#this is why teenage iceland is so embarrassed and distant

[sweet-rabbit]

this is the last panel of a longer comic i haven't inked yet but found it super cute on it's own, so here! iceland was added, so happy i have fellow bratty iceland lovers

[sergeanttpoliteness]

are requests open 🥺 apparantly in the 20s it was slang to call someone's bf daddy, given that can we get a reader who's from another dimension getting all blushy when noir mentions it given the context of it now?

hello, nonnie! so sorry it took me almost a week to get to this! thank you for the request, love :) you have no idea how much writing that sentence made me squirm from embarrassment

——-

➹jealousy➹(spider-noir x reader)

Peter isn’t one to get jealous, or at least that’s what he tries to tell himself. He doesn’t mind your ex who doesn’t seem to get ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the truth, he swears… right?

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this isn’t sponsored by starburst ™, lmao. anyway, y’all really like spider-noir, huh. i kinda played myself when i included both peter’s in this, ahaa, i tried my best to make it as least confusing as possible. i’m sorry, ily.

warnings: annoying ex, mild jealousy (i mean, it’s the title lol)

——-

You slowly drew the blinds of the window, and in spite of your speculations which you were nearly a hundred percent confident in, your eyes grew bigger as soon as you got a glimpse of the scene unfolding outside of Aunt May’s house. Shortly after, Miles and Peter B. Parker (you had to admit, the amount of Peter’s in your life truly scrambled your brain sometimes) joined you, and the three of you squeezed close together, attempting to look through the small slit without attracting much attention.

You had the urge to take your phone out of your pocket and start recording a video to send all your friends, for this was a spectacle that you weren’t sure you’d ever have the pleasure of witnessing ever again in your lifetime: a drunk man standing in the front yard, passionately belting out the lyrics of a song to the closed door of the house. “Did he, like, get the wrong house?” Miles muttered, his heart thumping fast as the young man noticed all three of you and pointed directly at you. 

“Please! Don’t leave me!” He cried out.

You took one last look at him before you retreated from the window, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No. That’s my ex.” You sighed, questioning why you ever were attracted to the boy as his tragic performance continued. Peter B. laughed and you closed your eyes, ashamed.

“That’s your ex?! The ex?” Yes, this was, in fact, not the first time they heard about your ex-boyfriend. The number of stories you had was inevitable since the train wreck of a relationship lasted two years, after all. Whilst he now went on to voice the instruments of the song, worry began to seep within everyone when you all simultaneously came upon the realization that somehow the jerk had discovered where you were staying during the weekend. Although you’d been like a daughter to May since you were a kid, you were aware she would not be content with you once she returned from her trip and heard that you failed in your basic task of taking care of her home and her address now belonged as part of a stalker’s knowledge.

Peter B. glanced at you, frowning. “You want me to go and talk to him?”

You appreciated his offer, and your inner voice urged you to cave into the most effortless way out of the situation; however, your eyes moved to the hallway, and another concern, more potent and persuasive, drowned it out. “Thanks, dude, but don’t worry, I’ve got it,” You smiled at him, albeit you weren’t entirely certain about that statement. “Just… you guys go and distract Peter and make sure he doesn’t find out my ex is here, or else…”

Eight months. From December up till August, you’d known the third Peter Parker in your life for eight months. In the fourth month, April, you recognized your true intentions and feelings. In the fifth month, you finally acted upon them, and made the first move. At last, June, the sixth month, rolled in, and Peter built up the courage to make things official. All those months possessed two constant factors: your ever-growing connection and… your ex.

One of the many characteristics you were thankful for and adored in Peter was his control over his jealousy. No fingerprints of possessiveness nor suffocating authority smeared your relationship, regardless of your distance, Peter’s background, the exasperating cameos of your ex-boyfriend, or that you’d expressed to him you didn’t want anyone other than the “spider-gang” (as Peter B. had named it) to know about you two being together since— well, how in the world were you supposed to explain where he came from?

You felt irrational and absurd once the thought passed through your head, but sometimes you wondered if Peter worried too little. The origin of said thought could be traced back to when you weren’t quite dating yet, and your ex booty-called you in the midst of your first date. Peter’s amused expression at your own embarrassed one puzzled you, yet you chose not to think much about it and instead were glad it didn’t send the evening down the wrong trail. The thought reappeared a second instant one month into your relationship, though, after you showed him a large bouquet of flowers, a poem attached to it that could be offensive to those who practiced the art and with your ex’s handwriting. Again, nothing; later, you two found yourselves mocking the failed poetry and the odd comparison of your adorableness to that of E.T.’s (you really had no explanation for that one).

However, the suspicion that perhaps he was too good at hiding his feelings arose when a week earlier, you got a phone call from your ex begging you to escape with him to Iceland. That was the first time you saw it: the hint of irritation in Peter’s stiff body and tense jaw. Minutes later, you blocked the phone number— an action way too long overdue, before things became strained.

You closed the front door behind you and approached the drunk man, resolute on preventing the two men from meeting each other and getting under each other’s skin as you clenched your fists closed. “I forgot to say out loud, how beautiful you really are to me!” Your ex sang, a smirk breaking out on his face when he saw your clear annoyance. “I can’t be without! You’re my perfect little punching bag—”

“Matt, what the hell are you doing?”

He quirked a brow, giving you a once-over. “Serenading you?” Matt said as if it were obvious. You rolled your eyes and scowled at him, keeping a significant distance between the two of you.

“No, I mean, how did you find me?”

“I followed you.”

Fear and disgust crawled all over your skin. You took a step back, narrowing your eyes. “Listen, I really don’t want to get in trouble, okay? So for the last time, please stop calling me—”

“But this isn’t a phone call.”

“Or following me.” You finished. He stumbled forward, shaking his head vigorously.

“But I love you,” He sniffed, wiping the one mediocre tear making its way down his cheek. You could feel a groan forming in your throat from his idiocy and child-like attitude; you couldn’t believe he was fucking crying.

You crossed your arms across your chest, unimpressed. “Well, I don’t.” His shift from sadness to anger caught you off guard.

“Bullshit, I know you still love me. I know you miss me,” Matt pointed an accusing finger at you, advancing closer. “Stop playing hard to get and let’s just, l-let’s just go back to normal—”

You laughed in disbelief, your mouth ajar. “Playing hard to get? How is this playing hard to get?!”

Meanwhile, Miles and Peter B. stood in front of Peter, blocking him from leaving the hallway as he remained in between the two and the bathroom door. “So, whatcha think?” Miles asked him, ogling the man. Peter bit again the yellow Starburst and chewed for a while, eyes squinted while he analyzed the flavor. He swallowed and looked down at the wrapper in the palm of his hand, nodding.

“I like it. I think it may be my favorite.”

“What? No way, try the pink flavor again,” Miles took out a pink squared candy from the bag and held it up to Peter’s face. “It’s the best.”

Peter B. shook his head in disagreement and stared down at Miles, scrunching his brows together. “What do you mean? Red is the best.” Miles, now distracted, dropped his arm by his side and showed him a face of utter disgust.

“Do your taste buds even work? Everyone I know says pink is best.”

“Do your dimension’s taste buds work? You’re totally wrong, bud.”

Peter pocketed the wrapper, shrugging. “Personally, I enjoyed all of them—”

“Try red.”

“No, pink.”

Peter B. groaned. “Pink is overrated.” Miles looked at him straight in the eye, expressionless.

“Your opinion is irrelevant.”

Peter B. Parker had never felt more hurt by a teenager.

“I’m the oldest one here! I think I know better.”

Peter was growing impatient. He cleared his throat and gently moved Miles aside. “All right, while you fellas discuss… this, I’m gonna go—”

“No!” Miles placed the pink Starburst in Peter’s hand, frantic. “Eat the pink one.”

“Eat them all!” Peter B. chuckled nervously, shrugging with his hands raised, palms facing upwards. Miles nodded as if it were the best idea of the century.

“Yeah, I don’t want them anymore, here—” He slammed the bag of candy onto Peter’s chest. Peter hesitantly took ahold of it, visibly perplexed. He opened his mouth to question their strange behavior and if they thought he had been born yesterday, until a distant singing voice interrupted him. 

“And I need you! I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m sorry! I love you, fuck!”

“What’s that?” 

‘The neighbors’, ‘The TV’, Peter B. and Miles said at the same time. 

This plan was doomed from the beginning.

“Da da da da! Da da da da!” 

Peter took off his glasses, guarding them inside his pocket and his brows knitted together before he pushed the two aside and took off, putting on his mask.

“Quiet down!” You hissed at Matt, glancing back at May’s house. His hands landed on your shoulders, but you immediately pushed him off you. “Fuck off, Matt! We’ve been broken up for seven months already! I moved on, and so should you!” He cocked his head to the side, his face twisted in confusion as if you’d just spoken in a foreign language.

“Broken up?” He repeated your words, voice small. “It was just a break.”

It was your turn to be confused. “What? …No. It’s over. It was over a long time ago.” 

His face fell as a realization dawned upon him and his gaze burned into yours, emotionless, making you more uncomfortable. “You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?”

Your heartbeat sped up. “No, I said I moved on, not that I was seeing someone else—”

“You’re cheating on me?”

You took in a deep breath, close to tipping to the edge. “Again, we’re broken up.” You reiterated harshly. “As in we’re not a relationship anymore.” But Matt’s dense self wouldn’t give up just yet.

“It was just a break.” 

You’ve had it.

“It’s not a fucking break!” You shouted, making him jump. You heard the front door open and you both whipped around, your heart dropping. As soon as your sight landed on Peter going down the stairs, you gulped. Peter B. and Miles’ plan wasn’t the only one that failed that night.

“What’s going on here?” Peter’s voice was hard, bitter. You speed-walked closer to him before he could reach Matt.

“Peter—” You stopped him in his tracks, your hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him out of here, okay? I got it.” No, you didn’t, most definitely not. And you could tell he knew.

He looked at Matt, and although his face remained covered, chills ran down the latter’s spine. “Are you Matt?” Peter asked loudly. Matt narrowed his eyes, puffing out his chest.

“Who are you?” He nodded at Peter, trying to sound intimidating, but the other didn’t move a muscle.

“I asked you a question.”

Matt studied Peter’s dark outfit, wondering if he was so drunk he was imagining the man. “Y-Yeah, that’s me. I’m Matt.”

“All right. Look at me, Matt.” Matt did as he said. “Good. Now, listen very closely.”

“What are you doing?” You whisper-screamed at Peter, giving him a warning with your eyes. “I said I got this.”

Peter stared at you, considering letting you handle it by yourself as you wished. But the flare, the ire at your ex had been fortifying, expanding slowly since the beginning; and now that he was there, just a few feet away— a drunken moron who relentlessly peeved you and riled him up— ultimately, impatience engulfed him and he shook his head. “You clearly don’t.”

Once Peter reached Matt, he towered over him. Matt blinked up at him, feeling smaller than ever. “Y/N’s with me now. If I hear from you one more darn time, then the coppers will be the least of your worries. Trust me. Got it?” Peter said lowly, and Matt solely nodded. “Got it?” He repeated through clenched teeth.

Matt put his hands in the air in defeat, backing away. “Heard you, man. Fuckin’ weirdo.” He muttered before he turned around and sat down on the sidewalk. You grabbed Peter’s hand and dragged him back inside, where Peter B. and Miles sat on the couch and flashed you apologetic smiles after you barged in. 

“Sorry. I’ll call a cab for him,” Peter said behind you. You waved your hand at him, shrugging and mumbling ‘it’s okay’.

“Is it over?” Miles asked, trying to look out the window from the sofa. You nodded. “Okay, can we finally go over the plan—”

Peter took off his mask, disheveling his dark hair. “Why did you try to keep this from me?” You turned around and rubbed your face, slightly frustrated.

“Because I didn’t want what just happened to happen.”

“What? Me telling him to scram off since you wouldn’t?” 

“Peter, I told you: I don’t want anyone to know about this.” You gestured between you two. You’d had this conversation before, and he understood your reasoning. He truly did. His appearance, it screamed at the top of its lungs the truth that he did not belong there. It simply was obvious, unmistakable. However, now that he’d curbed the restraint he’d created for himself once, his authentic feelings and mouth were loose, completely out of his control.

“He wasn’t going to stop bugging you!” He pointed out the window. “What if he did something worse in the future?”

“But now he’s gonna tell other people that I’m seeing someone!”

“And so what?”

You laughed, your brows furrowed. “They’re gonna want to meet you! What am I gonna do, then? ‘Ah, yes, meet my boyfriend from the 1930s!’”

Again, you noticed that irritation in his features. But all of a sudden, it was clear that it was more than just annoyance.

Jealousy. He was jealous.

“All right, then! I want other people to know who your real daddy is!” He exclaimed, his eyebrows lifted and his hands on his waist.

You heard Peter B. and Miles explode, both shouting ‘whoa!’ while you sputtered and sensed your cheeks blazing. 

“Yo, gross! Keep it in the bedroom!”

“We have a minor in here, please!”

Peter’s sight jumped between the three of you, his expression the definition of puzzlement as you covered your face with your hands and Peter B. and Miles continued feeding your embarrassment with their comments. “W-what? What did I say?” He stuttered, looking at you helplessly.

You peeked one eye up at him, laughing. “Pete, baby…”

Needless to say, after you updated Peter on slang, his flushed self couldn’t quite concentrate as Miles went over the plan.