#tobey maguire fanfiction

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

[michaelceraifhewasagirl]

Stress reliever

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Summary: Peter Parker needs to relieve some stress 🤷‍♀️ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

W!: harsh language, oral (fem receiving), mature content, MINORS DNI

______________________________________________

Peter storms into her room after school.

“Can I eat you out?” He asks, he looks frustrated and tired, the way he asked that question was hastily, almost like he’d been waiting to ask that question since the moment he woke up. 

“Huh?” She questions, she’s taken aback by his words, especially since he was acting completely normal today in school, what had gotten into him?

“Can I eat you out? Please?” He repeats, he looks at her expectantly and she laughs. “Well I’m not gonna turn down that offer” she chuckles and he throws his bag down on the floor of her room, quickly kicking the door shut as he slides off his shoes. “What’s gotten into you? Why do you wanna, well, you know” she questions. He’s never like this, he normally eats her out before sex. It’s never like this.

“I need to relieve some stress” he slips off his hoodie and throws it on the floor before laying next to her on her bed and placing a kiss to her lips. She smiles into the kiss, her heart racing. He fondles with her breast and her hand finds its way into his hair, tangling itself in the silky brown mess.

His hand moves from her chest and trails its way down to her lower stomach pressing lightly. She gasps as she feels his hand on her heat. “Fuck,” she gasps out and pulls away from the kiss. He sits up and crawls in between her legs pulling off her shorts and pressing his thumb against her clothed clit. She gasps and squeezes her eyes shut. He looks at her as he slides her underwear off. She can’t help but smile and bite her lip as she sees her boyfriend between her legs. She props her legs up on her feet to give him an easier access to her pussy. He snakes his arms under her legs, resting his large hands on her waist before he buries his head in her pussy, licking and sucking her clit, tasting her juices. 

“Fuck!” She covers her mouth with her hands and her hands snake their way into his hair, pushing down on his head lightly. He emerges from her pussy, lightly rubbing her clit with his thumb. “Can you believe Mr. Harrington sent me to the principals office for showing up to his class late?” He says as he rubs her clit gently. “Ah~”

“Even though this was like, my first time showing up to his class late in, what, two fucking months! He’s so fucking selfish-“ he begins to rub her faster “F-fuck! Ah,” “And not only that, we had to have an emergency Decathlon meeting because Abe forgot to send in our paperwork to qualify for the tournament this year!” He slows down rubbing her clit, but he moves his hand down to her hole, “Ah, oh, gosh!” “So now, fucking Cindy and I have to redo all of the goddamn paperwork!” He pushes a finger inside of her “Oh fuck,” “Abe’s a cunt, I hope he dies. He could’ve just told somebody else to do it” “mm~ mmhm” “Like, if you know you have fucking badminton practice the same time you received the email to do the paperwork, then you could’ve just told Harrington that you had badminton! Can you believe that!?” “Mm~ y-yeah baby, unbelievable,” he begins to quicken the pace of his finger inside of her, and she gasps, “Oh! Gosh! Peter!” “Decathlon has me so tired, M’sorry that I don’t hang out with you much anymore because of it,” “N-No, it’s, ah, it’s f-fine” he sticks another finger inside of her, “Oh! And also, and especially this, is what ruined my day even more! I was in line for lunch and I decided to buy a jell-O, because I don’t usually have enough money to buy it, but they raised the price by 3 goddamn dollars!” “Ah! Fuck,” “I know, right! I wanted to cry, I just wanted some fucking jell-O,” “oh gosh! Peter,”

He quickens the pace of the fingers inside of her and buries his head in his pussy, his tongue circling around her clit, “and the lunch lady told me that I was short, but she basically yelled it out for everyone and their mom the hear!” “Fuck! Peter!” “Oh, sorry” he licks her clit quickly as he fingers her pussy. “Oh! Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum!” “Cum for me baby,” he says as he slurps up all of her juices, and he quickens the pace of his fingers inside of her, “Oh! Ah, I’m, I’m cumming!” Her back arches off the bed as he cums, hot liquid oozing out of her and onto his fingers “good girl,” he praises her as he takes slows down the pace of his fingers and stops licking her.

“You’re so pretty when you cum,” he praises her as he watches her chest rise and fall, she asks “fuck, how stressed were you?” And he laughs, “did I make you cum that hard?” “Yes! I can’t feel my legs!” 

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey, I’ll make it up to you” he slips his finger out of her pussy and sucks on them slowly and seductively, as he stares at her, “You’re such a slut!” She says and he laughs, “I can’t help it, you taste so sweet”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am SO sorry for that ending 😭 I could’ve done that better but hopefully you enjoyed the rest of it

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[waspenned]

scenes from an italian restaurant • part ten • peter parker

in which you and peter clear the air • 5k

warnings: language as per usual, angsty

now playing: bleecker street by simon & garfunkel

part one / the ao3 version

a/n: long time no see!!!!!! full update in the notes of the ao3 post but what a crazy year

You’ve been stood in front of Peter’s door for five minutes now.

That’s on top of the five minutes you spent working up the courage to go inside the building, and then the other ten minutes you spent pacing the block - just to try and shake some of your nerves out onto the pavement. It’s just knocking, just seeing the same face you’ve been seeing nearly every day for months now, but it feels bigger. 

You hadn’t been to a coworker’s place since the fire; not gone for coffee after a morning shift, or drinks after close, or a Red Bull run before the open. It made things easier to deal with. Sometimes it stung a little more than usual, especially when most of them were particularly inclined to come in all hungover and messy on a Saturday, with a whole new roster of inside jokes - but it felt safer, somehow. You’d been friendly with a few of them at some point, close almost, and even though they kept inviting you out with them, they all eventually stopped asking. Some understood, some didn’t - and once you'd overheard Sal hushedly call you ‘troubled’ to somebody through the gantry hatch, you were basically the point of no return. 

But Peter, as always, is different.

You glance at your phone. Seven minutes. Some awful part of you twists at the idea that maybe he’s wondering where you are, if he’s waiting for you; or if he’s being normal about it, like a normal person. Peter’s more normal than you, he wouldn’t take seven- no, EIGHT minutes to knock on someone’s door, even if his hands were clammy and his heart was thumping so loudly in his ears he thought his eardrums might burst. You’ve still got your earphones on even though you paused whatever you were listening to long ago, the sound of your breath thrumming through your head. When you move to finally take them off, you fumble and swear as they clatter loudly to the floor. 

Immediately, you cringe, wanting the floor to swallow you up as muffled movement stirs behind the door in front of you. You’ve probably got about ten seconds to pull yourself together and appear fine enough for him not to be immediately concerned - a difficult task, considering that you have dark circles the size of plates, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got some sort of stress-related rash breaking out on your hands, but the door is already opening, and life (as it turns out) isn’t merciful.

All of a sudden, Peter is there, and you’re on the floor, frantically chasing your earphones as they scatter across the lino. When you look up at him, you’re suddenly relieved to find that he’s mostly just confused. Lamely, you flap your mouth for a second, and then blurt out the first thing that pops into your head. 

“I was just about to knock.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Peter’s apartment smells like Peter - which is obvious when you think about it, but it didn’t cross your mind until this moment how painful this might be. There’s his soap, his deodorant, the faint oil fryer smell of any Joe’s uniform, which is currently half hanging out of a laundry basket near the door. It was like you were seeing him properly for the first time; this new, unknown Peter who exists beyond the confines of a kitchen. This isn’t the Peter you know or Spider-Man - this is Peter outside of Joe’s. Peter who does laundry. Peter who has a coffee mug on the drying rack that says ‘World’s Greatest Pop-Pop’, and some complicated calculations splayed out in sheets on the rickety little dining table. 

“It’s a bit of a mess right now, I haven’t had time to clean up, because of the-“ He’s babbling and flitting about, picking up different bits of odd clutter only to put them down again. His hair is damp against the collar of his sweatshirt; shiny and dark and curling up in little spirals around his ears that you had the sudden urge to wrap around your fingers. You step inside, and Peter’s pottering about the kitchen, preparing mugs and rooting through his cupboards. When you make your way into the main space of the apartment, barely a separate room, Peter looks up at you through his hatch and brightly chimes, “Would you like anything to drink?”

You quirk your brow. Suddenly, whatever haze had fallen over his face dissipates, and he blinks, dazed.

“I’m still in Diner Mode.” Peter rubs his eyes, then rakes a hand through his hair, disturbing the wet clumps of curls. No wonder it's always so frizzy, with the amount of times you've seen him tug and ruffle at it. The movement exposes the tips of his ears, shiny from the moisture, and their usual shade of flustered pink. He’s back into the cupboard in an instant, searching through boxes and jars before he finds what he’s looking for. “Okay, so I have coffee and…”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“…Actually, that’s it.”

“Then I guess it’s my lucky day.”

You can’t help it, but your voice comes out dry and flat, and his eyebrows knit, something shifting in his expression. Your fingers go numb, and you remember what you came here to do - you just didn’t think you would get into it so quickly. Peter sets his shitty instant coffee on the side (and you would know it’s shitty, because you buy the same stuff) and just looks at you. You’re not sure what sort of look it is, something between his usual awkwardness, and some entirely new face you’ve never seen before. He’s planting his hands on the counter now, squaring his shoulders, and your breath hitches.

Maybe, you think, this is the face behind the mask. 

“I don’t know what to say.” It sounds awful and croaky, and it’s nowhere near covering the sheer amount of thoughts currently rushing through your head, but it’s all that comes to mind. 

What is there to say? Nothing much had really happened; coworkers hook up with each other all the time (granted, usually not on shift), but even then, you never even had sex. You can’t call him a ‘hook up’, he was somehow both more and less than that - just some guy you’ve kissed a couple times. Whatever the hell the two of you have been doing for months has never been labelled anything past ‘friends’, which you’re now quickly realising is nothing like what you actually are. You’ve been tormenting yourself, tormenting him, all because you couldn’t suck it up enough to admit to yourself that you care about him more than you want to, and because it’s easier to live with the possibility that something could, might happen. 

And now a new, worse feeling is looming over you; the possibility that Peter might not feel the same way about you.

Deep breath. Push it down. Bury it. 

“Then let me say it.” Peter is clearing his throat now, your heart rate spiking like a hummingbird, your teeth clenched shut. It takes one, two, five, seventy drips of the faucet before he speaks again - or maybe he doesn’t hesitate at all. 

“I’ve been thinking about something you said a while ago, before…” He trails off. Before everything. You grimace a little, suddenly feeling nauseous when you remember how rude you were to him, all the times you’d snapped at him when he was just trying to help. He’s the kind of person who helps people, and you’re the kind of person who pushes them away, apparently. All of the hate and grudges you’d held against him, all of the resentment, instantly falls onto your shoulders. You punished him for the crime of being happy and content, when his other job is being beaten to a pulp and worked to the bone, and you were stupid enough to not realise it was only because you hated yourself. 

“You said something about how shit happens, and Spider-Man won’t always be there. How I’m ‘just some guy’.”

“Peter, I-“ Your lungs are burning so hot you think you smell smoke again, and you try to hold your breath, even though you currently feel like you’re suffocating, “I didn’t… I don’t think that anymore. I’m-“

Deep breath. Push it down.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m fucked up.” You’re laughing, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, or Peter’s. 'Fucked up’ is an umbrella term, apparently, for having nightmares about a fire that happened over a year ago, shutting everyone out of your life, smelling smoke in every dark corner or pantry. ‘Fucked up’ covers being so desperately lonely that you have to compulsively hurt the first friend you make after isolating yourself for so long; stringing him along in some ‘will-they-won’t-they’ bullshit and letting him down every step of the way. He probably wants to cut you off. It’s probably better if he does.

“You’re not fucked up,” His face is soft, like ricotta against your tongue. Like the skin across his collarbones. “I just… About the fire-“

He’s not broken eye contact with you until now, but his gaze flicks to the dish rack, the walls - he fiddles with the faucet for a fleeting moment. You wait.

“I want to apologise for everything,” It’s slow to start, but once the dam is broken, it all comes out in a rush and drowns you. “I know we didn’t know each other then, but I want- I need you to know that I’m sorry. It’s my duty to protect people, and I didn’t protect you, and I’m sorry.”

“Peter-“

“Hold on. Last night, when you were talking about how it was your responsibility to-“ His voice wavers. You realise you’re still holding your breath. “How you had, like, a sense of duty towards Joe’s, and you were so brave, and all I could think about was how I let you down. Even before I knew you, it killed me just knowing that there was someone who needed me, and I didn’t come through for them. It- It messed me up.”

There’s a pang where your heart used to be, when you realise he’s not talking about you specifically, but just someone in general. Some poor citizen needing to be saved. There’s nothing else there, just hollowness and cold, stretching back and back into you like an abyss. This must be what heartbreak feels like, you realise; you’re not special to him, you’re just something else on his plate. Maybe, something in the back of your head leers, maybe you’re nothing to him after all.

Spider-Man, your coworker, is staring into you so intently that you can feel the weight of the city on his shoulders. 

“I nearly quit.” His voice hangs like a loose thread - like the ones on the diner tablecloths that if you pull, make the whole thing unravel. You twist your finger around it and tug, even though you know you’ll come apart too.

“Joe’s?”

“Being Spider-Man.”

“Oh.” 

Peter huffs a breath, twirls the faucet knob between his fingers with the same dexterity and fluidity he demonstrated between your legs last night, and your gut churns. The pipes groan to life, and he shuts it off again before any water has the chance to flow through. Then, he’s coming around the corner, out of the kitchen, and all of a sudden you’re in Peter’s living room, with Peter, and that's what he looks like at home. There’s no pretence, no uniform, no employee code of conduct between you. 

“I want to be just some guy. More than anything.” He’s so close to you now that you can smell lime body wash and shampoo, see a drip forming at the tip of that one curl at his left temple that’s more like a ringlet than the rest of them. And you only know it's there because you haven’t stopped thinking about him, looking at him only when his back is turned and no one could catch you staring. You can barely hear him over the shame spinning in your ribs like a catherine wheel.

“But after the fire, I sort of took it as a sign that I was meant to be Spider-Man. You were there, you lived it. It’s my responsibility to stop that from happening.”

You can’t help it, but your eye twitches. It’s the same thing that’s been bothering you about Spider-Man since before; the promise of selflessness and responsibility and duty that Peter is now forever bound to. Before last night, you would have told yourself that you hated Spider-Man because you felt like he abandoned you, because he broke some kind of stupid, city-wide promise - but now that you know it’s Peter behind the mask, blaming him feels too harsh when the world gives him enough shit to begin with.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve the beatings, or the sleepless nights, or the working minimum wage just to go home to an apartment that will only get more expensive to rent. And all it does is make you angry. It’s unfair - everything’s unfair - and now it feels like your life, your near-death, was the event that made him keep giving himself and getting nothing in return. At the end of the day, you’re both just two twenty-somethings, trying to keep their heads above water.

It’s your fault that he’s still here, still hurting.

He’s still staring at you when you realise you’ve been silent for some time now, your mind blank and stuttering as Peter just looks on, almost concerned. The vice that’s been slowly tightening around your chest for months gives one final clench, and some long-buried string in your heart finally, finally snaps. 

You’re so tired. 

You knew it would happen eventually; that you’d run out of steam, or your knees would give out, and you wouldn’t be able to keep this up anymore. You’d always expected it to be while you were alone, or in Sal’s office, when you wouldn’t be able to keep up with all the silly little lies you’d been telling yourself - but not here, not in front of Peter, and not like this. 

And you’re not sure you’ve ever said any of this out loud - but the same tug in the back of your head that wanted to protect him last night is now thrumming away like a rubber band pulled taut. That pull, that itch, that simmers in your lungs and makes you feel like you’re responsible for him, or that he’s responsible for you. 

When you think about it, it’s guilt. Guilt that burns hot and acrid at the back of your tongue - guilt that puts you in debt to him, to everyone at Joe’s. You don’t just owe him an apology for lashing out, and running around the diner like a shithead; you owe him the truth. 

Deep breath. 

“Peter, I have to tell you something.”

Your voice sounds miles away - echoing in his box apartment, or maybe just in your head. You try not to notice the way his face twitches, or the way he stiffens slightly, or his eyes darting over you. His voice is tense, but not quite strained when he speaks. 

“What is it?”

Something scratches at the back of your throat, squeezing, constricting, scratching. This is it, this has to be it. 

Say it. 

Say it.  

“The fire was my fault.”

You weren’t sure what was going to happen. Sure, you’d imagined this scenario multiple times, all of them ending in various, and increasingly wild forms of punishment - losing your job, being arrested, getting cut off from the people who had been your whole life for years - but you’d at least imagined some form of relief. Perhaps the relief was the driving force of this whole confession, laying yourself bare and raw and bleeding in front of Peter in the hopes that he’d do something about it, take it all away, and still like you enough to speak to you afterwards. 

Only now, in practice, the relief never comes, and Peter just keeps staring at you. Instantly, you want to vomit. 

"What?”

You can’t read his voice. You can’t read his face. To compensate for this, your brain cedes all control, and your mouth keeps moving. 

“I was smoking out the back door and Sal called me in for some stupid reason - something about the pans or the sauce, or whatever - and I forgot to stub it out, and-“

That’s done something. Peter holds his hands up, eyes drawn wide, as if you were some sort of wild animal. Maybe you are. Maybe this is all some sort of twisted defence mechanism - spilling out the one thing you swore you would never tell anybody, in one last-ditch attempt at pushing him away. 

“Hey, hey-“

“I didn’t get to see the full report, but I’m not stupid. I know it started near the back door, and that some- some spark, or something, caused it. If I'd just-“ Your voice sticks like glue in your dry throat, like you’re trying to swallow cotton. “I nearly killed people. So much of it was destroyed - stuff that had been there for decades, family pictures, wedding presents.”

You think he says your name. You don’t hear it. 

“That burn on Sal’s arm is only there because of me. Because- Because he tried to get me out of there.”

It’s all too much now - even here, even in Peter’s apartment, you can smell the smoke, feel the heat. Through the hatch into the kitchen, you swear you can see a flame, licking up the walls, swimming in your vision like molten glass. It’s burning in your eyes, curling in your throat and nostrils, burning and burning and 

“Please, look at me.” 

When you finally make eye contact, a breath forces its way past your lips. His hands are steady and warm on your forearms, slipping down to clutch at your palms, as if weighing you down to reality. It’s as if everything else had slipped away, and he’s in the middle of it all, grounding you like a tether. You cling to him. 

“I’m sorry.” It tumbles out like an impulse. Peter shakes his head, soft and smudged in the lamplight. 

“Don’t be.” He says, firmly. Every wet curl shines and shimmers as he shakes his head, and the smell of soap pushes the soot that little bit further away. Maybe if you were to look out of the window, you’d see plumes of dark smoke rising from a building a few blocks away, but your gaze is stuck to Peter’s like a magnet. “You didn’t do anything wrong."

“I did,” The awful creature that’s been churning in your chest rears its ugly head again, “I caused so much hurt. And I’ve been hurting you, too - holding a grudge for something that was my own fault. You- You don’t deserve-”

“No.” Peter hasn’t let up, watching every twitch and flicker on your face. Is this how he speaks to the maniacs he fights in the street? Is this how he handles every catastrophic responsibility that falls into his lap? “You didn’t.”

“Peter, I did-“

“You didn't.” He says again, only this time, something sticks. The look on his face, the sadness in his eyes - it snaps your mouth shut. It’s the way he hovers around it, the unsureness in his face, that almost confuses you. “I… After the fire, I did some investigating.”

Your feet have gone numb. So have your hands, and arms, and legs, and just about everywhere else. When you don’t protest or interrupt, Peter continues tentatively. 

“I got access to the NYPD files, I watched the clean-up like a hawk, I-“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. His fingertips worry over your knuckles, back and forth, like a pendulum. “I did some stuff I wasn’t necessarily allowed to, but I needed closure. Joe’s was- It was one of the last things I had left of Ben’s, and…”

“What do you mean?” Your voice comes from another room, another planet. How could he know something you don’t? How could he have answers that you don’t have? Sal never told you anything about the report, about the cause, about any kind of investigation. Something is clawing inside your stomach. How? How? “Peter, what are you saying?”

His voice is softer than anything you’ve ever heard when he finally answers. 

“It was a fault with a fryer. Some electrical issue.” You can barely hear him, but he keeps talking anyway, even though it sounds like he’s on the other side of Manhattan. “Suppose it’s why Sal is so insistent on fryer training now, and- hey-?”

It takes a moment to register what you're doing, but you realise that you’re laughing. You can’t help it, but you’re laughing. Peter's utterly lost, his eyebrows tangled into that familiar furrow, the one you only see when you've completely perplexed him.

All this time, all this energy, spent tying yourself in knots and swallowing bile - and it was all the fault of a fucking fryer. Even now, the relief doesn't come, doesn't take all of the pains and aches of it away. Instead, it melts and morphs into something new - awful, burning, searing shame. And there's Peter in the middle of it all, just waiting for you, wanting the best for you. There's something hot on your cheeks, and it turns out that your laughter has quickly merged into crying.

You're actually crying. In front of him. You'd probably prefer being vaporised into a million pieces by whatever supervillain is calling themselves Spider-Man's arch nemesis these days.

"Oh my God," You blurt out, every cell trembling. It sounded like the beginning of a sentence, but any other words dissolve on your tongue.

Something warm wraps around you, and of course, it's him. He's holding you, and while you've had the odd bit of skin contact with him here and there - hands clapping on your shoulders, fingertips as he passes you ketchup bottles, lips pressed to yours in the snow - you'd never expected it to be like this. This close, you can hear his heart pounding away, the scent of his deodorant drowning out any scrap of smoke or burning oil, and your hands - against your will - fist into the back of his t-shirt.

You stay like that until it subsides, whatever it is, Peter murmuring things you can't quite hear with your ears muffled by his arms. Eventually, though, he pulls back, and fixes you with a look you can't really identify. It's the same one from last night, where he'd stood in the middle of your apartment in his spandex and his mask, wanting something from you that you aren't sure you can give him.

"I know that doesn't... fix it," He says, his voice rumbling through you like a wave - like you were one of his webs, and you can feel his feet tugging at the threads, knowing exactly where he was, and how far away, with one tiny movement. Even if you weren't a web, if you weren't coworkers, if you weren't people (though you suppose, he technically isn't, at least not all the way) you'd probably still be able to find him. "But it's the truth."

Even if you could dredge up something meaningful and coherent to say, you don't think you'd be able to actually say it - not with your tongue feeling so heavy and sluggish in your mouth. You settle on the first thing that comes to mind - the onlything your mouth can remember the shape of.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Your diaphragm is still convulsing with the aftershocks of tears, and your breath trembles in your lungs. It's all coming out now, and you don't think you'd be able to stop it if you wanted to - not now that dam is broken, and Peter hasn't gone running for the hills. Apparently, that's given your brain the go-ahead to spew out pure, babbling nonsense.

“I was awful to you.”

"You really weren't."

"I, I just-" Your breathing hitches again, your face burning hot and bleary, “God, this is pathetic. I’m supposed to be apologising to you.”

You're bowing your head, avoiding eye contact, but you can hear the way his face looks, just from the gentleness in his voice, the concern that soaks the room like gasoline, threatening to be set alight.

“You really think about yourself like this?” 

“I’m- I really am sorry Peter. I was so mean. You don’t deserve that.” 

It’s instant. It's genuine, and it's absolute. “I forgive you.”

There goes that familiar feeling again, the one that claws at you from the inside, and hates how nice he is, how soft he is when the world is so hard to him. You swallow thickly, forcing it down, and choke out a dry laugh, your face scrubbed raw from the heels of your hands. You probably look awful, but he's still looking at you like he always does - whatever that is.

“You know you’re allowed to hate me. You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m snotting all over your couch.” 

“I could never hate you.”

There's a pang in your chest, and you're bent double, winded, by the gentleness of his tone. It hurts like a knife. 

“Don’t-“ Another shaking breath as you shake your head, “You can’t say things like that.”

“Look, I don't-" He begins, before he reshapes the words in his mouth, shuffling them like a pack of cards. That's how he's better than you, you think, he thinks before he speaks - he approaches things with kindness and care, instead of months of anger and resentment towards nothing in particular. "With the fire, even if we didn’t know each other then, when I think about what could have happened, if, if you-“

There it is, the unspoken part. The part that keeps you up at night with nightmares and the smell of ash in your hair that you can’t scrub out. Peter looks almost pained, his face screwed up as he debates between speaking his mind and holding his tongue - he seems to go on a whole journey in his head that’s plain as day across his face. He’s tense and strung tight, hands wringing themselves over and over and over, like he’s cleaning the countertops at the diner, and all of a sudden he’s your coworker again, and you think you taste bile. Eventually, he makes a decision, and speaks. 

“I guess I'm trying to say that I would miss you."

You’re almost winded by it. He says it so plainly, but it stabs you through the chest like a knife. Whatever emotion you’re experiencing right now is entirely new to you, and hurts like a bitch. 

Peter would miss you. He saves your life, he kisses you at work - and he would miss you. He just says it like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t knock the air out of you. 

It’s stupid - whether it was because he frustrated you, or confused you, or made you get that funny, swooping feeling in your stomach, you haven’t stopped thinking about him since you met him, and you’ve never even stepped foot in his house. And he looks like an angel by lamplight. And he would miss you. 

You don't remember much of the rest of the evening, between mumbles and awkward sips of shitty coffee, and the city growing louder outside as the sun sinks below the horizon.

Perhaps this is why people go to church, or believe in something bigger than themselves - in pure, desperate hopes that despite whatever they've done, there will be someone at the end who will forgive you, and treat you kindly. But Peter isn't one for spite, and his kindness is all the more special to you because of that. His forgiveness, however, is something closer to sacred - washing you over in its totality, its absolution. For the first time in a while, Manhattan's clatter and din isn't overwhelming, or undercutting all the shit going on inside your head, it simply exists; cutting through the wind and rustling the trees, like the pigeons that scavenge the back end of Joe's for pizza crusts and stray fries.

It's been a while, but when you leave Peter's, and take in another deep breath on the steps of his building - it feels clean and new. It's only on the walk home, when his voice is pinging around inside your head, that you realise - and it hits you like a train. 

He’s been more than a co-worker this whole time. 

How could you not have realised that? You used to have your head screwed on, the sensible one, and here you were; only just realising how absolutely, positively stupid you’ve been. Of course everything has felt so frustrating and complicated - you’ve been so blind to your own feelings that the realisation of it practically knocks the air out of you.

You’re not even sure when the world started looking brighter and the city started smelling sweeter, and you’re not even sure when that feeling became so all-encompassing and vast and deep and hot and cold all at the same time - but you know it’s all Peter’s fault. You want to hate him for it, at first, but you’re not sure that hating Peter would even be possible. Not when there’s no one in the world that looks at you like he does, no one who goes out of their way to make you smile. He makes you feel special, special enough for you to wonder why no one else has been looking at you like this all along. It’s not that the job has gotten easier, or the fancy coffee you can afford with your pay rise; it’s just that you’ve been stupid enough to develop stupid fucking feelings for the stupid guy you work with. 

Realising this feels like falling off of the Empire State Building. A familiar feeling, yes, when you tally up all of the emotional turmoil you’ve experienced - except now, there’s a small part of your brain that really, truly believes that Spider-Man would catch you.

Somehow, that was scarier.

[lokisivy]

Mad Man- Peter Parker

summary: You and Peter fought about him being reckless when he was saving the city Peter got angry and when he gets angry he gets angry.

Peter's POV is in italics

warnings: Angst, blood, cursing. already established relationship

I supported Peter through everything in his transition through Spiderman, trying to find out what happened with his parents, the loss of his uncle, and finding vengeance for the murder of his uncle. I was happy to be there for him he was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for.

But this was my last straw when he went through my window with blood-soaked hair, bruises on his face, and knife slashes all over his chest The sight was dreadful almost causing tears to run down my face. I was angry at him for getting himself like that it wasn't the first time he had done that. "Peter, what the hell happened!" I yelled my parents were not home.

"Some psycho with a sword." he laughs lightly, holding the leaking wound he lays down on the couch in my bedroom. I got the first aid kit from under my bed. I will yell at him later when he is all patched up.

"fuck that hurts Y/N!" he yelled in pain holding my hips tighter I was stitching his shoulder. I may have been less gentle than normal. "Good" I looked at him briefly. I finished his last stitch and got up to wash my hands.

Peter could sense that you were mad at him. You usually melted in his arms when you were fixing him up. This time, you were stiff and didn't make a convo with him

"Are you mad at me?" Peter asked getting up and following me to the bathroom door

"Yes Peter, I'm mad you got yourself hurt badly," I snap, turning my head.

"Okay, and someone has to do something about what is happening in the city," he shrugged, remaining calm. he is always like that. Clam, he contains himself better than me, and it's frustrating sometimes when we fight and he is not even matching the same level as my voice.

"We have cops for that. It's not your job to go again, drug lords!" My voice got louder. "The cops can't do half of the stuff i can," he said, still clamly, which irritated me more.

"Look at you. you came in covered in blood from head to toe and you may not care about what happens to you because you expect me to patch you up" it was the last time I had to see the love of my life like that I cannot take it when I see him hurting let alone covered in blood almost on the verge of passing out.

"You know you just tell me if you don't want to do that, I don't need you to it. if you don't love me, " he said, trying to guilt trip me he does that every time he gets hurt, trying to make me feel bad.

"No peter its because i love you. You know I won't leave until you're healed," i said, fire building through me why cant he get mad like I am.. he doesn't answer me he stayed silent.

"What you want me to stich you up then kiss you after almost dying, not this time." i turn my back to him, proceeding to wash my hands seeing the crimson blood filling my sink. I took a glimpse in the mirror. i saw him behind me running his hand through his hair, frustrated at my reaction to all of this.

He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I was about to fall to his touch till I looked up in the mirror and saw the bruises and stitches on his face. "Baby, listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I love you -"

"Get your hands of me." I pushed him away. None of this sweet talking shit is going to work on me, not this time. you walked out going inside your bedroom.

"What is your problem Y/N Im trying so hard to stay calm and not fight back but your making this so fucking hard," Peter yelled he rarely cursed when he talked. His eyes grew darker. "What's my problem? are you fucking serious right now Peter!" I yelled back at him.

"You are acting like a kid. in the real world, people get hurt, and I'm preventing that from happening, and I'm not gonna stop because Gwen could've been alive," he shouted.

he talked about my best friend she died last year after Harry threw her off the clock tower. peter wasn't fast enough to save her, and I never blamed him. it was never his fault. he loved her too they were planning on moving to Europe together until she died.

"You can save people without getting hurt you decide to push your limits what happened to Gwen was never your fault and you think you're making it better by almost dying each time you get out there but the only person you're hurting is yourself and me because I would rather die than lose you Peter, and if you can't see that then this isn't gonna work out," I said sadness lacing my tone rather than anger I sat down on my bed trying to compose myself and not to cry.

Peter's heart dropped when you said those words he was gonna lose you too because of his actions panic rose to his throat tears almost falling from his eyes as he choked on his words

"Are you- breaking up with me?" his voice quieted down with a shiver "I'm saying if you wanna play with death out there then I'd rather lose you now than fall in love with more and tear me apart when you leave me," I said my voice cracking tears slipping down my face.

"I'm sorry- I failed you-- it's like everyone I touch dies my Uncle Ben, Gwen, Captain Stacy they all died because of me and I will lose you too-" he kneels in front of me in between my legs gently grabbing my face."I can't lose you." he placed his forehead on mine a teardrop falling down his cheeks.

"Now you listen to me. You never failed me Peter you are perfect, and just because things happen doesn't mean we cause it." I grabbed his cheek. "The world takes everyone, but we don't give. you have me till my dying breath, and even then, I'm still yours." his lips crash into mine the kiss we like needed more than the other. i leaned more into him. The kiss was magical until Peter lost balance, and i ended up falling on top of him on the floor. the both of us broke into laughter. "Go shower, you stink.' I slapped his chest lightly. "Excuse me for not smelling like daisies and roses," he giggled, giving me a light peck on my lips "god i love you. you've ruined me for anyone else. " he sits upright, making me straddle his lap and kiss me again with full passion.

[day1dream]

Peter Parker as your boyfriend f.t. Tobey!Peter

so awkward and shy, though so god damn sweet

you're his first real relationship, he's so inexperienced and doesn't really know what to do, but he's such a sweet bean with you and really tries

first date with him would be at the coffee shop he usually visits to study if he has to get out of his apartment to breath some fresh air (and for the coffee)

is a coffee person, you can't tell me otherwise

Asks you to model for him, and if he can take photos of you because you're the most beautiful person he ever layed eyes on, and yes, he said that completely generous

didn't even realise how cheesy it sounded and went all blushy after a few seconds

in the first weeks, only hand holding and and shy pecks onto the cheek, with his dorky adorable smile

shows you all of his pictures before he publishes them, because your opinion is important to him

he's a man that lives after the quote "What my girl says, is set"

loves cuddles, especially spooning

Most of the times it's him being the big spoon, but at some days he needs a little comfort he really enjoys you holding him

always stops by your apartment on his patrol, and gives you a sweet peck on the cheek with the promise to return after he's done or at least call you

calls you baby and my love, it's adorable how he stuttered the first few times he called you that

Aunt May loves you, absolutely adorable

(Tom!Peter version)

[redroses07]

Someone recommend me Peter Parker fics, but specifically for Tobey Maguire Peter Parker. He’s so underrated help a girl out.

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@febuwhump DAY 3: Muzzled

Fandom: Marvel (Spider-Man: No Way Home)

Characters: Peter One, Peter Two, Peter Three

~

Nine times out of ten, the intensity of Peter Two’s spider instincts was an asset, not a detriment. His brothers were fascinated by the differences in his biology; they had gone out of their way to document his “spider-isms” at length, the scientists in them always on alert for any new and interesting developments.

What Peter Two had neglected to tell them was his hypothesis: it was their presence that urged his spider-isms further to the forefront. He was already a solitary creature long before the bite but now that he had brothers, a family, a clutter…It was his job to protect it, even at his own expense.

One of their overconfident guards had struck the nerve. He’d been harassing Peter One for hours, circling like a vulture with his electric prod. Half-healed burns littered his chest and back but sometimes the guard wouldn’t even shock him, belting his legs with the rod to knock him off balance and send him swinging from dangling, manacled arms.

Peter Three had hollered himself hoarse with threats but the guard was unperturbed. Once he got bored of Peter One’s badly stifled yelps and whimpers, it was the quiet one who interested him.

He had gotten too cocky, too close, grabbing Peter Two by the chin, and there was no hesitation. A snarl, a twist and Two’s fangs tore into the exposed meat of his forearm.

It was hard to track the chain of events that followed. He wasn’t sure if he’d managed to inject venom before the panicked, yowling guard bashed the prod against his skull. His teeth and vision rattled, red spurted and then it was all a clamor of stars and noise until a shadow loomed over him, wrenching his head up to jam a cold metal cage over his face.

“Peter Two!”

“Two! Two, are you okay?!”

His cheekbone and jaw were already swelling from the blow, straining hotly against the muzzle’s confines. Every haggard breath tasted like blood—from his throbbing nose, from his victim’s arm? Whose blood was whose? Did it matter?

Tangled straps and buckles tugged sharply at matted tufts of hair as he blearily stirred. His brothers’ faces swam pale and aghast through the bars…but so too did the new guards’, eyeing him with no small degree of wary nerves.

Good.

[pinkpersonsblog]

Fandom : Spider-Man

Title : Her Hero

Characters : Ursula & Peter

Word count : 1,237

Summary : Ursula pays Peter a visit in his apartment after his final battle against Venom and Sandman. Spider-Man 3 fic

[fanbrush13]

Spidey One Shots

These are my fics that I'm transferring over from Ao3. After formatting they will be available to read on Tumblr. If you have ANY requests, you can email me at fanfictionfanbrush13@gmail.com

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Spidey Oneshot

Peter 1 (Tom) is feeling in the dumps after the events at the Statue of Liberty 8 months ago. Today is his birthday and he has nobody to spend it with...or does he?

----------

“How much pain do you have to go through before giving up is okay?”

What if Peter 2 and Peter 3 never left?

What if the button didn't work?

Peter 1 needs comfort, and Peter 2 and Peter 3 are here to help

----------

You don’t have to act like you’re okay.

Peter 3 has been bottling up years of pain and regret. Peter 2 talks to Peter 3 about what has been troubling him.

---------

"I'll always have your back, kiddo."

Peter 1 is upset after coming home and Peter 2 is not having it.

[toomanyopinionss]

Three Weeks - Part 1

Pairing: Spiderman/Original Male Character

Summary: Takes place in high school

After Manuel Juarez (MJ) met Spiderman for the first time, it took him 3 weeks to uncover that he was Peter Parker. To be honest, Manny doesn’t know how he didn’t figure it out sooner…

Warnings: some bad words, ig? basically fluff

Author’s Note: So I did a thing. I’ve never posted a fic here before. This honestly spurred from a tweet I saw after seeing NWH about how Andrew Garfield’s Spiderman is yet to meet his MJ and it could be a dude. After seeing that a character instantly formed in my head and I needed an outlet. i made my peter parker a very vague cutout, so one can imagine whatever one floats their boat whether that’s Maguire, Holland, the lego version 🤷🏾‍♀️

also this will be in like 4 parts i think. enjoy!

October 4

Back to you, Shannon.

Thank you, Charles. Breaking news here tonight in Queens. Our friendly neighborhood Spiderman faces off with the notorious villain known as Doc-Ock on 73rd. Local authorities blocked access to the street as the two fought. Video footage shows Doc-Ock slamming Spiderman through a new apartment building being constructed, causing the entire structure to collapse on the hero.

That’s awful, Shannon.

Tell me about it, Charles. Eyewitnesses saw Spiderman limping out of the building after Doc-Ock escaped apprehension once again. Here’s wishing for a swift recovery for our hero…

*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*

Manny was bored out of his mind. There were still another 45 minutes till closing time, and he was the only person on the clock at the small drugstore . If he was more like his older sister Ricky, he would have just closed the store early (which is against store policy). He’d have gone home and worked on the essay he was yet to start. But unfortunately, Manny just did not have it in him. And his boss was a little scary. So he just sighed, pulled his shoulder-length hair into a bun, sat on the stool behind the counter, and pulled out his math homework.

About 10 minutes later, the bell on the door jangled as someone came through, a gust of cold air hitting Manny straight in the face. After adjusting to the harsh change in temperature, a smile broke out on his face, seeing who was at the door.

“Auntie May May!” He yelled from the counter, hands cupped around his mouth.

The woman laughed in response. “Manuel, darling, how are you?”

“I’m chill,” he said leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “I’ve got too much homework though.”

“And I know you’ll pull through, cause you’re smart,” she stated, smiling at him. “Last I heard from your mom, you were on the honor roll?”

Manny looked down, his face flushing. “It’s no big deal.”

“Baloney. You’re one of the smartest kids I know.” They continued chatting as May picked up what she needed and headed toward him. As Manny started scanning the items, he looks up at her curiously.

“You planning on starting an emergency clinic in that house of yours?” He asked, after scanning the fifth box of jumbo bandages.

“You would think, huh? My nephew Peter, you know Peter, right? Anyway, he came home today limping with bruises and cuts all over after yet another skateboarding accident.” She shook her head in exasperation. “I have half a mind to take that thing and make him ride the bus.”

Manny knew Peter, but they weren’t exactly friends. They ran in different circles at school and didn’t share any classes. “Oh May, don’t do that. The bus is an even worse punishment.” Manny said, scanning the last item.

She raised an eyebrow as she handed over the cash. “Like I said.” He laughed and handed back her change. She shook her head and pushed it towards him like she always does. “Might even teach him a thing or two about personal safety and responsibility.”

As she grabbed her bags off the table, Manny remembered something. He leaned over the counter and extended his hand to the candy display in front. He grabbed two boxes of Raisinets and passed them to May. “For your troubles.”

May grinned and reached into her purse before Manny said, “Uh uh. Nope. We’ve had this conversation before. No one else buys Raisinets. The only 3 people I know who like these nasty things are my tío Ernesto, Peter, and Be-.” He cut off instantly, not knowing whether he pushed a button or not.

But May just smiled nostalgically. “Yeah, you’re right. Ben used to eat these things by the handful while he worked. Always made my skin crawl.” Manny and May shared a secret smile before May slipped the chocolate into her bag. “Keep up the good work, Manuel.”

“I’ll try, Aunt May.”

*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*

After locking up the store at 9:30, Manny started on the long, cold walk back home. Usually, he has his bike on him, but picking up his younger sister from the doctor today messed with his schedule, so the bike was at his house. Now he had to endure this 25-minute walk. He slipped his earbuds in and started playing Frank Ocean as he walked through the streets of Queens; not quite asleep, not quite awake, existing somewhere in between.

About halfway through his journey, Manny felt a weird vibe. The vibe could mean a few things: he was being followed, watched, or stupid. He cut off the volume of his music, but kept his earbuds in, and slid his house key between his fingers so the sharp edge juts out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. He slowed his walk to more of a stroll and his senses heightened. Then, he whirled around, prepared to take this dude head-on. Only to find nothing. Nobody was following him. Even the homeless people under the train tracks were minding their own business.

He sighed and turned back around, only to be face to face with Spiderman. Manny let out a yell and jumped back a few steps.

“Man, what?!” Manny gripped his knees to catch his breath, and strands of his hair fell out of the bun and into his face. “¿Que te pasa?”

“I’m sorry. Oh gosh. I’m so, so sorry.” Spiderman scrambled toward him. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Manny said. But then he felt a slight stinging sensation on his right hand. When he turned his hand palm up, he saw blood trickling down his fingers. He must have cut his hand with his key when Spiderman startled him.

“Fuck,” Spiderman said, taking his hand and inspecting it. Manny didn’t realize superheroes cussed.

“I’m fine, dude,” Manny repeated, removing his hand from Spiderman’s grasp. He then proceeded to pour the rest of his water bottle on it to wash away the blood and then shoved one of his gloves on. “I’ll deal with it when I get home.” Then he looked Spiderman up and down wearily. “Were you following me?”

“Yes,” Spiderman said before he seemed to realize that it was a creepy fucking thing to say, and then backtracked. “Well, um, I was doing my final sweep of the neighborhood, and I saw you were walking alone. It’s a slow night, plus there’s been an uptick in crime in this area, so I thought I’d keep an eye on you until you got to your destination.”

“Oh.” Manny tilted his head slightly, confused. “Well, why didn’t you walk next to me then? Maybe alert me to your presence?”

“Umm, I kind of…” Spiderman trailed off uncomfortably. “I kind of banged my leg up today. It’s still healing.”

Manny suddenly remembered the news he watched earlier today. Doc-Ock slamming Spiderman through a new apartment building… Spiderman limping out... “How did you get here, then?”

“Oh!” Spiderman exclaims excitedly. “Yeah, I just swung here. You know with my…webs.”

Silence. And then Manny said, “Couldn’t you, I don’t know, swing me home?”

Spiderman seemed to hesitate at this. Manny flashed him a lopsided grin. “What? Is there a weight limit? I thought super strength came with the entire,” Manny gestured at the hero, “package.”

“No no no, it’s not that. It’s just… it’s a lot to handle, the first time around.”

“Hey, I’m a big boy,” Manny said defensively. “I can handle it.”

This was the dumbest decision Manny had made in quite some time. The minute Spiderman dropped him off in front of his house, he launched himself towards the nearest bush and unleashed his entire lunch onto his mother’s poor flowers.

“Mierda, that was awful. Jesus Christ.”

“Hey now. Did I not warn you, Manny?” Spiderman asked arms outstretched dramatically. “Traveling this way is not for the faint of heart.”

“¿Perdóneme? You made it sound like it was just gonna be a little bumpy. That was “Tower of Terror” on steroids, my friend. No me gusta.” Then he vomited again.

Spiderman rolled his eyes before approaching Manuel. He paused briefly before rubbing his back. “Are you ok?”

Manny stood upright a few moments later, wiped his mouth off, and turned to his companion with an eyebrow raised. “Take a wild guess, Sherlock. Then he took note of the fact that Spiderman seemed to be leaning heavily on his left leg. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Spiderman said. “The healing is taking a little longer than I expected, but I should be good in a few hours. The city’s safe in my hands.”

Manny looked at Spiderman for a long moment before opening his bag and digging through it. Eventually, he pulled out the bag of Raisinets he stashed in there for his uncle. The cranky man could stand to lose a couple, anyways. “My Abuelita always says that the fastest way to heal is through love and sweets. Ironically, she has heart disease and 3 divorces under her belt, but beggars can’t be choosers.” Manny extended the bag. “All I have are these crappy mini turd candies, but-“

“I love Raisinets,” Spiderman said enthusiastically, taking the bag of candy gratefully.

“You don’t say.” Now Manny knew 4 people in this entire world who liked Raisinets.

Spiderman lifted the candy in gratitude. “Thanks for this, Manny.” He was about to shoot a web at the nearest building before he paused. “Make sure you disinfect that cut and wrap it so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Make sure you rest that leg, so it doesn’t fall off,” Manny shot back. And Spiderman swung away, laughing.

It wasn’t until much later that night Manny wondered how the superhero knew his name.

*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*

At school the next day, Manny walked up and down the empty hallway, trying to write passable conclusion for his essay. He had about 4 minutes left in his free period before his History class. He found that movement helped his brain work faster, so he paced back and forth. An unsafe choice, seeing as he crashed into someone about 10 seconds later.

“I’m so sorry,�� he said quickly, reaching down to pick up his notebook at the same time the other person did. Manny looked up to see Peter Parker. They stood at the same time, and Peter passed him his pen.

“It’s all good,” he said. Manny notices two bandaids on his cheek and a small one on his forehead.

“Looks like May played a game of operator on you.”

Peter laughed shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And the thing about it is, the cuts have completely healed!” He lifted one of the bandages on his cheek to reveal nothing but clear skin. “Not even a scar! But Aunt May worries, so…” He lowers his gaze for a moment. “Your hand doin’ okay?”

Manny looked down at the shoddy bandage wrapping he did before passing out on his bed the night before. “Yeah, it’s fine. I scratched it going home last night.” Manny left out the part about the superhero involved. “As you can see, I’m no medical professional.”

“Can I…” Peter inclined his head towards the injured hand in a question. Manny nodded, and Peter reached out and took his hand. The tip of his tongue stuck out slightly in concentration as he scrutinized the attempt. Then, he gently unwrapped the bandage, before wrapping it more securely. When Peter was done, he didn’t immediately let go. He caressed the hand slightly and looked up at Manny.

“Is it okay? Too tight?” He asked. And because the ability to put words together seemed to fail Manny at that moment, he opted for a thumbs up with his other hand. “Good.” Peter dropped his hand and looked down at the watch. “That leaves you maybe a minute and a half to finish your essay.”

“Fuck,” Manny groaned, quickly finding the place where he stopped in his conclusion and picking up where he left off. He heard Peter snort at his scrambling, which made him stop and look up, eyes narrowed. “You enjoy that bus ride this morning, Peter?”

The smile on Peter’s face dropped instantly and reappeared on Manny’s face. The smiling boy swiveled and walked away. But not before he saw the corners of Peters lips quirk upward.

link to fic on ao3

part 2

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.  

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.  

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”  

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”  

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.  

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.  

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.  

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.  

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”  

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.  

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.  

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…  

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.  

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”  

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this… 

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.  

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.  

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?  

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”  

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…  

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.  

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her. 

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.  

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”  

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.  

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.  

And it still made you angry.  

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.  

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”  

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.  

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”  

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.  

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”  

Understand.  

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.  

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.  

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.  

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”  

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”  

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”  

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.  

You weren’t used to this.  

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.  

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”  

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.  

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.  

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.  

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.  

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.  

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.  

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…  

This was different, somehow.  

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.  

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.  

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.  

But Peter wasn’t like other people.  

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.  

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.  

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.  

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.  

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.  

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.  

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”  

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”  

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.  

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?  

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.  

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.  

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”  

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”  

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.  

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”  

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.  

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.  

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.  

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.  

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”  

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”  

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.  

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”  

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.  

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.  

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”  

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”  

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”  

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”  

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”  

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.  

You knew better than to think he meant it.  

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.  

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.  

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.  

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.  

You were good at expressing anger, though.  

You were very good at expressing anger.  

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.  

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.  

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.  

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.  

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.  

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.  

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.  

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.  

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.  

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.  

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.  

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.  

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”  

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”  

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.  

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”  

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”  

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.  

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.  

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”  

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.  

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.  

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.  

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.  

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.  

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”  

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.  

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.  

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.  

“I will,” you promised.  

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”  

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.  

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.  

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”  

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”  

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”  

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”  

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”  

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.  

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”  

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.  

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”  

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.  

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”  

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.  

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”  

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.  

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.  

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”  

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”  

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.  

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”  

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.  

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”  

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.  

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.  

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”  

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.  

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”  

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.  

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.  

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.  

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”  

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”  

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.  

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”  

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.  

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.  

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”  

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.  

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.  

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.  

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.  

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”  

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.  

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

[theotherpacman]

some of y'all are writing tobey!peter/andrew!peter and all I have to say is, good fucking luck keeping it clear which peter is doing what

[bjugnakraekir]

short spider-man not-quite-whump

link, song i listened to while writing, inspo song

He was injured, and it was bad. Like bad bad. Lizard Dr. Connors threw him around like a sandbag, and it was a miracle he wasn’t concussed (he probably is, realistically). His usual web-swinging made him horribly, he would perch on a wall just to sit it out, that’s all he’d do. Except it wasn’t. He climbed into an open window, just on pure auto-pilot, like he would going home for the night.

It wasn’t his apartment.

It was the same level and window, though. Just not the same building. He realized when he slumped through the window and landed on hard flooring and not the beanbag he put under the window for this exact situation. He noticed when he smelled fresh body wash and steam.

Truth be told, he kind of still thought it was his apartment, and that the person in the shower was MJ, waiting for him to come home. The person in the shower was most definitely not MJ, however. The tenant must’ve heard him come through the window, because he entered the dark bedroom with a kitchen knife. The light from the hallway reflected on the knife, shining on the man’s cold face. Rivulets of water dripped down his naked upper-body, shining and catching on puckered, raised scars spattering his skin. His chest raised and fell with controlled breaths, a tattoo of a death’s-head hawkmoth stretched across the toned muscle. A hand was on the towel wrapped around his waist.

He must’ve shuffled a little, because the man’s eyes darted to him. The man dropped down and gripped the knife, aiming it for his neck. He gulped, ready to be stabbed and killed for being a fucking idiot. Except he didn’t feel anything. He opened his eyes and came face-to-face with the man, who now had a confused expression on his face.

“Spider-Man?” He said. Spider-Man had put his hands up in surrender. The man gingerly set the knife down on a nearby nightstand and grabbed him by the hands, pulling him up so he was standing on two unsteady feet. Spider-Man swayed as he stood, leaning on the man more than he’d like to admit.

“Hey, are you, like, okay?” Spider-Man leaned his forehead on the man’s shoulder, his mask absorbing some of the water on him. The man put a hand on Spider-Man’s torso, retracting it when he felt blood.

“Oh shit. Uh. Let me get pants on and I can fix you up.” He put Spider-Man’s arm around his shoulder and led him to the lit living room, setting him down on the couch. He rushed back to the bedroom and emerged with gray sweatpants now replacing the towel. He went in between the bathroom and kitchen and bedroom again, gathering objects and putting things away. Spider-Man drearily blinked as the man set down a first-aid kit on the coffee table.

“Can you take the suit off without taking off the mask?” He asked, a gentle hand on Spider-Man’s arm.

“Yeah, just-” he murmured as he peeled off the grimy costume, hissing as bloody wounds were exposed. The man quickly got to work, cleaning and disinfecting open scrapes and cuts. He won’t lie, but having someone else fix your wounds was really nice. He seemed like he knew what he was doing.

“Where’d you learn first-aid?” Spider-Man asked after a while of silence. The man froze minutely.

“Military.” Was all he said. Spider-Man watched his hands as he cleaned a large gash. “I know, I don’t really look like it, too young.”

“No, you look like it.” He stopped. Spider-Man rushed to defend himself. “I mean with the tattoos- and, and the scars. You do look young, though.” 

“This will hurt.” He looked Spider-Man in the eyes (mask?), while holding up a needle and thread.

“It’ll be healed by tomorrow.”

“Stitches will make it less visible.” 

They stared at each other before Spider-Man sighed and nodded.

“Tell me if you need a break.” 

He slowly pushed the curved needle into the flesh of Spider-Man’s arm. Blood pooled in a little droplet as the thread was pulled through and into the other side, pulling the cut flesh together. Scissors cut the extra thread and he begins to work on the next suture. After the second stitch, the rest got easier to bear, he didn’t even notice that the man finished all five.

“I don’t know if you have super healing or anything, but you should be able to take these out in a week or so. Do you need anything? Water? Food?” The man was looking at Spider-Man’s face, it felt like he could see right through the mask.

“No, I should get going.” He stood and stumbled to the window.

“Get going? Oh no you don’t!” The man grabbed Spider-Man’s wrist and dragged him back to the couch. “I just gave you stitches, you are not going anywhere for the time being. Listen, call anyone you need to and tell them you’re staying at a friend’s or something, you are not web-swinging with stitches. You said it yourself, it’ll be healed by tomorrow.”

“Fine.” He huffed.

“I’ll get you something to wear, do you need anything? I have a sewing kit to fix that suit of yours.”

“I can do it myself.” The man gave a look that practically said ‘If you say so’. He got the box of sewing supplies and set it on the coffee table, along with sweatpants and a t-shirt. The medical supplies were collected and returned to their original place.

“Night, Spidey.” The man said before closing the bedroom door behind him. The man’s smile made a shiver go down his spine. He would leave as soon as possible, Spider-Man decided.

Spider-Man, however, did not leave as soon as possible.

He fell into a deep sleep on the couch, the cushions beat up in a way that made his aching bones relax and the pillows soft on his pounding head. The sound of an air purifier lulling him to sleep like white noise. 

He woke up to rays of light wrapped around him like a warm blanket. No. It was an actual blanket. It sat on top of him, pulled up to his chin, tucked under his body. He didn’t totally remember what happened, or where he was. He sat up and saw he was wearing someone else’s clothes, a worn t-shirt with a skull and gray sweatpants.

The red fabric on the coffee table caught his eye. It was his spider suit. His hands immediately went to his face, he let out a sigh of relief when he felt the fabric under his fingertips. The stranger didn’t see his face. 

Someone unlocking the apartment door pulled him from his thoughts. He hid under the blanket, pulling it over his head and facing away from the door. He could hear footsteps and the closing and locking of the door.

“I know you’re awake, ‘Man,” said the tenant. “You want something to eat before I check those stitches?”

Spider-Man slowly turns around to face the tenant. He had one hand on his hip and a white paper bag in the other. He was wearing running clothes, a baseball hat, and a fabric mask pulled under his chin. His breath was a little stressed, like he was just exercising.

“I-” Before Spider-Man could even get a word out, his stomach growled loudly. “...”

“Hope you’re not vegan,” He walked over and held out a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “Because I got both of us a bacon egg and cheese on sourdough.”

Spider-Man gladly took the food, unwrapping it and eating it quickly. The man sat on the arm of the couch and lifted up the t-shirt sleeve, looking at the scab with wonder.

“I washed and patched up your suit, if you didn’t see it.” He grabbed a pocket tool from his windbreaker and snipped the now-useless sutures, carefully pulling them out of the skin. “Just change back and you are good to go.”

Spider-Man scarfed down the rest of his breakfast and changed back into his superhero suit. He paused at the open window. “How can I thank you for all this?”

“Are you kidding?” The tenant laughed. “This was me thanking you! Keep doing the great work, Spider-Man.”

“What’s your name?”

“Just call me Corporal.” 

Spider-Man smiled under his mask and saluted. “See you ‘round, Corporal.” Spider-Man crawled through the window and shot a web, swinging away.

“Spider-Man! Spider-Man! That was incredible work! Do you mind answering some questions?” A blonde reporter that reminds him of MJ asked, holding her mic to his face.

“Sure, I’ve got time.”

“Who is the hardest villain you’ve fought against?”

“Probably Mysterio. Hard to get a guy who makes illusions.”

“What about the scariest? What is Spider-Man afraid of?”

“I mean, other than failure there is this one person that terrified me.” He said, absentmindedly going to rub his arm. “He isn’t even a villain, he was just some guy. He helped me out, actually. Patched me up when I was in bad shape.”

“Who is he? What did he do?” “The question is really what did I do? One night I probably had a concussion and ended up crawling into the window of a random apartment and fell on the floor. The guy who lived there walked into the room with a knife – rightly so, I mean come on, it’s New York – but, in that moment I was terrified. I thought I was gonna die that night. Very nice guy, though, got me a really good bacon egg and cheese.”

The reporter stood with her mouth agape, blinking like a fish. “Oh, um. Oh my god.”

“Hey, Corporal,” Spider-Man faces the camera fully, “If you’re watching this, I want to know where you got that sandwich, it was the bomb. Catch you later!” He shoots a web and heads out, the camera following him and panning back to the reporter after he disappears.

“Well, I guess you heard it here, folks! Spider-Man’s true fear is failure and a man called Corporal! You know, now I also want to know about that sandwich he was talking about.” She says before the live feed cuts back to the regular news anchor.

[devine-fem]

If you wish to get into Spideypool or write for them then this is a masterlist of all ‘Spideypool’ evidence of Wade Wilson or Peter Parker being astrangly interested in each other. This took me forever... please don't flop. If I miss anything please let me know, I'll edit this list as soon as possible.

1. When bound against Spider-Man, Deadpool gets... excited for lack of a better word and even more so when Spider-Man yells at him.

2. Deadpool has a celebrity crush on Spider-Man like young teenage boys would crush on various female actors, but instead Wade Wilson had Spiderman, I guess.

3. Wade Wilson owns a plethora of Spider-man merch, plushies, blankets, posters, underwear, belts, he has them.

4. There are two official variant covers that display Deadpool and Spider-man recreating the upside-down kiss… this is technically not canon due to them being variant covers, but they can be if you want.

5. When someone asks Deadpool about the relationship he has with Spider-Man he either says they are best friends or lovers.

6. Wade is jealous or envious of Peter’s bond with Johnny Storm.

7. Wade comments multiple times about how tight Spider-Man’s suit is and how nice his butt is.

8. Wade has called Tobey Maguire cute.

9. There are mutliple occasions of pedestrians in the marvel universe assuming Spider-Man and Deadpool are some sort of couple.

10. When Deadpool is asked about a romantic date… he imagines him and Spiderman sharing a candlelit dinner together…

11. It’s important to remember that Spider-Man is a grown man. Yes, Deadpool flirts a lot, but he is flirting with another adult that he is sexually attracted to, and this is not a crime, he’s not harassing Spider-Man in any way and if Peter felt like he was then he can also be an adult and tell Wade to stop which he never does.

12. Deadpool most of the time does not know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man so when Wade flirts with Spider-Man, he’s mostly attracted to the idea of Spider-Man he has in his head and when he’s in the position to know Spider-Man’s identity, he always refuses and even protects his identity from being known by other people. + Forehead kiss.

13. Wade has a list of people that he would cheat on his wife with. It’s a list of people he’d be given a free pass to have sex with if he’s given the chance. Most people on this list are woman but the last person is Spider-Man, this is one of the biggest nods towards Deadpool’s sexuality because it’s set in stone that if given the opportunity, he would have sex with Spider-Man, while knowing that he’s a man.

14. Wade has pictures of him and Spider-Man together in his house.

15. Spider-Man keeps pictures of him and Wade on his phone… for reasons… I don’t know why.

16. They have one biological child together called ‘Itsy Bitsy’ and another they adopted called Matrix.

17. Wade doesn’t hesitate to protect Spider-Man.

18. Ryan Renolds and Andrew Garfield have kissed before. Not really evidence, I just think it's funny.

19. Deadpool loses his wife because of how much time he’s devoted to Spider-Man, instead of her. She even calls him out on his crush, he legitimately loses his wife because of his relationship with Spider-Man due to her feeling like she’s third wheeling.

20. Marvel ships it.

21. Asking Spider-Man for a kiss, an upside-down kiss that is and I mean, if you count the variant covers as canon then sure, yeah, never say never Spidey.

22. Wade would die with Spider-Man (and he gets to prove this later)

23. Spider-Man’s touch, voice and smell all seem to calm Wade down. 24. There's an issue in a Deadpool comic literally just called "Spideypool." 25. Wade references fanfiction, fanart and says Spideypool out of his mouth multiple times so he's very aware that this exists. 26. There's an alternate universe where they are old man in an apocalypse. 27. Deadpool's villains are well aware that he has a weak spot for Spider-Man and uses this against him at times. How cute is that? 28. Spider-Man is Wade's special boy... dude, this is so fanficy... 29. Okay, so, the heartmates thing. A group of people use magic to try and summon Deadpool's heartmate to try and get to his wife, I'm not entirely sure what a heartmate is but I'm pretty sure it's a 'one true love' type of thing and yes, this summons Spider-Man, so unless Wade's 'gay jokes' have tricked the concept of magic as a whole, that's pretty on the nose. 30. Wade has seen Spider-Man naked... I'm pretty sure that is what this is implying. 31. Peter does find Wade genuinely annoying sometimes, but he never voices this to Wade directly but the funniest thing is... Peter's attitude to Wade is like a 'he can only get on MY NERVES!' type of thing. 32. Peter genuinely gets worried for Deadpool when he gets hurt even though he has a healing factor, he even takes care of him when he's healing after a mission. 33. Peter gets magicked into thinking Wade is attractive. NOW LET'S GET INTO THE SAD AND EXISTENTIAL STUFF! 34. One of Wade's bigger character arcs is when he tries to become a hero like Spider-Man. He admires Spider-Man, he puts him on a pedestal because he does the right thing without hurting anyone and he's admired for it. To be honest, we did just go through a bunch of cute fanficy moments but this moral back and forth between the two is definitely the gayest thing they've done. 35. Weirdly Peter is trying to actively force himself to hate Wade, but he can't find it within himself to dislike him. I think that his mean comments toward Wade are definitely more of an act because the behavior that Wade displays remind him of things he dislikes within himself. Peter also has been betrayed multiple times throughout his life by people he thought he could trust so he has a hard time allowing himself to trust Wade. Meanwhile Wade feels jealous of what he assumes is a relationship between him and Peter Parker that could possibly be romantic, yes, Wade does think Peter Parker and Spider-Man may have been dating which is why Spider-Man is so protective of Peter Parker which causes Wade to get jealous. 36. Wade and Peter actually become friends very easily which is something that people complained about when this comic was still just coming out. Eventually, because Wade is convinced Peter Parker is an evil doer, he kills Peter Parker (Spider-Man) which causes Spider-Man to revoke their friendship and feel betrayed by Deadpool. Peter assumes that Wade falsified their entire friendship just to get to Peter Parker and kill him, he eventually finds out this was a mistake and brings Peter Parker to life which is around the time where Wade's wife leaves him. Now, because of Peter, Wade is using rubber bullets and refusing to kill people. It's important to remember that Wade in the past, has mentioned that killing was all he had, and he gave that up for Spider-Man, to prove himself to Spider-man. This is a huge thing for Wade, killing was one of his most defining traits but it also made him hate himself, but he's willing to change for Peter.

Is it... wrong of me for kind of finding the fact that Peter has worked to help Deadpool stop killing but this ultimately culminates as Wade killing Peter, like biting the hand that feeds you... is it wrong that I find this tragically romantic...? I need so much therapy. 37. Wade explains that he was just trying to protect Spider-Man which is one of my favorite moments between the two.

38. Peter eventually forgives Deadpool, and they go after the person who put a hit on Peter Parker.

39. When Peter’s mad at him… he doesn’t exactly… hate it? I guess.

40. Wade has a little "What would Spidey do?" wristband. That's adorable. 41. Wade describes his new morality as the best thing that's ever happened to him and one of the biggest things that motivate him to be better is because someone (spidey) genuinely believes that he can get better. He mentions that if Spider-man was to die or leave him then there would be no point in getting better which is so sad to me.

42. Spider-Man has a bad habit of easily forgiving people. Spider-Man has a hero complex and believes that everyone can be saved, even when told to his face that Deadpool is not the type of person that can be save, he defends Deadpool and rejects this idea.

43. When Wade does the right thing Peter tells him that he's proud of him and this is also a big motivator for him. He feels better if he's told someone notices his efforts and feels neglected if they don't.

44. Speaking of tragically romantic, Peter starts to question his morality because he finds out that there's a hole in his life that seemingly can't be filled with doing the right thing anymore. He lets himself slip away and contemplates killing itsy bitsy which he commits to doing but Wade tries relentlessly to stop him.

He ends up killing Wade because he finds that his ongoing worship of him makes him feel guilty. 45. Wade doesn't stop trying to get Peter to stop.

Ultimately Peter beats him in the fight and to stop Peter, he sacrifices himself. He kills Itsy Bitsy instead so Peter can't. He gives up his morality, something that meant the world to him, for Peter, once again. Peter feels immensely guilty for this and promises to make it up to Wade somehow. It's also implied that Wade fills that gap in Peter's life that he's missing.

46. This is from a different writer so it's a little inconsistent, basically because of Wade's new morality, he stops making as many jokes, starts to become more serious and eventually gets to really be alone with himself and his problems which causes him to dislike the version of Wade Wilson he's become because of Spidey. It's like Peter makes him see parts of himself that he dislikes a little bit clearer, and he loses hope, he stops believing that he can actually become better. Cameleon, a villain at the time fakes Deadpool killing someone, Peter believes this - which hurts Wade due to how little faith it seems Peter has in Deadpool. He blows up in Peter's face and says that he did all of this for him, and he doesn't really care about letting everyone down... except him, he feels extremely guilty for some reason when he lets Spider-Man down.

47. Eventually, Peter finds out that Wade did not kill someone and apologizes to Deadpool which is important because it means Peter cannot wrong Deadpool without the narrative making sure he makes amends for his actions. Deadpool sometimes is very vexing, and this is not necessarily entirely Peter's fault for getting aggravated with him. Deadpool does this on purpose, he has low self-esteem and sometimes uses his behavior as a way to push the people he cares about away, whether it's to protect them or to keep himself from getting hurt. Wade has communicated this to Peter before and Peter very sweetly affirmed him. 48. Wade has a daughter named Ellie that he keeps far away from him because he does not want her getting in the middle of his mercenary business and getting hurt. He says that one day when he's ready to put this mercenary stuff behind him then he'll be ready to take care of her properly. Wade introduces his daughter to Spider-Man, and she says that she loves Spider-Man and Daddy talks about him all the time which Wade adorably gets embarrassed by. 49. Peter goes out of his way to hang out with Wade. 50. Theres this huge arc of future!Wade Wilson coming back from the future into the past to stop things from going so wrong in the future. This might be confusing but basically, this whole arc is about how Wade refuses to live without Peter and without Peter's permission, gives up some of his healing factor to keep Peter alive way past his due date. He outlives every person he knows and the only person he has is Deadpool. He even gives up being Spider-Man until busting a robbery motivates him to be Spider-Man one more time which he spends that time with Deadpool. Peter almost dies once again and to save Peter, Deadpool gives up more of his healing factor to keep him alive. It's so strange to me that Wade refuses to live without Peter but what's even stranger is that it's revealed that Peter knows Deadpool is keeping him alive and never stops him. These two are so weird about each other. This eventually culminates with the both of them dying in each other's arms, I kid you not. 51. So, Wade and Peter, long story short, stops this future from happening which is the second the last arc. The last last arc is them defeating the concept of the third wall I believe...? 52. Another thing that is EXTREMELY important to note is that Wade and Peter are canonically established friends right now. During the last 10 issues of their solo comic they become friends, set in stone, no going back on that. Peter finally accepts Wade as he is, and they go on a little adventure together. There's no point in saying Peter doesn't like Wade or Wade doesn't like Peter. Peter and Wade's friendship developed over time, there's no need to try and erase their friendship. Peter likes Wade now; he stops pretending to be annoyed with him, he cheers him on, and he compliments him regularly. He even trusts Wade enough to reveal himself as Peter Parker. Peter and Wade's friendship was very similar to Johnny Storm and Peter Parker's, both hated each other at first but then slowly became good friends. There's no point of putting Spideytorch and Spideypool against each other when they are so similar. 53. Wade thinks Peter is handsome. 54. Peter thinks Wade is a hero. 55. One of my favorite moments because I am CRAZY. Wade dying for Peter without hesitation and Peter being devastated. This happens almost right after Peter reveals himself as Peter Parker. 56. Wade has eaten Peter before, if you're into that Cannibalism being a metaphor for love type of thing.

57. Wade has called Peter 'baby boy' and "bambi' but these things have happened literally one time before and have become extremely overused. Wade has plenty of nicknames for Peter, let's mix it up a bit. 58. Marvel's little animation for the both of them. 59. They've interacted in Ultimate Spider-Man before.

60. Peter has a fever dream… Deadpool is crossdressing in it.

61. Deadpool gets put into a falsified reality where everything is his version of perfect, this is a villians way of getting information out of Deadpool while using his favorite things as leverage. In this reality, fake!Spider-Man tries to get information out of Deadpool by bribing him with sex. I kid you not.

62. His little “Make Spidey mine, Marvel!” Badge. He’s so down bad.

63. The entirety of Deadpool (2013) Issue #10.

64. The official Deadpool manga where Deadpool contemplates asking Spider-Man for a dirty favor.

65. Deadpool’s random little Spider-Man keychain at the handle of his Katanna.

Or, y’know, reading their duo comic: Spider-Man/Deadpool (2016) would also basically tell you everything you need to know about their dynamic if you need somewhere to start. I hope this helped to refresh anyone’s mind on things as well.

Again, if I missed anything cute, please let me know. I’ll edit it as soon as possible.

[mrs-bucky-barnes106]

go support my peter parker blog if you're into him!! i have an early christmas present for ya <3

under the mistletoe

reader: named Alana, ditzy (golden retriever gf), has a toxic mom

genre: angst, fluff, best friends to lovers <3

౨ৎ

You shifted uncomfortably in your armchair, playing with the hem of your skirt. The pleated plaid fabric was now worn, the edges fraying from overuse. Your mother had bought it for you last Christmas, and it was so gorgeous you wore it at least once a week in the winter.

You checked her watch, tapping your fingernails impatiently on the arm of the chair. Peter was late. You had no idea how long you could last alone with your mother.

As you nervously sipped your hot cocoa, the doorbell rang. You smiled, knowing exactly who was at the door. Placing your mug on the coffee table, you dashed for the door so as not to let your guest freeze.

Your smile faded when you saw your younger brother and his girlfriend.

“Hey!" your brother's warm smile faded after noticing your evident disappointment. "Don’t look too excited to see me, it’s not like I haven’t seen you in months. Peter’s not here yet?” He gave you a knowing smirk.

“I didn’t think you were him! I…I just thought you were Dad,” you lied through a tight-lipped smile. Clearly, he didn't believe you but decided, thankfully, not to tease you about it.

“This is my girlfriend, Taylor," the girl gave you an unnecessarily toothy grin, throwing you off with her excessive friendliness. "Move it or lose it, sister. Go daydream about Parker in your old room or something.” He grabbed her hand, pushing past you to greet your mother. Taylor gave you a sheepish smile, mouthing a "sorry" for your brother's behavior.

You were about to close the door when you heard an, “Am I late?”

You whipped around, already grinning like an idiot. Even just the sound of his voice did that to you.

Peter stood in front of you in his pine green parka and dorky spiderman hat, two huge bouquets in hand. You wrapped your arms around him, popping your feet off the floor in your excitement. It was a miracle he was still standing since you practically barreled into him with all your strength, but he caught you, shifting the flowers to rest behind your back.

"Did ya miss me?" Peter pouted playfully, his puppy eyes trained down at you with nothing but adoration.

"Mhmm," you nodded vigorously into his collar, simultaneously catching a whiff of his earthy cologne.

His eyes crinkled in affection at your energy. You felt so right in his arms, he never wanted to let go. He would do everything in his power to protect you for the rest of his life.

He stepped inside and handed you the flowers. Pink roses with baby's breath. He knew you better than the back of his palm.

Peter admired every little thing about you, like how even now, you reached up to fix a loose bobby pin in your messy bun. You always looked so pretty even when you weren't trying. His gaze softened when he looked down at your outfit.

“Are you wearing my sweater?” he asked coyly. Your eyes widened. You hadn’t even noticed you had it on. You had "borrowed it" a couple weeks ago without telling him. He had looked everywhere for it and now the girl of his dreams was wearing it.

“Wha-No. This thing?…Yes?” your face flushed a deep shade of maroon as you turned from him to place the flowers on the countertop. Peter smirked. He had made you flustered, and he was enjoying every moment of it.

“Keep it, it looks better on you. Maybe ask next time though,” he chuckled as you covered your face with both hands.

You led Peter to the couch, gingerly taking a seat beside your mother.

“Peter! Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, I don’t think Alana can stand me for much longer without you! You got yourself a girlfriend yet?” you groaned at your mother's incessant badgering. Poor Peter had barely stepped into your home, and she was already interrogating him.

“Mom, stop! Leave Peter alone. I’m sure a pretty girl will come along eventually and sweep him off his feet,” you rolled your eyes.

She already did, Peter wanted to say.

“Jeez, baba, don’t be such a Grinch. This is why you don’t have a boyfriend,” your mother mumbled.

You scoffed, trying not to let her throwaway comment ruin your day. “Please, Mom. How did this go from-”

“Lana, I need to talk to you…about our assignment?” Peter cut in. You took a deep breath and nodded, letting Peter drag you to your room.

“What do you actually want to talk about?” your eyes were wide with wonder.

Oh, God. Peter gulped, steeling himself. It was now or never. He couldn't hold it in any longer. He really hoped he didn't blow this, he cared about you more than anything in this world.

“You?” it came out like a question. He ran his fingers through his curls, a nervous old habit that was second nature to you as much as him. Now that he was in a room alone with you he was full on freaking out. Man, he should've planned this out better.

“Me? Why would we talk about me? Is everything okay, Pete?” you looked up at him, voice soft.

“Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. I just…didn’t want you to fight with your mom…again,” he looked down at his holey socks, disappointment creasing his features.

You sighed, taking a seat on your bed, motioning for Peter to join you. He sat down and you turned to take his hands in yours. You always liked holding them, they made you feel protected and cared for.

“I love that you care so much, you know?” your voice was barely above a whisper as you gazed into his beautiful brown eyes. He was almost convinced you could see into his soul with that earnest heart of yours.

“How could I not? I mean, I love you,” Peter blurted. Your eyes widened. He what? Peter didn’t realize his mistake till you retracted your hands, settling them on your lap.

“You love me?” you were shocked.

“Pfft…No. Unless you want me to?” he played with his fingers nervously, too scared to look at you anymore. He had messed things up enough already. “Please just...forget I said anything. This is embarrassing enough already.”

“Peter-” you began.

“Don’t feel bad, Lana. I know you're way out of my league, and it could never work out,” Peter rambled on.

“Peter!” you exclaimed.

“What?” he looked at you, noticing you were holding his hands again.

“I love you too,” Peter didn’t register your words at first.

You loved him?

“You do? You’re not just saying that as a joke? Or to make me feel better?” he asked, not quite believing what he was hearing. You nodded, smiling softly up at him.

“I do. A lot,” you brought your hands up to cup his face. Your face was burning up, but you were convinced that you were never more sure of something your entire life. All you wanted to do was kiss Peter. And you finally could. You started leaning in, your faces inching closer and closer. Your lips brushed his gently, testing the waters before you dove in.

You felt nothing but euphoria. You had been dreaming about this since you were twelve. You poured five years of pent up desire into deepening the kiss, not caring that his nose smashed against your cheek or that his mouth tasted like the stale hotdog he had probably devoured on the bus ride here. You thought his lips tasted just like home.

Your breathing came in heavy pants, but you weren't ready to pull away. You wrapped your arms around his neck, which made him that much crazier about you. Peter pulled you onto his lap, arms secure around your waist, holding on like his life depended on it.

You finally pulled away, staring at each other, still not convinced this was really happening. Your face felt hotter than the sun, Peter's no doubt mirroring the crimson blush spread all over it. The sleeve of your sweater had fallen and was now exposing your shoulder. Your lips were swollen, like they'd been sucked by a vacuum cleaner. Or by an idiot teenage boy who was head over heels for you.

Peter thought you had never looked more beautiful. You tried to fix your hair to no avail. Peter grinned, adjusting you on his lap. You laughed shyly as he began pecking your face, dotting each kiss with an, "I love you."

“Hey, look!” you pointed at the ceiling. Peter looked up, chuckling. Ironically there was a mistletoe, hanging right above you. Your dad must’ve put it there. You buried your face into Peter’s chest out of embarrassment.

“I want every Christmas to be just like this,” Peter whispered softly, tenderly kissing your temple. He could get used to this.

౨ৎ

[stormyblueberry]

Okay! My asks are open as always and I wanna ramble about OCs so! I’m creating!! MY OWN WRITING PROMPT LIST!!!! Just tell me what prompt with which OC in my ask box!

I have too many OCs but for this list I’ll be using Storm, Ben, Briar, Missy, Nova, Alania, Zander, Zara, Anti, Veronica, Steel, and Emily!

OH! Right! I need to introduce those last four.

Anti: Based off of Antisepticeye, I created her shortly around the time I met the friend I stole Ben from. She was originally gonna just be one of Storm’s alters, then I found Antisepticeye and made her a glitch demon who possessed Storm, but things changed and now she’s her own glitch demon who does whatever she wants.

Veronica: A MARVEL OC! Hell yeah! She’s Peter Parker and MJ’s daughter from the Sam Raimi Spider-Man movies with Tobey Maguire. Her hero name is Dystopia, and she’s still being worked on, but so far that’s what I got!

Steel and Emily: Miles “Steel” Thomas Afton and Emily Vanessa Afton are the other pieces of Storm’s triplet set, and they look identical! Fun fact, I originally made Storm and Steel identical twins, but doing more research made me realise that they’d be fraternal because if they were somehow identical, they’d have a whole mess of issues. But fanfiction logic dictates that they’d somehow became identical without any of those issues so I’m keeping it. Then I created Emily because I made Mrs. Afton a triplet so triplets run in the family. So now they’re a set of identical triplets. Crazy, right? But then again I might make Steel fraternal and keep Storm and Emily identical, idk.

So! Prompts!

OC in Hermitcraft/Life Series during one of your favourite moments

OC in the FNAF/BATIM universe

OC in the Marvel universe

OC in the DC Comics universe

OC in a precarious situation depending on someone else to save them, whether it’s a canon character or a different OC

OC dying in the hospital with someone they love by their side

OC in our world trying to get back home and causing a cataclysmic catastrophe in the process

Ask away!