’s not real.”

You had told them about Mysterio and how he was using drone tech to fake the Elemental attacks. 

“Where’s Peter?” MJ questioned. 

You looked around the sky, hoping that he would swoop in soon to stop this. 

“I don’t know.”

The next ten minutes became increasingly intense as the storm escalated, causing the entire class to exit the bus and run in the opposite direction of the chaos. You looked back as you ran, seeing a small figure fly right into the cloud of drones disguised as an Elemental. 

Peter glided into the scene, closing his eyes as he entered the cloud, finding hundreds of drones projecting the illusion. He used the taser webs he built into his custom-made suit to short-circuit the group, effectively stopping the projections. 

Peter fought for his life once he found Beck on the bridge. Destroying all his drones in a matter of seconds and stopping a gunshot to his head proved to be a moment of clarity for Peter. 

He could trust himself when it came to danger. 

“You can’t trick me anymore,” he announced before ripping the glasses off of Beck, putting them on to order Edith to turn off the drones. 

He watched as the drones retreated, flying back to wherever they came from. He sighed, finally able to take a breath and feeling exhausted after actually fighting something. Looking out at the real damage on the bridge he noticed a person standing in the middle of all the debris. He made the figure out to be you, seemingly looking around for him. 

“y/n…”

He was about to make his way down when he noticed two drones flying towards you from both sides. His eyes widened as he saw they were going to meet in the middle right where you were standing. 

“Y/N!” 

He jumped on top of the handrail in front of a broken window. He didn’t have any web fluid left in his web shooters as he flung himself from the window, trying to glide down to grab you. 

He screamed out for you, trying to get your attention to move. He didn’t want to accept that he wasn’t going to make it in time. The drones collided with each other, causing a big explosion that threw him back further down the bridge. 

He landed in some debris, coughing to quickly get up and see the aftermath. Once the smoke had cleared, he saw your body on the ground, not moving. 

“Oh no, y/n!” 

He ran as fast as he could over to you, punching his way through anything that was in his way. 

“Oh my god, y/n.”

He reached you, dropping to his knees as you coughed, barely conscious. There was a large gash on the side of your head, blood flowing out. Peter cradled your head as you spoke hoarsely. 

“Peter…”

“No, y/n, no, no, no.”

Tears filled up in his eyes, getting more hysterical as your eyes started to droop closed. 

“Babe, no. You’re-You’re alright, it’s going to be okay,” he sniffled. “No, y/n, please. You’re okay, just, p-please.”

He was fully crying now, leaning down to cry over your lifeless body. 

“Peter?”

His ears perked up as he straightened up, looking back to see you walking towards him. 

“y/n?”

“No, no, no. Stop,” Peter held his hand up at you. 

“This is another trick. You’re not real, you’re-you’re dead!” Peter acknowledged, gesturing to your body laying on the pavement. 

“Peter, this isn’t a trick, it’s really me,” you spoke. 

“Prove it. Tell me something only you would know,” he whimpered, distressed. 

You held out your hand, opening up your palm to reveal the necklace. 

“Happy gave this to me,” you explained. “He said that you were going to give it to me. Is that true?”

Peter was breathing heavily and nodded, too tired to speak. 

“It is you…”

He looked back to find the dead you gone, confirming that was the illusion. He looked back to you, who stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He pulled you into his arms, burying his bloody and tear-stained face into your shoulder. 

“I love you, y/n,” he spoke into your shoulder, words coming out muffled. 

“I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

You pulled away from him, about to respond when he kept talking. 

“I had this whole plan to give you that at the top of the Eiffel Tower but that didn’t happen because of….everything and I wanted to show how much I love you and appreciate you. I’m sorry it was ruined, guess I can’t just be Peter Parker…” He trailed off, lowering his eyes from your expression. 

“No, you can’t,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “I told you, you’re always going to be Peter Parker to me, and that includes Spider-Man. I love you, Peter, all of you.” 

He smiled at your response, his eyes still slightly glossy from crying. He leaned in, holding you close to him as you shared a short but passionate kiss with enough love to last a lifetime. 

—

And that all happened about a week ago. 

Now you stood outside of your apartment, waiting for Peter to come get you so you could have date night. You figured you both deserved it, given what a disaster the trip came to. 

You phone suddenly vibrated in your hand, signaling a call from Peter, which was odd considering you had just been texting him. 

“Hey, babe. Are you coming?”

“Y/N! Ohmygod…”

“Peter, what’s wrong?” You questioned his frantic tone. 

“I was swinging through the neighborhood to come get you when...Beck—”

“Mysterio? I thought he was dead!” You interrupted.

“So did I!” Peter agreed. “But he filmed a video of himself before I got to him on the bridge..or somethings, accusing me of all these bad things…”

“Oh, Peter…”

“And then he-he…” Peter paused, in disbelief that he was going to say it aloud.

“What did he do, P?” 

“Revealed my identity.”

“He wHAT?!!?” you exclaimed, clapping a hand to your forehead. 

“The whole world knows I’m Spider-Man.” 

You and Peter really can’t seem to catch a break.

—

A/N: should i write another part and make some shit up or shall we wait two more years so i can write something based off what they do next with our sticky boi??

<3 tommybaholland

what will happen to peter and y/n?? (feedback much appreciated)

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[lirasmoon]

oh fuck yes this tore my heart to pieces and then took a sledgehammer to it.

“At least think of me while you’re gone”

Summary: your relationship with Tom is a secret, and you hate it. At a party, your feelings are finally confronted.

A/N: This is a very, very, very late (im so sorry taylor!) entry for @plushparkers 2k writing challenge, so a big congrats to her on reaching on that amazing milestone! I hope you guys will give it a read and tell me what you think afterwards!

Word count: 5600+

T/W: alcohol and swearing

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

When does your plane arrive?❤️ (heart emoji)

You hit send, putting your phone down on the sink. You pick up the mascara instead, painting your eyelashes black before the “Ping!”-sound from your phone startles you and causes you to draw a dark line just below your eyebrow.

“Fucking shit,” you curse, searching through your cabinet with frantic movements for a cotton pad and makeup remover.

While you try to remove your mistake, you look at your phone.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Around 5. Don’t have to pick me up, though.

Throwing the cotton pad in the bin, you quickly type an answer.

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

You know I want to. Missed you😘 (kissing emoji)

You smile at the thought that you’ll see him today, and that these last months spent longing will finally be over. In just a couple of hours, you will be able to smell him, talk to him, touch him. And yeah, maybe he won’t kiss you at the airport, but he definitely will later, when it’s just the two of you.

Another “Ping” lets you know you’ve gotten a new message, and you try to keep your cool by applying some lipstick, but your whole body is buzzing, eager to see his answer.

Soon, your lips are coated in a beautiful red shade, perfectly kissable in your own, humble opinion. Tom loves having your lips mark him, his jaw often covered in lipstick marks after you’ve been hanging out, and the fact that the popping colour draws attention to your lips doesn’t hurt, either.

You want him to hug you in the airport while he’s yearning to kiss you, yearning to see if you taste like that cherry lip balm he likes, and maybe you won’t when he finally gets you alone, but by then it won’t matter.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

There’ll be a crowd, and I’ll be too tired to do anything but sleep anyway.

You don’t understand. Does that mean he doesn’t want you to come? Or that he thinks you’ll get uncomfortable surrounded by his screaming fans?

Because you can deal with the fans, you’ve done so before, but if it’s because he doesn’t want you there, you won’t know what to do.

Before you can answer, though, another text shows on the screen.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

I’ll just see you at the party🕺🎆 (dancing man and fireworks emoji)

The welcome home party might already be tomorrow, but you still feel stupid. Here you’ve been, ecstatic for his return for weeks while he doesn’t even want you to be there in the airport. Besides, who knows how much you’ll even see of him tomorrow, everyone’s there to see him, after all.  

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

👍 (thumbs up emoji)

And yeah, maybe your answer is passive aggressive, but right now, you really don’t care. Not when you’ve spent days debating what to wear for picking him up and figured out exactly what amount of make-up you should go for to ensure you looking great but not over the top.

And now, he doesn’t even want to see you.

You find the makeup remover once more, this time removing all traces of the makeup you’ve just applied. You slide the cotton pad all over your face with harsh movements, and while it might not be the best way to clean your skin, it helps relieve some of the anger.

Both your skin and your eyes are red when you’re finished, but you don’t look at yourself in the mirror long enough to see the tears sliding down.

Instead, you go back to bed, crawl under the covers and cry to a sad teen movie you loved when you were younger.

The worst part is, you find that you still love the movie just as much as back then, all too similar to the way your love for Tom has done nothing but increase since you first discovered it in your teen years.

 Tom’s parents’ house is filled up with people, but as Tom’s best friend through most of your life, you know the bigger part of them.

You spend a couple minutes talking to his aunt about her hip problems, but then you figure you want something to drink and excuse yourself.

There’s a lot to choose from, delicious sodas and expensive-looking bottles of champagne and wine, but you pick up a canned beer instead. You figure you need some alcohol as soon as possible. That way, you hope you’ll have the courage to face him when you have to.

You definitely can’t keep avoiding him, because even though the house isn’t small, it isn’t exactly a mansion, either.

You sip the beer, taking a few steps towards the wall to let Tom’s young cousins access the drink’s table.

Then, your eyes meet his, and you feel slightly dizzy as it seems almost unreal to finally see him in real life and not through a screen.

Still, you’re angry and hurt, and there’s a knot in your stomach. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this, the last you were angry at him. And maybe it’s petty, but you just hate the fact that you always plan everything around him, while he, when it comes down to it, doesn’t even want to see you after spending four months apart.

“Hey,” he greets you with a smile while still making his way to you, squeezing in between people and excusing himself.

“Hey,” you repeat, but your voice is cold as you take another sip of your beer. There’s a flicker of worry breaking through his confident, happy exterior, but it disappears quickly.

When he’s finally standing close enough to you, he engulfs you in a tight hug, and although you’ve dreamt about this reunion, this first hug in months, it doesn’t even feel that nice. Your body is tense, and your attempt to reciprocate his hug is half-hearted, so he finally lets you go and looks inquiring at you, still with a grip on your elbows.

“We cool?”

You swallow a lump, trying to put on a fake smile. You hope he doesn’t see through it, because although he used to be able to read your face as if it was a stop sign or a stupid brochure for a new pizzeria, it’s been a long time since you last saw each other.

“Sure.”

“Why are you acting weird then?” he asks, and you know he’s split between knowing you’re lying and the fact that it probably won’t help his situation to call you out on it.

You shake his hands off you to gulp down some beer.

“I’m not.”

He crooks his head, scrunching his eyes and looking down at his hands that hang loosely down his sides after returning from you. They start fiddling with the red polo he’s wearing, and you let your gaze wander slowly up his body, not missing how strong his biceps look or the broadness of his shoulder, before you get to his face to find him already watching you.

“You are.”

This time, you don’t argue. Why even bother?

A silence settles between you, so different to the happy chatter filling up the room, and you don’t know how to act. You don’t think you’ve ever experienced anything so awkward with Tom, he’s always been the one you could talk to for an endless number of hours, the one you could be quiet with, the one person in the world you were most comfortable around.

“Nice party,” you say when the silence becomes too much for you, but you hate yourself for being the first one to bow down. It seems that you always are.  

He shrugs, “You know my mum. Always inviting people we don’t even talk with often.”

Perhaps it just runs in the family, you wonder; making people feel like they’re more important than they are.

“They’ve missed you,” you just tell him, knowing that it’s true. He tends to have that impact on people, squeezing himself into their hearts in a matter of five minutes. And once you’ve met him, it’s impossible to forget him.

“They?” he softly asks, and you know he wants you to elaborate.

When you don’t, he asks again, this time phrased so you have no chance to get out of answering, “What about you? Haven’t you missed me?”

You look away, your gaze landing on Harrison who’s laughing with Tom’s grandma.

“Don’t know why you would ask something so stupid,“ you mutter.

He steps closer, and you can feel his presence all over your body. His breath hits your face, and you can smell both beer and the homemade chips his dad is famous for.

“Wanna hear you say it.”

You look at him again, and like countless of times before, you are hit by his beauty. You don’t think there’s a single person in this world as handsome as him, but you might be biased.

Being in love with the same guy for years tends to do that to someone.

“Missed you so much it hurt,” you admit, and you watch his face soften. He’s so close that you could just lean forward and kiss him.

Needless to say, it takes everything in you not to.

Luckily, he steps back, and the enchantment is broken.

“I should probably talk to the other guests. Don’t want them to feel left out, do we?”

You force yourself to laugh, “Of course not.”

But everything in you is begging and hoping that he just takes your hand and leads you away from everyone.

You want him to say that he’s missed you too, that he’s been thinking of you constantly, but you know he hasn’t. Or, maybe he’s felt a pinch of pain occasionally, but then he’s moved on and forgotten about it. Unlike you, who has spent so many nights crying, wishing that he was laying right beside you. And you know that it’s not his fault, that your circumstances are different because he’s out there, doing what he loves most while you are drowning in boring schoolwork and waiting impatiently for his return.

He steps closer, and you think he’s going to kiss you, in front of all those people, and your heart starts beating terribly fast, but then he turns his head and whispers in your ear, “Will I see you later?”

You know what he means: Another quickie in the dark, no one finding out there’s any more than friendship between you. Because that’s how he wants your relationship to be, a secret, even from his own family.

It feels like a stake to the heart, and honestly, you don’t feel like he deserves an answer. Instead, you opt for a small smile that could mean anything and then you down your beer, leaving him there and walking over to your other curly haired friend, but not before handing him the empty can.

If he’s so determined to be the perfect host, he might as well clean up a bit.  

“Hey Haz,” you mumble, throwing your arms around Harrison’s torso from behind.

He looks back at you and smiles widely, and contrary to what one might think, you aren’t completely oblivious to how good looking he is.

You wonder if you should have thought of getting some less pretty friends to make yourself shine a bit more in comparison, but you don’t think you’d be able to find someone who could make you laugh as much as Tom and Harrison can, not even if you searched the whole planet.

You just have to live with the unfairness of their unarguable attractiveness.

“Hey Y/N. Tired?” he asks softly.

You yawn, realizing that you actually are and confirming his question. He chuckles, and you press your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a second.

“I like this sweater. Really soft.”

“Hi nan,” you then greet Tom’s grandmother who has always insisted that you treat her the same way her grandkids would.

Measured in how much time you’ve spent with her and the rest of the family, you might as well be.

“Hello, darling,” she says, sending you a sweet smile. “I have to serve the cake now, but come catch up with me later, won’t you?”

“Of course, nan,” you promise her, watching her leave and then letting go of Harrison.

“Everything alright?” he asks after turning around to face you.

You shrug, “I guess.”

He rolls his eyes, pointing his finger at you in a reprimanding manner, “Tell me what’s wrong or you know what will happen.”

You can’t help but smile, but then you play along and squeeze your eyes shut and crossing your arms, “I’m not scared of you.”

“You’re not? Then you won’t mind if I TICKLE YOU?”

Harrisons hands reach for you, but you run away, squealing, before he can catch you.

“You’ll never catch me,” you mock him, running up the stairs and into Tom’s bedroom before realizing the inevitable: that you’re trapped.

“NOOOOO,” you scream as he pushes you onto the bed and starts tickling you, hands gripping your sides.

“Let me go, please, Haz,” you beg in-between laughs.

“You know what you need to say, Y/N,” he grins, and you shake your head.

“Never.”

However, it doesn’t take long before you surrender, throwing your hands up and rolling your eyes.

“Alright, alright, you are the hottest, coolest, cleverest, funniest person in the world, Harrison Osterfield.”

He immediately lets you go, plopping down on the bed beside you.

“Finally. My arms were getting tired,” he sighs contently.

You grunt, “Should spend a bit more time in the gym, then.”

“Oh, shut up, Y/N.”

He hits you playfully, and you both laugh, looking up to the ceiling and catching your breaths.

When you’ve stopped panting, you speak up, “Would you be ashamed of me if we were dating?”

“How can you even ask me that? You’re the dopest person ever,” he reassures you, turning his head to the side to look at you.

You laugh, “I can believe you still say dope.”

“What can I say, I’m just a dope person, too, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes at his stupidity, before a pang of sadness rushes through you. For a second, you wonder why, but then you remember why you’re feeling down and repeat your question for Harrison.

“No, but honestly, would you be ashamed of me?”

His blue eyes watch you intensely like it’s very important to him that you understand what he says, “Never.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He laces your little fingers together, the ‘pinky promise’ an old ritual of yours.

“But why are you asking?” he inquires softly.

“I just- I’m just so damn tired of being his secret, you know?”

He gives you an empathic smile, letting you continue instead of answering your rhetoric question.

“I’m not even sure he likes me like as more than a friend anymore.”

You don’t mention a name, but you both know who you’re talking about. Although neither of your families know, it was clear to both of you from the start that Harrison would figure it out no matter what, and that you might as well tell him yourself.

“That bad, huh?”

You sigh, “Yeah. Not even exaggerating, I’m really not sure.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, that sucks.”

“Sure does,” you agree, laughing involuntarily at the tragic situation, and Harrison soon joins you.

Then, he says softly, “If you aren’t happy, Y/N, you should let him go. You deserve better.”

“I know,” you whisper, “But I don’t think I can.”

He takes your hand, squeezing it and interlacing your hands, and no words are needed. You know he feels bad for you, and you both know there’s nothing he can do to ease your trouble.

“I wish it was you instead. We’d make such a great couple,” you tell him, trying to lift the mood.

He nods, grinning, “Legendary.”

“Shame we don’t like each other like that, really. Our kids would be so beautiful.”

“Maybe that’s why. Would be unfair to their peers when they’d be so much uglier.”

You shake your head, smiling at the thought.

Then, on a more serious note, “Thanks for being here, Haz.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

He squeezes your hand once more and then helps you get up.

“If it makes you feel any better, he looked terribly jealous when you hugged me,” Harrison tells you, and though it shouldn’t, you catch yourself being happy with it. At least he’s not totally indifferent.

You return to the party, Harrisons hand laying comfortingly on the swell of your back the whole time, until it’s to go home. He presses a kiss to your cheek and tells you to hit him up soon, and you thank him for being such a good friend. He truly deserves the world.

You wish you could go with him, but still, you stay, having been tricked into helping with the cleaning by Tom’s mother, and really, you’d be happy to if it didn’t involve seeing Tom.

It’s hard to even remember what made you mad when you’re near him, and if that wasn’t enough, you’re afraid that you’ll say something you’ll regret later.

Because while this might be tearing you to pieces, you know it’d be much, much worse if you lost him completely.

Although you are deep in thought, you probably shouldn’t be as startled as you are when he speaks, considering you are cleaning the same room as him.

“I got a bit cold out by the grill, so I went to see if I had a sweater in my room, and I didn’t mean to, but I heard you and Harrison,” he softly tells you, eyes scanning your face for a reaction. You try not to give him one, pursing your lips tightly together and remaining silent.

He sighs, running a hand through the curly locks of his hair.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” you mutter, looking away.

You wish this conversation wasn’t happening. You don’t even dare to imagine the outcome.

“That you feel like I’m keeping you a secret.”

You scrunch your eyes, looking at him again, “What did you think I felt, Tom? Honestly? You haven’t even told your mom, and we both know you tell your mom everything. I feel like I’m nothing to you.”

Your words are harsh at the beginning, anger in your body, but it quickly deflates and leaves you sad instead, making your last words soft and fragile.

And Tom looks taken back by your statement, stuttering when he replies, “I- I- I guess I just thought we were on the same page. That you didn’t care whether people knew about us or not.”

You roll your eyes, “If you truly believed that, you don’t know me like I thought you did.”

You let go of your hold on the black rubbish bag you’re throwing empty cups into as you wait for his answer.

“I guess you’re right,” he admits with a whisper, “I guess I did know.”

You nod, throat tight.

“Yeah,” you just say.

You stand there, looking at each other in silence, and you don’t even try to hide your tears. If there was anyone but him watching, you probably would have tried, but this is Tom, your best friend, the person that has broken your heart but also someone with hands you wouldn’t hesitate to put your life into.

He takes a small step closer to you, looking at you with desperation.

“I wish we could tell everyone, Y/N, I really do. But you know how my agency feels about my image and my availability,” he pauses, swallowing down a lump in his throat before he continues, “But if my next movie just gets big enough, it will be different, Y/N, I promise. Then they can’t refuse.”

You shake your head, your vision to blurred to see anything, but your mind is surprisingly clear. You don’t believe his words, and really, you just wish he would tell the truth, because to you, it seems that this mess has gotten so bad because of lack of honesty, and you’re done with it.

You’re done with being anxious all the time, not knowing if he’s uncertain about his feelings for you, even doubting whether you’re the only one he goes home to. You’re done with feeling inadequate and unlovable and stupid, waiting around for someone who doesn’t want to come home.

“Far from home was one of the best-selling movies ever, but apparently, that still wasn’t big enough. So, what’ll it be, Tom?”

“Are you asking me to choose between you and my career?”

You shake your head violently, not understanding how he could accuse you for doing such a thing, but then you nod, realising that maybe you are. And surprisingly, you don’t feel selfish doing so.

“Not between me and your career, Tom, but yes, I am asking you to choose between me and the stupid rules of your agency.”

Now, he looks angry, brow scrunched and tight jawline, “My agency and their stupid rules,” he starts, emphasizing the last three words mockingly, “is what gets me jobs, Y/N! They are the reason I can live my dream, don’t you understand?”

You step closer to him, not believing he would dare to treat you like a stubborn child. “Of course, I understand, Tom! I’ve done nothing but understand ever since we started this damn relationship, but I’m fucking sick and tired of it!”

Your loudness seems to surprise Tom, who takes a few steps back from your anger, almost tripping over your discarded rubbish bag.

“Please don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t make me choose,” he begs, and there’s a part of you that wants to give in, but the bigger part of you knows that nothing will change if you do, and that you’ll just stay miserable.

“I’ve known you for most of my life, Tom, and I’ve been in love with you for years, but I can’t do this, not if you’re not in it like I am. I can’t keep giving you my everything when I only receive 30% in return.”

Then, he says those words that you know will haunt you forever, “I’m- I’m- I’m so sorry, Y/N, but I just can’t. Please understand, I just can’t.”

You nod, but you don’t, you don’t understand. He won’t even meet you halfway.

You look at each other, and you watch how he clearly fights to keep himself together, and you can’t stay mad at him when he looks so broken. You’re always putting him first.

“Will you- will you promise me one thing, though?” you ask, voice hoarse and broken.

He nods, eyes wet and lips pressed tight together.

When you speak, there’s a salty taste on your tongue, and it feels like goodbye, “I know there’s so many incredible things out there, and I promise I don’t expect anything else from you anymore, but at least- at least think of me while you’re gone, won’t you?”

A sob escapes his lips when he nods, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you gather your belongings in silence, walking into the hallway, Tom only a few steps behind you.

Your hand has just reached the doorknob when you realize that no matter how hurt you are, you can’t just leave him like this. So, you turn around, throw your things to the floor and hug him, relishing in the smell of his cologne and the soft material of his shirt against your cheek.

His chest is shaking with sobs, and his lips feel chapped when he kisses your forehead like he’s done so many times when you were nervous or sad, even before your friendship turned into something more.

There’s a wet spot on his shirt when you pull away, and you smile through your tears, watching him through your blurred vision.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him, but you don’t know if you’re lying.

You pick up your things, and he looks like he wants to stop you from leaving, but he just nods and says goodbye with a broken whisper, “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

Then, you close the door behind you, your body a mess while nostalgia, sadness, despair and love fights for dominance in your body.

If you weren’t so busy being heartbroken, you might have wondered if it was worth losing your best friend in return for some months in paradise, spent kissing and making love under the covers. And you would quickly have come to the solution that it wasn’t, that if you could, you would go back and undo all this mess and settle for being his best friend.

Luckily, you don’t think any of these thoughts, not yet. That sorrow is for another day.

 “Ping!”

The screen of your phone lights up along with the sound, telling you you’ve got a message. You figure it’s Jake, asking which chocolate you want or if you need more tampons. You smile at the thought, finding it funny how Jake’s biggest fear seems to be that you don’t run out of sweets and sanitary items when you’re on that time of the month. You wonder if he’s scared you’ll turn into some weird monster, but it’s probably just him being sweet.

However, the text isn’t from Jake.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Hey. I’m home for a couple weeks and I really want to see you

You can’t believe he still has that stupid name on your phone.

You delete all the emojis and text and write his full name without any emojis to follow, but your index finger lingers over the save button. Then, you go back without changing anything.

It feels wrong to do so, like deleting a period of your life that should, at worst, be packed away in a box in your closet and not completely thrown out.

On the other hand, though, the box seems to have jumped out of the closet and into your living room instead, making its presence known where it isn’t appreciated.

Still, there’s a small part of you, the part that was Tom’s friend and nothing else, wants to meet him and see how he’s doing. 

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Hi Tom

You don’t want else to say, or write, so you just hit send and put the phone down again, your breath quicker and a spark of panic rising in your body. Even after all this time, he still gives you all the motions.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Please don’t be like this

Be like what, Tom, you wonder, but you just text him the name of a coffee shop and ask him to meet you there in a few hours. If anything needs to be said between you, it should be in person and not through text.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Thank you, Y/N. Really❤️ (heart emoji)

You really hope you’ve made the right decision.

 “Y/N, I’ve been a fool, no, worse than that, I’ve been a big, stupid idiot, but I need you.”

His grip on your hands are tight, and you gently try to get him to let you go, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“We’ll do it properly this time, tell everyone, and we’ll go on the red carpet together and-“

“Tom,” you interrupt him softly, and you just want him to stop talking. This will get embarrassing for both of you if he keeps going, and you don’t want that.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t let you save him.

“And I’ll be home a lot more, Y/N, I promise. We can travel together, to Paris or Seoul or Rio, and I won’t care who’s watching-“

This time, your voice is a bit louder, hoping it’ll get through to him. “Tom, please, stop,” you plead. Still, it seems like he doesn’t hear you.  

He leans closer to you and looks you right in the eye, “I love you, Y/N. More than anything, and I don’t know why it’s taking me so long to realize, but I do, and I’m terribly sor- Why are you crying?“

You haven’t even noticed your tears before he comments them, but then you carefully, as if he’s made of glass, untangle your hands from each other.

“I’m with someone, Tom,” you tell him, and it feels like a knife to your heart when his face slowly falters as he realizes what you mean.

“I- what- who? When?”

“You don’t know him, Tom. He’s from school.” There’s a flash of relief on his face when he finds out it isn’t someone he knows, maybe even one of his friends, but then the hurt returns.

“When, YN?”

You swallow a lump, looking down at your coffee.

“Almost a year ago,” you tell him, knowing that he won’t understand. That he’ll think that you got over in the span of a minute and moved on, but it isn’t true.

So, before he can say anything, you explain, “He was in one of my classes and had asked me out before, and when you left, I just needed to spend time with someone who didn’t know you, someone who wouldn’t ask or talk about you.”

Most of your friends were friends with Tom, too, or at least they knew him, but you needed to be someone who didn’t.

“I told him from the start that my heart was broken, but he was so patient and waited until I was sure I was ready. He really helped me a lot, Tom.”

Tom nods, and you know he understands. Everyone has different ways of coping, and for all you know, he could have slept with half of the world in this past year. You know he probably did with a couple, and the thought doesn’t make you sick like it used to do.

You’re just sad that he probably didn’t have anyone taking care of him like Jake had taken care of you.

“Does he make you happy, Y/N?”

“I-“ you start, but it’s hard to get the words past your lips when you know that they’ll hurt him.

For a long time, you wanted him to hurt, to know your pain and know that he had lost one of the best things in his life, but now, after doing a lot of growing up, you wish you could find a way not to hurt him. Maybe if you lied, but he’ll probably always be able to see through you.

Knowing you have no other choice, you answer him honestly, “Yeah. He does. He really does.”

He gulps, looking away for a moment. You follow his gaze, watch the busy streets of London packed with stylish locals and less stylish tourists, and you wonder if it still feels like home to him. If home becomes a fleeting place when the whole world is at your disposal. You wonder if you’ll ever know, but you don’t think you will.

And as for yourself, you might never get to travel the world like you used to dream of doing, but you’ve realized it doesn’t matter. You have so much else, so many wonderful people in your life, so much love around you. 

“Do you love him?”

You look at his face and know that he wants you to say no, that he wants this to be like a movie where everything works out in the end, and the guy gets the girl, and everyone lives happily ever after.

But this isn’t one of his beloved movies. This is real life.

“Yeah.”

A tear slips out of his eyes, and you notice they are beginning to turn red. You don’t know if your next words will make him feel better or worse, probably the latter, but you still say them.

“Not the same way I loved you, though. Don’t think anything can really compare to that. But I really do love him.”

It’s clear he tries to contain it, but still, a broken sob leaves him, and every fibre of your body yearns to soothe him, to protect him, but you can’t, just like he couldn’t protect you.

“Do you remember that last day? You told me to think of you when I was gone. How could you think I’d do anything but?”

“Tom, please.”

“I think about you every single day, Y/N, knowing that I made the wrong decision.”

He grips your hands again, this time so tight it turns his knuckles white with desperation.

However, you both know it’s not only your hands you’re talking about when you beg, “Let me go, Tom, you’re hurting me.”

His grip on your hand disappears immediately, his face painted with both sadness and guilt, and you don’t know who’s to blame for the fact that both of you have lost your best friend.

And you wonder if the two of you can work it out, if you can get at least an inkling of your old friendship back, but to be honest, you don’t have the courage to try.

Instead, you leave him there, in a coffee shop in London you used to love. And you know you will never have the strength to go back, not to the coffee shop and not to Tom, both places too haunted by bad memories now.