#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.

[redroses07]

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

[scorpiomother]

so many options to bless your lockscreen with┌( ಠ‿ಠ)┘

[ash5monster01]

A platonic request where Peter parker's cousin, reader finds out that he is spiderman in a funny way possible!

Knew It

Pairing: Peter Parker x PlatonicReader

Warnings: none

Summary: Your cousin Peter is hiding something and you’re sick and tired of waiting for him to tell you so you decide to find out for yourself. (this story can apply to any Peter Parker you desire)

Masterlist

You and your cousin Peter had never been super close. At first it was because he was still learning how to cope with his loss when he first moved in. You had begun to understand him when you had lost your own father. But having dead parents and only Aunt May to rely on was where your similarities ended. You knew how to spend time with each other, you weren’t total strangers, it was just a matter of he liked different things then you did and that didn’t leave a lot else to talk about. But you had started to notice a bit of a change with him lately.

At first it seemed like he was taller. Maybe only two inches or so but it was definitely a change. And he actually had muscles for someone who regularly skipped the gym to be a nerd. Peter didn’t exercise but not out of spite, more out of he would rather spend time in the lab at school than be in a gym. So you questioned him at dinner, Aunt Mays eyes shifting between the both of you.

“I’ve always looked like this, I don’t know what you mean” he shot back, almost to quickly for your liking.

“Is it a girl then?” the dramatic roll of Peters eyes made Aunt May snicker from across the table.

“No Y/N, can we just eat dinner?” giving up you left it alone. If he wanted to do excessive push ups in private then so be it.

Then it was the sneaking out and staying out late. Peter would be dumb to think you hadn’t heard the movement of him exiting and entering when your room was right next to his. There was thin walls and the head of your bed was against the shared wall. You heard him leave and sneak back in. But what baffled you the most is what he could be sneaking out for. Girls didn’t talk to him at school so sneaking out for one wasn’t really a plausible idea.

“What do you want?” Peter whispered as he opened his door. He was just in a pair of boxers which caused you to roll your eyes.

“Where were you? What could’ve possibly kept you out this late?” you harshly whispered back as you crossed your arms. The look on his face proved he thought you were ignorant just like Aunt May.

“I was doing homework” rolling your eyes you walked away from him, knowing if he was gonna give you a bullshit response like that then you weren’t going to get the truth out of him anytime soon.

Your final straw was the injuries. Some weren’t as bad as others and he covered most of the big ones from Aunt May. But it wasn’t hard to notice the busted lip, or a black eye here and there. And you could hear him wincing in pain, every night in his room, you could tell he was covering it up. But Peter wasn’t one to pick a fight, let alone one every single night. So you finally decided to find answers for yourself instead of asking and getting told some stupid excuse like ‘I fell’. You devised a plan and waited to hear Peter sneak out of his room before sneaking into his. First you looked for clues but nothing was out of the ordinary for a teenage boys room. Unsatisfied with your findings you set up a camera to see him sneak back in. Maybe it would give you clues as to why he had been sneaking out.

You had almost fell asleep before he came back but thankfully the thin walls allowed you to wake up to the small slam of his window. Looking to your phone you were shocked to see who was entering his room. Spiderman stood there and your whole body froze as you saw this. You were in even more shock to see the mask ripped from his head to reveal Peter. You couldn’t form a coherent thought as you discovered your weird cousin Peter was Spiderman, the new and popular hero in town. Your mind didn’t catch up until Peter had stripped the whole super suit from his body and you caught sight of his naked form. You let out a small scream as you quickly turned off the phone, trying to wipe your eyes out, and remove that image from your mind forever.

“What is wrong with you?” Peter burst through your door holding the camera you had planted in his room.

“A lot of things now” you said as you continued to keep your eyes closed, the image of him naked burnt into your mind. You could throw up, this turned for the worst.

“You saw didn’t you?” He asked tossing the camera to your bed. Finally opening your eyes you still refused to look at him, afraid the image would come back.

“You dressed as Spiderman or your dick?” Peter dramatically rolled his eyes, now in boxers and a shirt as he sat on the end of your bed.

“Can you at least tell me what you’re thinking?” Peter asked and you chuckled likely. “About the Spider-man thing”

“I’m just confused, like you’re not athletic?” Peter laughed at this response now and you finally looked at him.

“I know, I’ll explain it all tomorrow. Can we just agree for now to keep this between us?” sighing you nodded because despite all your differences Peter was where your loyalty lied.

“Fine, but I knew it wasn’t a girl” Peter lightly shoved you and you laughed as he stood up.

“Don’t put anymore cameras in my room” he pointed at you and you groaned.

“Absolutely, I’m burning this one, it’s seen too much” shaking his head he walked out the room and you laid back down. Peter was Spiderman and you were going to let him keep any future secrets he wanted.

[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

----------

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.

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

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+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

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

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

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before. 

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter. 

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd. 

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!” 

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film. 

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-” 

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?” 

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,” 

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!” 

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror. 

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!” 

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!” 

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him. 

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!” 

“It’s not abuse-” 

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.” 

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is. 

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!” 

The expression on his face is downright laughable. 

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk. 

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory. 

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you. 

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you. 

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.” 

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas. 

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.” 

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!” 

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile. 

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect. 

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort. 

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.” 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong. 

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?” 

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too? 

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter. 

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating. 

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?” 

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.” 

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?” 

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-” 

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel. 

“If you need anything, call 911.” 

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment. 

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest. 

You could definitely get used to having him around. 

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. 

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room. 

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier. 

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame. 

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance. 

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps. 

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now. 

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night. 

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence. 

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind. 

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it. 

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent. 

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest. 

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction. 

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar! 

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment… 

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil. 

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space. 

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver. 

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night. 

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear. 

The room was messy, but empty. 

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread. 

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries… 

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch. 

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress. 

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket. 

You think of how you should follow that advice. 

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you. 

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force. 

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep. 

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat. 

So this must be Peter 2. 

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume. 

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask. 

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off. 

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger. 

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him. 

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you. 

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach. 

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs. 

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him. 

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer. 

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-” 

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice. 

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.” 

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too. 

But not him. 

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.” 

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.” 

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.” 

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!” 

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.” 

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?” 

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.” 

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.” 

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man. 

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building… 

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.” 

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home. 

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,” 

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.” 

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds. 

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence. 

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught. 

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.” 

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?” 

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses. 

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,” 

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat. 

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.” 

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it. 

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist. 

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.” 

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.” 

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips. 

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt. 

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care. 

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!” 

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.” 

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?! 

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?” 

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech. 

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!” 

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.” 

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot. 

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems. 

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes. 

His eyes. 

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters. 

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?” 

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe! 

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.” 

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood. 

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?” 

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

[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

[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

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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.

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