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satanscornchip · 2 months

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OH MY GOD 😭😭😭😭😭

Unknown Sender

happy valentine's day!

MONDAY: 13:52

‘hi.’ Peter squints at the message, then the unsaved number. He's not sure how, but it’s a scam.

‘i’d like to have your attention, please.’ Peter rolls his eyes, swiping left to not only delete but report the number as junk. No doubt it was a bot or someone with a flair for sextortion.

A new number. ‘that was actually so rude of you, parker.’

‘unblock me right now.’

Peter shifts in his seat, he does a slow look around the room and finds nothing off putting or alarming.

‘Who is this?’

Green bubbles pop up. ‘unblock me and i’ll tell you.’ Peter was right to guess about extortion. Another swipe, blocked and reported. Peter wasn’t participating in any games.

A new number. ‘oh, now you’re just being cute.’

Peter feels his heart pick up a bit, it’s a tad threatening and now he’s overthinking it a little. What if someone has it out for him? Is there a mark on his back? ‘Please leave me alone.’

‘no.’

‘can we play 21 questions?’

Peter’s face scrunches up, he spins his head around one more time, someone is fucking with him. He has no clue who has time for something like that in university, but he’s not a willing participant anymore, not since high school.

‘Leave me alone. Go torment a freshman.’

‘i don’t like freshmen. i like you.’ Peter chews at his bottom lip, there was a second of hesitancy but he knows the truth deep down. ‘I’m blocking you.’

‘sure. i’ll keep texting you, too.’

‘I’ll change my number.’

‘noooo please don’t do that. i had to work hard enough to get it the first time.’ Peter doesn’t respond. He blocks the number and moves on, and they don’t try to text him again.

Until the next day and Peter knows two things for certain. There is a note in his backpack, and it wasn’t there before his econ lecture. He remembers pulling that pocket open before he started notes, then when he went to zip it up, a note.

This upsets him. What good was any sense when someone could get that unnoticeably close to him without him knowing? Second, it’s a little frustrating not to know who this person is and how it most likely is connected to the texts he had a few days ago, and that it’s an extremely long played joke that’s mostly boring.

‘Peter Parker-

You’ve been secretly admired. It might not be very secret, because I think you’ve caught me staring at you a thousand times. I like you a lot.

Hopefully liked back,

-X’

But a part of him believes it’s true. He’s trying to think of who’s in his lecture, if he’s caught them staring then they’re either to the side or behind him. There are too many faces, too many times he’s been looked at, he’s almost centered, it’s his fault for choosing a focal point.

Instead of throwing it away, he refolds the pink handwriting and puts it back into place before hitching a strap over his shoulder and sliding behind chairs. One, two steps up he glances at your face, you have a weak smile, he returns the same kind, it’s more like a polite nod. Peter’s always thought you were pretty and he thinks you're nice.

But really, he’s wondering who left the note.

10:30

‘did you get my note?’ Peter does his normal scan across campus, again, his fault for being out in the open. This person could be anywhere, he’s on a picnic bench with a group of friends. If he’s smart, he’d start limiting himself to contained spaces and make you show yourself.

‘Yeah. Who is this?’ Peter’s thumbs dance around the screen waiting for a reply, it comes quick. ‘i told you. x.’ He stops himself from rolling his eyes, he doesn’t know anyone with an ‘X’ anywhere in their name.

‘Is that an initial?’

‘actually, i’m pretty sure it’s british for kiss.’

‘That’s a wild take. Are you saying the UK is responsible for XOXO’s?’

‘i’d like to make you responsible for my xoxo’s.’ Peter chews his bottom lip, he won’t play into anything in writing. He doesn’t believe this for a second, everything about this feels off. Someone’s fucking with him and they’re also in his class, or they have someone in on it in his class.

But this is too advanced.

‘sorry. i don’t mean to like harass you or anything. you’re really hot but you scare me, i don’t think you would like me so idk, maybe if you talk to me you’d like me for me or something.’

‘i just think i’m punching wayyyy above my weight class here and i may be making this worse because there is no doubt you think im weird.’

‘i am weird. i should leave you alone now. i’m sorry.’

Peter reads his screen four times, it’s still not clicking. He’s nothing special and he doesn’t mean that in a way to dog on himself, he’s just nerdy and quiet. It seems a little too authentic to be fake, but he’s got to make sure.

‘How’d you get my number?’

‘your friend. they have been sworn to secrecy but they know what i’m doing and they are in full support. take that as you will.’

‘Depends on the friend.’

‘i’ll tell you when you find out who i am.’

‘I’m going to find out? You’re not going to tell me?’

‘i don’t think i’ve been hiding it. you just haven’t been paying attention and now i want you to.’

‘Oh, but you’re shy?’

‘i’m about to pass out on the lawn behind this fucking screen, don’t play with me parker.’ A slip, you’re around him and you just admitted it. ‘Tell me, admirer, what are you wearing?’ The more detail the better, but he could work off of just a color.

‘nice try. but you’re looking mighty handsome in the blue.’ A glance down, he suddenly feels watched. ‘Are you stalking me?’

‘oh no! no no no. i PROMISE you i’m not that fucking psychotic.’

‘i’m just a “sneak a note into your backpack” level of crazy. i’m here with my roommate and her boyfriend. i saw you and just wanted to know if you got it, i promise.’

‘You do understand that this situation makes you seem psychotic, right?’

‘yes. but i am not.’

‘That sounds like something a crazy person who got my number from a third party would say. Especially after I blocked you six times.’

‘it was three and you didn’t understand my intentions but okay. you have a fair point and i extend the olive branch of brett. he gave me your number and he knows me pretty well.’

Brett? Easy enough, he nods his head towards him and slides his phone across the table. “Explain.” His friend scrolls through the thread, a trustworthy smile spreads. “Yeah, I gave her your number.” Her. Okay, it’s something. “Who is she?” Brett shrugs, “you know her. She’s kind of a firecracker, you just make her nervous.”

“That gives me nothing, Brett.” His friend blinks, “she’s not crazy. She likes you a lot for whatever fucking reason and has no idea how to approach you.” Peter’s letting his words soak in, “don’t believe me? Ask her about the grilled cheese, and make sure you tell her that I told you about how she went on for five fucking minutes about the grilled cheese.”

“What grilled cheese?” Brett slides Peter’s phone back, he’s telling him to ask you. Something tells Peter it’s enough to embarrass, or it might be Brett being the ultimate wingman.

‘I’ve been told to ask you about the grilled cheese.’

‘oh god. there is no need to ask about the grilled cheese, did brett tell you about the grilled cheese?’

‘He told me to ask you. And to specify that you went on for five minutes about it.’

‘five is excessive, it was more like three. second, there is nothing to speak about.’

‘I would like to hear about it.’

‘i’d prefer if you didn’t.’

‘But you’ll do it for me?’

‘i’m weak for you and you know it. it’s sicking, parker.’

‘i heard you talking about making one in class and you said something about the crust and i really fucking love grilled cheese’s so i had a trip to fantasy land where you made me one and how it’s probably the best thing i’ll never get to taste.’

‘Wow. Five whole minutes on that?’ Peter won’t admit it made him feel a little warm on the inside, the most mundane of things to have someone so squirrely makes him feel unworthy.

‘three.’

‘Tell me who you are and I’ll make you a grilled cheese.’

‘you have no idea how much that almost worked.’

‘What’s the plan then, master manipulator?’

‘i don’t know yet. i’m hoping you show me how smart you are and figure me out, then you can do all the hard questions.’

‘Hard questions?’

‘you know, do you wanna go on a date, do you wanna be my girlfriend, do you want to take my hand in marriage and have a summer home in the french alps? that kind of stuff.’

‘Totally not psychotic.’ Peter tucks his bottom lip between his teeth to hide the smile that wants to spread.

‘mostly not.’

WEDNESDAY: 13:57

Peter doesn’t know who X is, but they’re clever and have zero effect on his sixth sense. He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Either way, he’s reading a note scribbled in blue pen and as he studies the words he knows it was rushed. It’s proof that he wasn’t being followed everywhere, instead you saw an empty table and an opportunity.

‘Peter-

You use mostly gender neutral pronouns. I think that’s very cool. Is it weird that I notice those things about you? Also- what is it that you’re always drinking from Nuthouse? Asking for a friend…

Have a good day!

-Your not so secret admirer, X.

‘Not so secret,’ Peter isn’t sure about that. You’ve done a good enough job at not trying to be obviously known, he might have looked up your number last night to find dust. One was from an app, but the one you’ve been using is a burner phone.

What he’s really not understanding is how you’re able to get so close to him without him noticing. You had to have been millimeters away when you rested the letter on his backpack, he was gone for less than two minutes and he had zero awareness.

Peter folds up the note and sticks it in the same pocket as the other one, his back slung around one shoulder as he moves up the stairs for the library. At the same time, you come down the opposite side, Peter gives a friendly acknowledgement.

You choke down the lump in your throat. “Hi, Peter.” He’s already past you, it’s echoed behind his shoulder. “Hey.” It’s something. You’re trying, you’re trying to be bold for him. But he’s not going to notice, he’s never going to notice you and if you tell him who you are you’ll never live past his disappointment.

Your phone vibrates, the other phone. Your heart picks up, Peter texted first.

14:02

‘Dirty chai.’

‘best of both worlds. how fitting. you’re such a nonconforming king.’

‘I don’t even know what that means.’

‘But thank you?’

‘you’re welcome!’

‘anything fun on the roster today?’

‘Roster? Who are you?’

‘idk you make me nervous. blame yourself.’

‘Well, coach. Nothing fun on the roster, just some math. Wanna swap places with me?’

‘gross. i hate math so if you like it that’s good with me. one of us has to be smart and it’s not me.’

‘Smart enough to use a burner phone.’

‘oooooh, someone tried to find meeee.’

‘Can’t blame a guy for being curious, can you?’

‘were you disappointed when you found nothing?’

‘A little bit. But, you know, it keeps the imagination alive. A little unfair advantage on your side though, you already know what I look like.’

‘if it helps, you already know what i look like too.’

‘I do?’

‘yeah. we’ve talked before.’

‘Wait, so I know who you are?’ Brett said he did but Peter thought he meant you’d be familiar, not that he actually knew you. This just opened the floodgates to a million more possibilities.

‘not really but yeah i guess. you know i exist but we’re not friends or anything.’

‘I’d like to think we’re friends, but okay.’

‘not outside the texting.’

‘That’s your decision.’

‘HATER.’

‘Anymore hints?’

‘.... no.’

‘HATER.’

FRIDAY: 12:15

You’re about to spill hot tea everywhere but it’ll be worth it to see his face. You ignore your pounding heart and stand in front of him. He’s got no clue you showed up, zoned out looking at the clock on the wall across from him.

“Hi, Peter.”

Full frontal attention, he’s looking at you. He’s perceiving you, he’s smiling at you. “Hi,” your eyes expand, he knows your name and it sounds so nice coming from his mouth. Sure, you’ve chatted with each other- even shared a few highlighters, but nothing serious. You’ve always been too scared to try anything else but maybe your fear has been mistaken for indifference.

“I um, I lucked out today at Nuthouse so if you like dirty chai’s I got an extra one.” Your knees feel weak at his bright eyes, “my favorite. I’d love one, thank you.” You pass over the paper cup, your fingers brush and you think you’re about to collapse.

“Yeah,” a weak laugh. “I had a feeling.” Peter tilts his head at you funny, you wonder if you pushed a little too far. “Okay, um, I’m gonna… have a good… lecture.” Peter nods and watches you go two rows up, he’s finally got a gut feeling. And it tells him to keep an eye out for you.

TUESDAY: 12:10

Not that Peter was reliant on your attention, he was used to it. So when the texts stopped for three days and he was unable to find any letters he assumed you had lost interest and moved on. That felt fair to him, no harm no foul, at least he never really got to know you.

Nevermind, there’s a folded notebook page on his miniature desk and his heart speeds up. His next task, put eyes on you. Bottom level, book and pencil in hand. He makes sure to note it’s a pencil and not the green ink that’s spread across the page.

Peter thinks it’s a mind game, you were smart enough to know he’d look. Unless he was totally wrong on his guess.

‘Peter-

I ran out of minutes on my phone and I’m having a broke college kid moment. However, a friend took pity and donated a twenty to the campaign. I hope you’ve been good- I’ve missed talking to you.

- Your not so secret admirer, X’

ps. stop keeping your backpack so close to you.’

It wasn’t anything personal, you just ran out of minutes. Peter smiles so wide he has to drop it, he almost clutches the paper to his chest in a thank you. Eyeing his backpack, he nudges it a little further behind him, following instruction. He’s kept it close in hopes to catch you, but instead he’s pushing you away.

Peter’s committing the writing to memory as if he’s going to find you by the handwriting alone. A quick glance at footsteps, you’re three steps away when you smile. “Hi, Peter.” He nods, “hey.” You pause for a moment, mind racing for words.

“Did you, um- did you do anything fun this weekend?” You’re about to crawl into a hole and die, it takes a moment to click that you were speaking to him. He went as far to look behind himself, then he spewed the answer to try and make up for the lost time.

“Oh, uh not really. My aunt got a new bed so I had to lug the old one down seven flights of stairs.” Your eyes widen, you feel your mouth go dry and your tongue go thick. “By yourself?” Peter crosses his arms over his chest, a boyish grin swept over and you feel heart eyes form.

“I’m a good nephew.” You want to pat his head and tell him you’re sure he is, then maybe hold him at gunpoint and tell you more stories about how he’s a perfect humanitarian. But you act like a normal human and smile back, “you sound like it.”

Peter thanks you and you return to your seat with wobbly knees and a weak stomach, it’s silent torture to tease yourself like this with him. But you can’t help it and it’s only in effort to go after what you want. Even if it blows up when he figures out who you are.

12:13

‘you’re looking mighty handsome today, mr. parker.’

‘I’m wearing a hoodie, but thank you.’

‘i said what i said.’

Boldly, ‘i see someone had another dirty chai. can’t stay away from them, can you?’

Another tick in Peter's stomach, he almost looks behind his shoulder at you, but he doesn’t. ‘It was a generous donation from a classmate.’

‘oh? pray tell, peter. pray tell.’

‘What? You don’t have a clue about who gave it to me?’

You swallow thickly, before you could get something out he sent another message. ‘No chance you didn’t see it go down?’

‘how could i? I was still on my way.’

‘... or was i?’

‘Tell you what, X. It one of the best teas I’ve had in a while.’

And you’d be damned if that didn’t make your entire chest flutter.

FRIDAY: 15:29

“Here,” Peter’s hand clasped over the paper slapped into his chest. A hint of a syllable, Brett cuts himself off. “She asked me to give this to you.” Peter quickly read it and stared down before confiding in his friend for a second.

‘Peter-

Roses are red, violets are blue, all that I think about is you.

It’s sweet in a cringy way, right? Boo on you for skipping class today, if you want, I could get you some notes.

I hope I’ll see you Tuesday.

-Your (really) not so secret admirer, X

ps. A pen exploded in my pocket. 10/10 chance my thigh will be stained.’

“I think I might know who it is.”

“Uh, huh.”

“But, she’s way out of my league.”

“Correct.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, “so it’s her?” He clarified with your name, Brett shrugged back.

“I won’t be confirming or denying.” Peter knows what that means, “the lack of a no usually means yes.”

“Bro,” Peter starts sputtering, “oh, c’mon! You know what I meant, I just meant that, I just- c’mon, Brett. Is it her?”

“I have no idea who that is.” Peter wants to call bullshit, he has a gut feeling and he swears it’s you. You’re right, it’s not so secret. In fact, you’re painfully obvious.

FRIDAY: 23:14

‘you are soooooooo cute’

‘like your hair is so cute’

‘i looooove curly hair on guys and you have that!!!!!!!!!’

‘and you’re really funny cause like it’s so quick and witty like you have such good one liners’

‘also you’re really fucking hot and i KNOW you’re hiding something under those fucking sweaters and the second i see skin i WILL go feral.’

‘Something tells me you’re at the Kappa party.’ Peter’s pretending he doesn’t have a searing blush. If he’s got an inkling this could be you… then he might have proof for the non-believers that god exists.

‘yes!!! are you here?? i should come see you.’

‘I hate to disappoint you, but I’m currently at a friend's house playing a Mario Kart drinking game.’

“But it’s nice to know that you’d give me your identity that quick.’

‘oh i can tell you who i am.’ Peter frowns at the text, he’s been doing nothing but crave the answer to who’s behind the love letters but it feels wrong. It’s not satisfactory enough for him, it’s also not what you want, you’re just drunk- and Peter’s going out on a limb here- horny.

‘Save it for later.’

‘And maybe drink some water.’

‘i’d do anything for you cause you have the world's prettiest brown eyes’

‘Thank you for the compliments.’

‘you’re super welcome i try to hold them back because i’m a good girl but you’re just so cute i had to let you know’

‘I think you’re going to super regret this in the morning.’

‘false. maybe fact idk’

‘i should trust you tho because you’re super smart and you’re a nerd.’

‘I fear this is taking a turn for the worse.’

‘and that is so fucking HOT’

‘Oh. Back to compliments. Thank you.’

‘if you were here i’d give you a kiss’

‘IGNORE THAT!!!!’

‘I DIDN’T MEAN TO SEND THAT!!!! IGNORE IT’

‘Not ignored. How cute.’

‘screaming crying throwing up’

‘i really didn’t mean to send that it was a joke ha ha funny.’

‘Idk, sounded authentic to me.’

‘peter?’

‘Yeah?’

‘i’m a little drunk rn. and you should know how cute you are.’

‘Oh, I’m talking about record breaking levels of regret. This is amazing.’

‘i have to pee but i do not reget this!!!!!!’

SATURDAY: 09:54

‘i stand by my claim and do not regret a thing.’

‘correction. i regret this hangover and the way my previous texts are not very cool girl of me.’

‘but i would like to know if you won mario last night.’

‘also, who’s ur fav character?’

11:12

1. Proud of you for owning it, that’s very cool girl of you.

2. I did not win.

3. Petey Piranha.

‘who tf is petey piranha.’

‘Mario Kart Sunshine. Came out in 2002. (Originally on GameCube but recently released on switch.) (Hell yeah.)’

Your heart thumps, he’s such a nerd and you wanna kiss the air out of his lungs. ‘out of all the characters and u choose him. why petey piranha’

‘One guess.’

‘PETEY PIRANHA.’

‘OH MY GOD.’

‘you’re petey piranha <333’

Peter fights a grin, ‘I am.’

‘you’re so cute. i love that.’

‘Personally, in the past 24 hours I don’t think I’ve heard enough about how cute I am.’

‘you’re insufferable and it’s sexy.’

‘Oo, new one to the mix. You’re making me blush.’ You really are. He’s never been considered sexy before and it feels really nice.

‘and i bet you look super cute.’

‘Super true.’

TUESDAY: 12:34

‘white t shirt white t shirt white t shirt WHITE T SHIRT.’

‘You like?’

‘i’m about to cry i’m biting my fist so fucking hard.’

‘:)’

‘you’re so ubuibabeyia.’

‘Bless you.’

‘?’

‘Sorry, I assumed you sneezed.’ Peter never whipped his head around so fast at an audible laugh behind him. It was short, it had escaped without being thought about. He’s looking for you, but it doesn’t seem like it was you who laughed. You’re engrossed in chatting to your neighbor.

On the other hand, you almost blew it by clasping your hands over your mouth. Instead you looked next to you and said, directly and with a burning gaze, “I need you to pretend we’ve been talking this whole time.”

‘Someone’s losing their edge, you’re just begging to be caught.’

‘oh, i’m begging all right.’

‘can you hear me whimpering too?’

‘Easy, killer. Let’s not start sexting at noon on a Tuesday.’

‘are you saying there is a time for it?’

‘Give me a little wave and we’ll see.’

‘too late, i’m passed out on the floor. the only thing that can resuscitate me are those thick arms wrapped around me.’

‘Let these strong arms sweep you off your feet, all you gotta do is come talk to me after lecture…’

Peter says that, but he doesn’t mean it. He’ll definitely eat his words when he sees it’s you, then he’d be coming up with a thousand ways to back out of it. He’s so much more than you deserve, you feel so safe behind a keyboard but in person you can barely say a sentence.

It’s stupid and a little humbling because you’ve never felt this way about a guy before.

‘trust me, i’m better in your imagination.’

WEDNESDAY: 14:22

‘Peter-

You know a little about a lot and I think that is one of my favorite things about you. Or maybe it’s your voice. I could listen to you talk forever.

-Your not so secret admirer, X’

A note under his textbook, if he follows his hunch then he’d be looking for… you. Conveniently three tables away and to the right of his own, you’re not looking for his reaction, you’ve got your focus on your own textbook but he swears you’re retaining none of it. It’s a distraction, or maybe it’s a diversion.

Peter doesn’t mind. He’s going to wait. He has all the time in the world today and he’s going to sit here with his eyes on you until you look up at him because he knows you’re going to and once you do, he’s going to have his answer.

If he’s right, and he swears he is, he’s going to absolutely lose is shit because what do you mean you like him and are intimidated? You boldly lied when you said you were punching above your weight class. Does it make him a jerk to say he wasn’t even thinking of you as a suitor and maybe a girl with a much more average look?

Peter counted to sixty twice, you glance up, eyes shooting to the note you left on the table. The next stop, Peter’s face. And oh, you were not prepared to have him looking right back. Panic, you shoot a wave, a desperate attempt to pretend you’re seeing a familiar face.

Peter waves back but he looks much more satisfied than you did, you wonder if the jig is up. Did he crack the code? Was he just trying to find a friendly way to let you down? Deny til death, he has no proof it’s you. You pack your things up, a hurried scramble before you could lose your cool.

On the way out you almost stop breathing, your forearm caught in Peter’s hand. You’re staring down at it, he’s not removing it. It burns in the best way. “Hey,” you wait, you can’t stop looking at his hand, the muscle, the subtle flex, his fingertips paler to show his grip. “Hi, Peter.”

It’s breathless, you think you’re about to die. If he asks, you don’t know how you’ll lie your way out.

Guess who’s got a stained pocket? The corner edge darkened with black ink that would never be washed out. Peter has his answer. You’re her. You’re X. “Thanks again for the tea.”

Maybe you wanted more, you feel a bit deflated when it’s all you receive.

“You’re welcome.” Your arm feels cold when he drops his touch, you linger for a second too long, you’re not sure when you’ll be this brave again. It was too much of a close call. “I hope the rest of your day is good.”

Peter’s got a charismatic grin, he feels settled now that he knows you’re the anonymous lover in his life. Even more so when you find yourself shy and reserved in person, it almost makes him giggle to think of the stark changes in confidence.

“You too.” Your body engulfs into flames when your arm is caught again, you’re struggling to keep calm at his boyish smile. “Quick question,” you nod slightly, trying to show zero paranoia for the following words.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Short circuiting. You see black spots, you think you’re about to pass out. There is only one thing that means, no guy asks that if they weren’t interested in changing that, right?

“No.” It’s anything but graceful. It sounds like you’ve never had a boyfriend before. It makes you sound like you’re scared he asked it.

But, Peter doesn’t take it like that. He smiles wider, like he already knew the answer before he asked it.

THURSDAY: 16:37

A new letter, stuffed under the top handle of his backpack. Peter listened and stopped setting it next to him, in return he was rewarded. He can’t stop the small smile, you make it involuntary at this point. Peter’s never felt so special in his life, a little part of him wants this to never end. But he’d much rather look you in the eyes.

‘Peter-

I had a dream with you in it last night. Don’t worry, you had your clothes on. I’m not sure what we were doing but you were across from me at a diner and we were sitting in those super thick booths and our friends were there.

I don’t know who these friends were, and I don’t think you do either. But I knew them as our friends.

It felt really nice. I’m happy to know you, even if I just get this little piece.

-Your not so secret admirer, X’

Peter’s been wrong a lot in his life but this time he really thinks he has it figured out. He’s much more bold now, this letter tells him it’s not infatuation, it’s love.

You love him and he thinks he could love you too.

FRIDAY: 20:08

‘Hey.’ Peter could be making the worst decision of his life here, he could be reading everything wrong and ruining this for himself.

‘hi peter!’ But he really thinks he’s got it right.

‘I really, really liked talking to you for the past few weeks but I think I should tell you that I like someone else.’

Gut wrenching despair. You knew it was too good to last, you knew he’d find someone more in his league. Someone who’d be willing to show him their face. There was no reason to respond because what would you say to that?

‘thank you for letting me know that opening up to you was all for nothing!’

‘thanks for making me doubt love!’

‘hope you and her are so fucking happy together!!!!!’

Fuck it all and fuck Peter. He just liked the attention until it came from somewhere else. You don’t think you like him all that much anymore. You think you’re lying, too. Before you can give into the desire of hurting him just as bad, you calmly turn the phone off and stuff it in the back of a desk drawer to never be uncovered again.

You slowly sit in bed and tug the blankets over your head. And only then, do you allow yourself to sob.

Peter chewed on his bottom lip and waited an hour with constant phone checks before he realized a response was never coming. It really set in during the weekend but even further when he got no note or letter on monday. Not even when he left his backpack unattended for five minutes.

TUESDAY -he was able to see you and how you avoided his eyes. How you pretended you didn’t see him send a small wave. How you had pulled back from him.

And if he hadn’t hurt your feelings, or X’s feelings, why would you do that?

You look up at a two fingered knock at the corner of your desk. “Hi.” You blink and ignore the white noise buzzing in your ears at the sight of Peter standing in front of you. “Hi, Peter.”

“How was your weekend?” Bitter. Terrible. Lonely.

“Fine. Nothing exciting.” Besides you breaking my heart.

Watching his fingertips dance on the edge of the plastic, you feel everything in you brighten. “You look sad.” There’s a burn in your stomach, he’s the reason for both the sting and the sadness.

“Do you need something? Or are you just doing a friendly check in?” Peter bites back the grin when you snap at him, he’s so, so, so right and it feels so, so, so good. “Neither. I’m just confirming my suspicions.”

“Suspicions?”

“Yeah. You passed.” Your eyebrows furrow, before you could try to question further Peter was giving half a wave, saying bye, and skipping a step to his aisle.

FRIDAY: 12:08

You stop breathing for a solid second before feeling your brain spark back to life. It could be anything, it could be from anyone, but you know there’s only one person who would’ve left a note on your desk.

Your fingers slightly shake when you unfold the graph paper, little squares bled through with black sharpie.

‘X-

Am I right?

Hopefully,

- Peter’

You can’t breathe, you can’t talk, you can’t move and you definitely can fucking not look at him. No, no, no. You can feel his eyes on you, you know he’s watching for your reaction. Peter figured you out and had his own fun along the way.

You were the girl he liked. Oh, wow. Is this how special you’ve made him feel? Something just for your eyes, from him. A secret you both shared between lines.

You spin and swear you can feel his gaze running over your back, he’s aching for the answer. You almost scream at a tap on your shoulder, a peek lets you know it’s the person you’re hiding from.

Another note, folded up just like the other one. It’s pushed into your hand, Peter doesn’t say a word, he just offers and leaves. He’s not watching this time, he’s sitting and focused on the front, you feel air leak back into your lungs.

Full on panic shaking, you’re so happy he’s not watching.

Your name is addressed on the front, just like you do for him.

‘I like you.

I think you not so secretly like me too.

We could talk more about it at dinner tonight. Will you let me take you out?

Circle yes or no.

- Peter.

PS. XOXOXO now you’re responsible for mine, too.’

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satanscornchip · 2 months

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please stop posting him to mitski i physically cannot handle it

mha spoilers in tags ‼️‼️i haven't kept up with mha since a little past eri's introduction/storyline but what is happening to deku 🧍‍♂️ is he ok 🧍‍♂️

#your best american girl #don't fucking look at me

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satanscornchip · 2 months

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mha spoilers in tags ‼️‼️i haven't kept up with mha since a little past eri's introduction/storyline but what is happening to deku 🧍‍♂️ is he ok 🧍‍♂️

#mha #deku #midoriya #where are his arms

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satanscornchip · 2 months

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i genuinely truly believe i become a diff person when "i'll make a man out of you" comes on

#fa mulan #mulan #disney

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satanscornchip · 3 months

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title: holy ground

summary: in which miya atsumu is completely in love with you and you find that very hard to believe.

word count: 3.2k+

warnings/contents: angst, fluff, humour

masterlist

Miya Atsumu has always been a stubborn man. He was stubborn in his opinions, and feelings, and contrary to the popular belief that he flies through people romantically -that was not the case.

He’s only ever had two major loves in his life, the first being the girl in the cereal commercial when he was a kid. Atsumu was dead set on marrying her and living on a dairy farm, and plus free cereal for life. It wasn’t until he found out that she wasn’t real -courtesy of Osamu- that he refused to believe in love.

He’s had crushes and flings, sure, especially in high school, the majority of people do. However, he was too busy trying to win Nationals and be the best setter in Japan that romantic relationships often took the third or fourth spot in his priority list.

Then he met you. It was raining, Atsumu remembers meeting you. You coming in, rushing into the training centre, while you handed off a bento box to his personal trainer. Watching from the ground he was sitting on, watching as you turned, almost slipping on the floor because of your wet shoes, and Atsumu rushing over to help you before anyone could.

Looking down at your wide eyes, your mouth parted in shock and the sheepish smile that soon took over, until he said, “Oi, watch where yer goin’, could have damaged the floor wit’ that face.”

At the scowl on your face, and a clever comeback on your lips, he decided right then and there that you were the only person that was going to be in his heart. You were the only person that he wanted to love, and he wanted to prove it to you.

Keep reading

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satanscornchip · 3 months

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in the real world | tasm!peter parker x reader

"I thought I was safe in all your fantasies?" you mumble, smiling to yourself.

"I'm fighting them off for my own sake. I don't like to share, and every guy in New York wants a piece of you."

summary you notice something about spider-man during a violent villain showdown, then you have to save his life. [5.4k] warnings canon typical violence, bleeding, swearing, fluff, angst, hospitals, mutual pining, idiots in love, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader

~ Crammed into the same subway seat, you can safely say Peter Parker smells really, really nice. You're trying to work out what it is without asking. You're almost sure it's regular Old Spice but you just can't pin it. He's chatting about college, you're doing your best to listen. You've slowly turned in your seat enough to breathe him in rather than the rest of the subway and you keep getting distracted by it.

You fail to answer properly one too many times and his eyebrows are climbing.

"Sorry," you mutter. "Sorry, I'm listening."

"What's the matter?" he asks, and now your faces are so close you can see the light brown flecks bordering his pupil, can see how they slowly, slowly dilate.

You look at the space between his eyebrows and hope you don't look like a total freak.

"Nothing's the matter."

"Are you cold?" he asks, already weaselling his arm away from where it's crushed between you to set over your shoulder.

"A little," you say. You're lying, the subway is a furnace and you're wearing your winter coat. Anything for this extra closeness.

"Oh, woah!" he says, leaning in closer to your neck. You still, feeling a bead of sweat on your brow.

"What?" you ask, alarmed.

"Have you worn these before? They're very pretty," he says earnestly. You realise he's talking about your earrings, drop earrings with tiny, crystalline white flowers at the bottom. Each flower is made of four opal-like petals.

"I only just got 'em," you tell him. He smiles and looks back up into your face.

You feel your makeup, intricately done, shimmer white in the corners of your eyes and peony pink lip tint, melting away under his stare. You're more done up than usual and he can probably tell. You're not sure whether you want him to notice or not.

"They suit you," he says. You press your lips together to stop from smiling too hard and he chuckles.

You're seconds away from saying something stupid when the tanoy announces your stop and Peter's standing, so tall and so big, he takes up your whole point of view.

He's dressed well, dark jeans, a sweatshirt, a rugged brown jacket with the collar peaking up like a movie star. You stand, eyes at his mouth, and set about fixing it, touch firm but shy as you round his neck, fingers dusted by the soft strands of mousy brown hair at the back of his neck.

"There you go, Elvis."

"Thank you, thank you ver' much," he says, a dramatic and awful rendition of Elvis' voice.

It's his worst imitation to date and you laugh so loud you slap a hand over your mouth, bracelets slipping under your sleeves and jingling. You're so bedecked in shiny jewellery you ring when you walk like a belled house cat. He gets a look in his eyes, teasing, preying on your moment of weakness.

"Found that funny, did you?" he asks, voice smooth and smothered by the rattling carriage.

You nod, index finger pressed over your lips as the last of your giggles fade. He looks like he might say something, his lips parting, but the train slows and you're tasked with needling between the other passengers. Peter's a natural, out the doors and into the subway station like he was born wading through a New York crowd. You're less adept, too polite to push and too shy to say excuse me. Peter pauses two strides ahead when you're not at his side and shuffles back, reaching for your hand.

He pulls you out through the rush hour congregation and up, up, into the busy street that is Queens Boulevard. You've no clue why he gets off when you do; his walk home from your apartment is close to an hour and he must abhor it.

His hand is warm and big in yours. You squeeze his fingers.

"Pete," you say, trying to catch his attention.

He's peeking around the street like he's looking for something. He looks at you, looks at your hands, drops them.

"Why do you get off with me?" you ask him. He smirks and begins to speak when you correct yourself. "The subway! Why do you get on my line at all? You should be taking the 71."

He shrugs his shoulders. "And have you on the subway by yourself?"

"Hundreds of thousands of people do it every day."

He starts in the direction of your apartment building, purposefully dodging your point. "I'd rather spend the extra time walking than have something bad happen to you."

"How do you know something bad won't happen to you?" you ask pointedly.

He laughs like it's the funniest thing you could have said and that makes you feel both furious and dejected. You're not used to condescension from him. He sees your expression and jumps in to correct it.

"You're right, you're right: something bad could happen to me. But you gotta know I'd let it happen to me before I'd let anything happen to you."

It's not a compliment but it feels like one. It's awful, truly, that he'd put his own safety before yours, but it's also sweet enough to make your cheeks heat and your heart rate climb. A stellar feeling, to know he cares so much.

"I don't want you to get hurt protecting me," you say, sighing. "I mean, if somebody mugged us? I am genuinely scared of the stunt you'd pull."

You whisper around a woman bent over a parked pram trying to soothe a whimpering baby and end up with your left side to the road. Peter quickly drops back and encourages you over so he's in between you and the road. It's exactly the kind of stunt you're talking about — in what world could he stop a car from hitting you? It makes you giggle, a hint of derision hiding behind it.

He raises his eyebrows. "What kind of stunt? Do you think about this often? Am I jacked in your fantasy?"

"What, like in real life, you mean?" You're not even flirting, it's a certified fact, Peter Parker is a lean pillar of shifting muscle, even under his clothes. The broadness of his shoulders alone is enough to evidence his bulk.

"Totally missing the point. Tell me more about your fantasy, my damsel."

You're in half a mind to reach out and slap him upside the head.

"I'm no damsel."

"Pretty as one."

You glare at him, though the effect is likely lost from how happy your smile is.

"It's not a fantasy, and I don't think about it. Why, do you think about saving me?"

"No. In my fantasy you're always safe, likely living somewhere super peaceful like Norway or Switzerland-"

"New Zealand," you interject, nodding seriously.

"-and you glare at me way, way less," he says, nudging you with his elbow. Your jewellery clinks.

"That's unrealistic, then." You stutter before a big puddle and Peter grabs your arm before you can really think about it, helping you across. Your sneakers live to die another day.

"You're also a good cook, so yeah, it's very unrealistic." You glare at him. He smiles. "Good to see we're still in the real world."

"If that's your attitude I won't invite you up for coffee," you say.

He wrinkles his nose. "For coffee? What decade is this?"

"And what do you want instead?"

He rounds a corner. You stand at the opening of the last alleyway, a shortcut down into your own street. There's a group of people at the other end.

He pulls you into his side without saying a word and you're grateful for it as you start down the alley. The group looks up, one man sneers, another mutters something you can't hear. Peter has an awfully fierce look on his face with his eyebrows pinched together and his eyes downturned. It's gone as quick as it came - you come out the alleyway unscathed. His hold on you drops.

In the apartment, he still hadn't decided what he wants, laid out on your scratched up leather sofa with your TV remote in hand. You're honestly surprised he's still here.

"Nowhere to be tonight?" you ask him, fighting a losing battle with a saucepan of pasta in the kitchenette.

He sits up just enough to look at you over the back of the sofa and grins. "When do I ever have anywhere to be?"

"Are you kidding? You're always out somewhere. And out of breath when I call. You're not, like, in a gang, are you?" you ask, mostly joking.

"No, bub, I'm not in a gang. You know what I'm like, I waste a few hours skating and then I fall asleep at my desk."

You turn off the hob, poking at the sorry excuse for mac and cheese you’ve thrown together.

"Interesting texture," he says, once you've handed him a steaming bowl topped with extra cheese and breadcrumbs like he likes.

"I'm sorry," you say, tucking your hair behind your ears.

You've swapped your coat for a vest top with lacey edges and stayed in your jeans for decency's sake, though you're wondering if the right way to go is to just stand there in your underwear until he gets the message (if he wants to get that particular message).

"Don't be," he says, and he's serious. "One day I'll teach you how to simmer things without burning the bottom and it'll be over for everyone."

"Yes, I'm sure my ability to make pasta is really what's make-or-breaking me for people."

"Exactly. As soon as your fettuccine is carbon free I'll be on my knees," he jokes with you. The tiniest tip of his tongue pokes out as he channel surfs, concentrating hard.

"You said it was good, last time!"

His shoulders rise to his ears and he laughs, voice higher than usual as he says, "What?"

"Parker, I'm seriously getting to my wits end with you."

"Don't be like that," he says, spearing an elbow on his fork and reaching out to poke it. When it's proven to be soft he eats in and smiles. "You've got the flavours down, babe."

"It's Kraft's mac and cheese! There's nothing to get down!"

He raises his hands in a peaceable surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. Forgive me, won't you? Please?"

You ignore him and turn to the TV, wondering if the burning on your neck throughout the evening when you're not looking is wishful thinking or if he's sneaking glances at you with the same frequency that you sneak your own.

On his knees, he says? Fine, if you have to make one perfect fucking fettuccine alfredo to get him to like you back, that's easy. That's child's play.

You wake up early on a Saturday morning and walk to your nearest local greengrocer for fresh parsley and then to the slightly bigger grocery store for fettuccine, double cream, butter and parmesan. You find yourself in the cosmetics aisle again and kick yourself for making such a fuss. You put down a bottle, shaking your head, and watch as the toner inside ripples. You pause, squinting, and then panic as the bottles begin to vibrate, the shelves rattle, and you can feel a pounding vibration in your feet.

You duck down just as the glass window front burst open, shards of glass raining down like hail stones in a fierce wind. You throw your arms up over your face and crouch, scared the shelves will collapse atop you and scared worse that you'll get cut. You feel a piece of glass flick past your arm and gasp. When you look down, a cut stretches from your wrist to your forearm, having sheared your blouse open.

The fabric is quickly saturated. You drop your groceries and watch as they roll over glass. A horrible screeching sound echoes and you hide behind a display housing a new mascara, trying to find the source of the sound.

Screams ring. Sobbing bounces between the aisles. A light is flickering and a sprinkler or water pipe has been maimed, water collecting in a seeping puddle. In the flickering lights, emergency red, it almost looks like blood.

You gasp as you grasp your own wrist, pressing the saturated fabric into the wound like it might help. You pull your sleeve down to assess the wound and get distracted at a commotion.

"It's Spider-Man!" someone shouts.

You let your shoulders relax. The masked vigilante who'd been keeping New York safe for years now was here. Whatever was happening - an earthquake? - Spider-Man could help.

"It's Spider-Man," someone else calls. The tenor of their voice sends shivers down your spine.

You propel yourself backwards again, away from the front of the store. A huge groaning and whirring of machinery sounds, and the voice begins talking again, ragged and booming through the aisles.

"Hiding, hiding," the voice says. "The incy wincy spider. I'm afraid this might be a hidey-hole you can't climb out of."

You steel your nerves and quickly dart to the next aisle. The glass hasn't corrupted the ground here. You crawl along quietly to the end of the aisle and peer through the shelves. A hulking machine stands in what was once the doorway of the store and is now a great big gaping maw with glass shards and metal frames for teeth. It looks as if it's been pierced by a weight. You follow the trajectory, and there's a car, or what was once a car, smashed into the main display area of the store. Towers of Easter eggs and cuddly toys and paper towels, anything on special, have been knocked clean over. Stuffing and glass scattered over the floor, swimming in a puddle of water. The car is smashed completely at its front.

And there, underneath the car, is Spider-Man.

You gasp so loudly you scare yourself, throwing your hand over your mouth and your entire body backwards.

The car is slowly, slowly lifted up. A blur of red and blue climbs out.

You've seen Spider-Man have cars thrown at him. You've seen him swing into a burning building. You've seen him electrocuted and thrown up into the air like a baseball and you've seen him hit by the subsequent swing.

You haven't seen him bleeding out. That's definitely new.

As soon as he's out from under the car he's trying to get onto his feet and failing. The roaring machine can't fit in the building and for a moment he's safe, but the taunting man is furious.

"I'll rip this building open, you insect! Don't think I won't!" And then, to prove his point, a terrible ripping sound, a pitching of concrete. Things start to rain from above.

Spider-Man is lying on the ground on one elbow, hands pressed to the gash in his side. It's not the only cut. His thigh sobs blood as well, a crimson line of it streaking over the floor as he drags himself backwards. You can hear children screaming, a hissing, the whirring machine, a million things, but the panting, the injured panting of Spider-Man, is what pricks your ears.

That's Peter Parker. That's your Peter Parker.

He's crying, panicked weeping, and you've only heard it once before over the phone, but you can't forget that, and you won't. Your Peter Parker is in the Spider-Man suit bleeding out while you lie meters away huddled in fear.

The leg of the villain's machine creaks, stomps. The cookware begins tumbling from its shelves as though an aftershock has ripped through the store. You cry out as a boxed pressure cooker topples and you catch it haphazardly before it can hit you, tossing it away, blood everywhere, marring the silver of your bracelets and your skin and the floor around you.

When you look back Spider-Man is staring straight at you.

"Peter," you whine under your breath, scared, so scared, and it's too quiet for anyone to hear but he does, you know it, his shoulders tighten and he's pushing on to his feet and moving towards you quickly, a trail of bloody footsteps behind him.

He hooks his hands under your armpits and drags you up, past aisles of smashed baby food and exploded toiletries, hissing deodorant bottles and soaked clothing and then you're sliding into a door of the storeroom. The room is already populated by other store goers, most crying, none seemingly injured.

"Somebody, can somebody come and take care of her?" he asks the room, met with silence. He looks you up and down, his hand tight around your wrist. "It's not bad. It's bad, but it's not bad. It can, it-"

"Pe-" you clear your throat. "Spider-Man," you say quietly. "You can't go back out. Your leg- it's fucked," you say uselessly, your teeth beginning to chatter.

"He'll tear the store open."

"He'll tear you open."

"Why are you here?" he asks, tone more desperate than you've ever heard.

Then you really start to cry. "I was gonna make fettuccine alfredo," you say, feeling hot tears bubble out of you. You sob in panic and tear your arm out of his grip. The walls are shaking and somebody outside of the room is screaming, barrelling cries. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I have to go," he says.

"You can barely walk!"

"I have to go," he says again. "Stay here."

"I'm not staying here if you're leaving."

"Stay here!" he shouts at you. You flinch and the both of you stand in a second of silence.

"Something bad is going to happen to you," you say, shuddering.

"Nothing bad is going to happen to me, Y/N," and his saying your name is the full confirmation, the admittance; it's your Peter.

He runs out.

"Spider-Man!"

It'll happen to me before it happens to you, you think, and run out after him. You're no Spider-Man, you're slow and bleeding and you can't leap over rubble, and he's at the front and out into the street by the time you're in the aisles. You pick over your basket, your bag, picking up your discarded cell phone to slip it into your bra as you go.

The street has been cordoned off quickly, a rush job, police cruisers and flashing lights and a fire engine to one side. You climb out of the hole, slip into the depression made by the machine's hulking left leg and climb out again. There are more guns than you've ever seen pointed at the villain, and Spider-Man is held up in his grasp.

You gasp and scramble out of the hole, pulling yourself up. Your arm burns white fire as you climb and stumble onto the asphalt.

Peter escapes his hold.

You're not superpowered. You're not strong. You're not particularly smart. You need to be resourceful. You need to save Peter.

The machine is huge. This is obvious. Two fat legs on a steel plate body with a glass bubble hood. Peter flips up, webs a building, bounces back. He's trying to smash the glass, you realise, but his leg is too injured to carry the force of it.

You scour the street. He needs to smash the glass and he's too busy fending off the machine's rubber hose arms to think about it. He's running out of time, spins sluggish, dives a whisper too slow. He keeps getting caught up in the arms and squirming out.

You flicker between him and your surroundings, your heart in your mouth.

There, a traffic sign, bent and almost broken. You grab at it with your slippery hands and pull. Your fingers slide, painting half dry streaks of pink over the silver pole.

You rub your hands in your sweatshirt and try again, pushing your whole weight on the pole, heaving back and forth. It snaps and you fall forward, clipping your chin on the ground, arms squished underneath your body. It hurts.

You roll off of the sign and look up into the sky, breathing hard, tucking your bleeding arm to your chest. The sky moves in circles, birds fly overhead. There's a helicopter humming, quiet as a dragonfly. The sirens are dulled, the villain's machine falls silent. All you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your heartbeat in your chest. The floor vibrates beneath you, almost soothing.

Then it comes back into focus. A million sounds, a million hurts.

You gasp and sit up, back aching. Peter is on top of the opposite building, arching over the arms, rolling like a wave. They're undeniably slow but pack enough force to fling him out if they catch him - one hits his legs from under him and he careens down into the ground towards you, snowballing the asphalt underneath him. A meteorite striking the earth.

He lies unmoving in his body's crater.

"Spider-Man!" you scream, loud enough to make your own ears burn.

He doesn't stir.

"Spider-Man! Spider-Man! Spider-Man!" Everything in you wants to say Peter. Peter, Peter Parker. Everything in you is begging him to get up. "Get up right now!" you yell, almost hysterical, words sounding more like a joke than anything.

He finally snaps into full consciousness again. The machine crunches towards you both. You rise and drag the pole toward him, the sign still attached to the top. Peter rolls on to his side and peels up the mask, blood pumping down his face. He dry heaves.

Your back burns as you drag the sign. It leaves a while line in the asphalt where it grinds, scratching a deep, scathing line.

You drop it a foot from him and fall to your knees, taking his face into your hands.

"Are you alright? You need to get up, can you get up? Peter, can you get up?"

He hisses, the sound deeply etched with pain.

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I got you a sharp," you say.

He frowns and his head tilts up as he gazes over your shoulder. His lips press together in understanding. Helicopter blades whir from above as they close in and a crowd of people roar on either side of the barricade in warning while the villain grows nearer and nearer.

"I told you to stay there," he says, furious, voice speckled with pain and exhaustion.

"I'm no damsel, remember?" you ask, half false cheer and half terror, wiping blood from his nostrils, from his lips, to tuck the mask back down to cover his face.

He rises to his feet and pulls you up by your shoulders, dusting you down pointlessly, tucking your hair behind your ears. Your flower drop earrings wobble. "You're pretty as one," he says, masked hand touching your bleeding chin for a split second, then his hands grab your face tight enough to hurt, each word careful. "I'm gonna beat the bad guy. You need to run, as fast as you can, towards the barricade. Run now, Y/N." He turns you around and pushes. You look back and watch as he picks up the broken sign, shoulders set.

You run on numb legs. The ground trembles beneath you. Your legs burn and rubble sprays and a police officer is screaming at you, arms pulling you over the metal barricade and into a crowd of people. Somebody ushers you to sit on the ground. You gasp fast and shallow and cover your eyes with your hands. The crowd shouts and you try to stand. You falter. You fall.

Peter's sleeping. There's not a single drop of blood to be found on him, no rusty scabs, no bruises. He looks angelic if a bit tired, hands wrapped around your hand and face pressed into the white, pristine sheets of your bed. He's angled away from your bandage.

The other arm is cannula'd, you discover, when you try and probe your stiff chin. The IV pulls, a sharp pain. You wince and drop your hand. They're obviously not giving you painkillers in the drip.

You squint at the IV suspiciously. What the fuck is it for? And as you remember – the sounds, the pain, the fear – your heart climbs.

Peter flinched awake and blinks hard. "Y/N," he says. "Hey, hey, what's the matter?" he asks.

You shake your hand. His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands, hands skipping over your bandage to run over your arms. You've been handled into a pair of pajamas, ones you've never seen before. Peter pushes his fingers under the short sleeve and squeezes your shoulder lightly. "You're okay, you're okay. Try and calm down."

You frown at him and again try to move the wrong arm. You wince as it tugs.

"Do I have to have that?"

"I'm not sure. It's fluids."

You nod and pull the cannula clean out of your own hand. Peter cringes and takes your hand, pressing his clean sleeve to the bubble of blood that trickles out. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs.

"Are you okay?" you ask him.

He raises his chin defensively. "Am I okay? Which one of us is in the hospital right now?" You frown, your eyes burn and he sighs. "Sorry."

You sniffle.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, "so sorry. For everything."

You sniffle again and he hangs his head, tending to your bleeding hand like it's fatal.

"If you don't want to see me anymore, I get that."

You bite your tongue between your teeth and exhale hard. It hurts as you move, shuffling over to the far side of the bed. It's obvious what you're asking. Peter climbs into the bed and lies next to you, and you both stare up at the hospital ceiling without talking. It's quieter here, no screaming, no crying. There's only his breathing and yours.

His shoulder is warm next to yours.

"Whose clothes are these?" you ask him.

"They're yours."

"Never seen them before," you croak.

"I got them for you. From Nordstrom."

"You hate Nordstrom."

"It was closer than your apartment. And I couldn't get in anyhow, and I really needed you to have clean clothes, and-" he cut himself off, pitch rising.

"Thank you, Peter."

You lie in silence again.

You want to ask him if he won, but you know he'd be dead if he lost. You want to ask him if he's healed but you know he is. You want to ask him how he's feeling and the words stay tucked neatly behind your teeth.

"I thought you might die," you say eventually.

His breath catches in his throat. He turns his head and you turn yours at the sound of his movement, the crisp crunch of hospital linen under his shifting.

"You saved me," he said.

"I didn't."

"You did. There's… there's videos." He closes his eyes. He's pale. Whether it's the awful gray New York morning light or the blanching white of the hospital room or his bone deep exhaustion, you can't say.

"Young woman saves Spider-Man, City rejoices."

You frown at him.

"Woman rouses our masked vigilante in dire straits and saves hundreds."

"What?"

"Spider-Man owes his latest showdown victory to unnamed woman, more on page 3."

"Peter, what are you talking about?"

"That's what the newspapers are saying."

You close your eyes and try to cope with what he's telling you. His knuckles rub up your thigh, searching for your hand, your injured arm. He pulls your arm onto his abdomen like he's cradling it and let's his body push up against yours.

"They're wrong."

"How'd you figure?" he asks.

"I didn't save Spider-Man. I wasn't worried about him."

"You did, sweetheart," he says, lips by your hair. He puts his hand on your face, careful of your stitched up chin, fingers over your cheekbone. His hand is all encompassing, a comfort, as he turns you to face him.

"It's Peter Parker I was looking out for," you say. You're tired and thirsty and your head and arm are both pounding at the same time, a painful pulse, and you know your words are half coherent at best. You hope he knows what you mean.

"I'm so angry at you," he whispers, an admission. "I'm so angry. I told you to stay there and you didn't listen and you could have died."

"That's a little rich, don't you think? I've watched you almost die on TV a thousand times," you say lightly.

He takes his hand back from your jaw to scrub over his face and looks up at the ceiling. You trace his angry brow with your eyes, his frown.

"I know I lied to you," he says.

"You did."

"But I did it so something like this wouldn't happen. So you would be safe," he says, agitated.

You blink the white spots out of your vision and sigh morosely. An orderly bustles past the open door with a trolley of things. A fly charts a course around the room for the hundredth time. You want him to cuddle you, and you want to sleep, but you know he won't rest until he says what he needs to.

"And I can't work it out."

"What out?" you ask hoarsely.

"How long have you known? I never would've guessed in a hundred years that you knew."

"I didn't know," you say honestly.

"What?"

"I didn't know. That you're-" you whisper the next bit, "Spider-Man."

"Then how did you know it was me, in the store?"

You sigh, pained, and he rushes to shush you, pulling you onto his chest. You refuse to protest even though everything aches dully, curling your legs, though you can't hug him because he's holding your cut arm hostage. You don't mind, content as his arm comes around you to pull you flush.

"You were crying. I knew it was you. I know what you sound like," you continue to whisper, feeling like this is a secret. "You sounded scared and… and hurt. I don't think I could forget how you sound when you're scared."

"I was terrified," he admits, whispering back.

You don't know what to say to that. You were terrified too.

"Do I look cute? On the news?" you ask.

He hums, tightening his arm around your body, and kisses you on the forehead. The place where his lips touch feels warm for a long, long time. His hand draws lazy circles into your vest top.

"Cute? Nah." You frown in disappointment. He chuckles, the vibrations of it moving in your neck. "You looked beautiful. Beautiful and formidable, really, blood and all. I'll be fighting guys off left, right and centre."

"I thought I was safe in all your fantasies?" you mumble, smiling to yourself.

"I'm fighting them off for my own sake. I don't like to share, and every guy in New York wants a piece of you."

You giggle, looking up at him with bright eyes as best as you can manage with one arm out of action. He helps you up onto his front, arm firm and strong at your back, until you’re chest to chest, supporting yourself with one shaky forearm.

He pushes the hair out of your face. "I found your earring," he says.

"I was missing one?"

"For a little while."

You let your head rest on his sternum and sigh a breath of relief. "So everything worked out, then."

"Everything worked out," he agrees, bringing his hand up to the back of your head.

"Do I still need to learn how to make fettuccine alfredo for you to like me back?" you murmur into his chest.

"No, baby," he says softly, carding through your hair with all tenderness. The word baby is so meltingly warm you feel it run over you in a wave. "I think my fondness for you can transcend even your inability to make the most simple pasta dish in all of human history," he says wryly, two parts dry and two parts loving.

"Awesome," you say, and pass out to the sensation of his lips pressed chastely to the top of your head. <3

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ tasm taglist @pomminine @isabelleonabicycle @decafcoffew @runawaywithmyghost @joebobisachickenfart

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satanscornchip · 4 months

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Sci-fi Landscapes by Andrew Porter

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satanscornchip · 4 months

Text

there should be a study on what phoebe bridgers does to my brain because no matter how many times i listen to scott street i want to cry every time without fail

#phoebe bridgers

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satanscornchip · 4 months

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this one's got a lil kick

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʟᴀʏ

---

!spoilers for no way home!

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

summary: after strange's spell, everybody forgot. peter could walk down the street without having cameras shoved into his face, but he could no longer go into that coffeehouse and talk to his friends like he used to. everybody forgot who peter parker was. everybody except for one.

genre: angst, friends to lovers

warnings: spoilers (obviously), angst, sad peter hours, little bit of canon level violence

word count: 5.4k

mcu masterlist

---

The paper in his hand was crumpled, the words on his tongue slurred as his hands sweated from his anxious nerves. His heartbeat thumped erratically in his chest and walking through that open door that greeted his senses to the strong smell of coffee and sweets just about sent him into a spiral.

The girl behind the counter gave him a small, costmary smile, only growing naturally when she saw the person behind Peter and gave them a bigger wave.

Looking over his shoulder he watched as Ned shoved past him, instantly making conversation with MJ as if he wasn't there.

"Hey Ned," She gave Peter another small smile as she mouthed in a second, and grabbed Ned's usual order of the glazed donut, pouring him some coffee she had already made beforehand as they chatted about MIT and other things Peter had missed in the time they, along with the rest of this universe, had forgotten him.

He had to get used to that, Peter reminded himself, he technically no longer existed.

"Hello," She greeted as she finished talking to Ned, not noticing how Peter's eyes brimmed with tears, "What can I get you?"

Peter stuttered, just as he always seemed to do around MJ, and looked down at the papers for help, nodding to himself as he muttered encouraging words for himself under his breath.

"I’m Peter Parker," He said slowly, for the first time since that spell was cast and everybody forgot who he was, the words he had practiced a million times before sounding small and insolent.

He wasn't anybody under that mask. Once he put it on, everybody knew Spiderman. It seemed as though his life was turning backward as even the girl he loved could recognize the masked hero better than him.

But to his shock and surprise, he watched as her eyes widened a bit, the smile dropping as Ned looked up from his seat, his eyes squinting as he tried to get a better look at his face.

Time stopped as MJ instantly whipped her phone out, typing something quickly as she made a quick call, whispering out a quick apology as the person behind the other line refused to pick up.

"Do you know me? It’s me, Peter," He moved forward, shuffling as hope ignited in his chest, warmth blossoming to the tips of his fingers as he looked from MJ and then to Ned, his lips turning upward into the biggest smile he had ever given somebody, "Peter Parker?" His lungs seemed to stop working as air lodged up in his throat, waiting for her to just say something.

"Uh no, sorry," MJ cursed to herself as the line beeped again, the automated voice answering box mocking her as she pocketed the phone, "Sorry about that. What," She pushed her hair back behind her ears, trying to look as professional as she could as Ned gapped behind her, "What can I get you?"

And just like that, his smile fell, hands to his sides as the paper jeered at him for his stupidity and innocence.

"Oh, um," His voice fell an octave, hushed as he almost let out a pained sound, "That's," He took in a deep breath, trying to sturdy himself back into his factious reality, "That's o-okay. Can I get a coffee to go, please?"

The door behind him swung open, and he once again watched as MJ gave the person behind him one of her real smiles, not the ones she was forced to put on because of her job, but that wasn't what stopped Peter in his tracks.

He heard a small gasp from behind him, a sound of objects clattering to the floor as he whipped his head around, eyes widening when he saw you.

It had been weeks since you two last talked, since you laughed at his stupid science puns, and it had been an agonizingly long amount of time since he watched carelessly as you ate those stale donuts while MJ and Ned decided different things to write for their college admissions letter.

There were dark eye bags under your eyes, your face no longer the bright and happy one he was so used to seeing, this one much grimmer and saddened as the two of you stared at one another, the silence becoming heavy as you didn't say anything.

Your mouth opened, fingers touching your hair as you tried to ground yourself, gapping as you took a slow step forward, not caring about your laptop that could have possibly been broken from the fall it took or the way you already chipped phone could have received more damage.

"Peter?"

He decided that he had never heard a more beautiful sound.

No time was spared are you barreled into his chest, arms tightening around him like a python as you shakily whimpered into his neck, your tears falling down like rain droplets, wetting his skin and collar of his shirt as you wept.

You didn't care if people saw, didn't care if MJ and Ned stared at you like you just saw a ghost, didn't care about anything because Peter was here. He was here and alive and holding you as you were the only thing keeping him steady from falling down.

"P-peter, oh god, Peter," You cried into him, not letting go though he didn't seem to want to either as your lips wavered, fingers grasping tighter onto the fabric of his back as your chest heaved with wet sobs, "Oh Pete," That is all you could seem to say as tears moved in like waves and you had no control over them.

For him, it felt like time had stopped as he sensed your familiar scent of warm vanilla, your warm touch now a bit cold but still you as you held him like he mattered. The way you used to do when he was somebody that people loved, when he was the real Peter Parker.

It took you minutes to move away from his body and even then had difficulty as he seemed to refuse to let you go, but you couldn't not see his face for a second longer, your fingers moving upward as you gripped his cheek in your hands, eyes scanning his face for any cuts or bruises, anything to prove to you why he had been gone for so long without saying anything.

His tears fell down his cheek, splattering on the ground, but the two of you did nothing to wipe either as your hands fell from his face, falling on his chest as you looked at MJ, pointing to him as you waited for her or Ned to say something.

When she gave you a confused shake of her head, asking what was wrong, you felt more tears roll in as you felt the insanity you had been feeling the past few weeks etch its way back into your mind.

You gave him a little push, his feet tumbling back as your lips wobbled in anger, eyes looking at him like he lit the world afire, and you heaved, another sob coming out of your chest as you smacked his arm.

"Where," You gave his chest another push, but it was weak and he could withstand it, "Were," Another weak one, your hands folding in on themselves as you crumpled back into his chest, "You?" You seethed those three words out, each quieter than the last, a mix of rage, betrayal, ache, hurt, everything you'd been feeling but didn't know why seeped out as you hugged him once again.

Peter couldn't feel anything as he felt your tears on his skin, hands shaking as he scooped you into his arm, his cheek pressed tightly against your head as his thumb moved ever so slowly up and down your back, something he used to do when you or MJ or May was every feeling sad, something he never thought he'd do again, but here he was.

His mind was reeling, everything was going so fast he could barely breathe, but you were here, you were her and hugging him just like you used to do.

"You know me?"

His voice was barely there, a fleeting whisper as he could barely believe what he was seeing. He heard you give a small, appalled laugh, punching him lightly in the chest as you looked up at him, confused that he'd even ask such a ridiculous question.

"Peter, what the fuck, of course," You lamely tried to wipe at the tears, "Of course, I know you? You’re Peter Parker, right? Or have you changed your name since I last saw you because nobody seems to know who you are! A-and I feel like I'm crazy and insane but you're here so you have to be real. I mean, these past nine years couldn't have been fake, right? An-" He cut you off, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as he swooped you back into his arms.

"Was it that electrical guy, did he, did he shock you or something? Have you been to the hospital? Why didn't you tell us, you know we'd come..." You whispered into his chest, defeated as he sniveled something out, almost shocked as he stuttered nonsense to himself.

"We would come but MJ and Ned seem to have lost their fuckin' minds because they can't seem to remember you!" You said, furious now as you looked at the girl and boy behind him.

You snapped out of your trance, struggling to get out of his grasp as you stared the two of them down, shaking in defiant rage as you pointed to him.

"This," You almost yelled, "This is Peter! Remember? Peter Benjamin Parker? Or can't you seem to know your own boyfriend?" Your head tilted to the side in an almost manic way. MJ could barely say anything as she stuttered, looking at Peter and then back to you, "And you," You moved over to Ned, your finger jammed into his chest as he looked wildly at your face, "Do you not remember Peter? Pete from third grade? Peter with remarkably amazing eyesight? Peter who built the death star with you? That Peter?"

If only you could see the way Peter beamed, at the way his eyes widened and shined so brilliantly, as though you had handed him his world back even if you were just yelling at your friends for no reason.

You remembered him. Everything about him, and he could barely control his childlike glee, the rosy blush that swarmed his cheeks adding some color to his face that had been so pale the past couple of days.

For in the span of those minutes you first saw him till now, Peter deduced that MJ, Ned, Happy, and just about anybody who knew who he was still didn't know the real Peter Parker.

Everybody except for you.

"Um, no, can't say I," Ned looked over at MJ, questioning you and the stranger he had only seen until a few minutes ago, "Can't say I do?"

You groaned, jamming your palms into your eye sockets as your fists clenched, looking back at MJ to see if anything sparked in her memory, but she just seemed to be apologizing to Peter for your loud outburst.

But Peter could only give her a shaky smile, muttering some things as he pushed past some people to get to you, his hands shaking a bit as he gripped your arms, searching your face to see if you still remembered him.

"Y/n," Peter had the most gentle hold on your arm, almost terrified that if he touched you you'd disappear, "Can we go outside," He looked at the small crowd forming, "Please?"

You whipped your head to the sound, your angry look vanishing when Peter gave you a heartbreaking smile, cocking his head to the door as he tried to usher you out.

You couldn't say anything as you muttered your goodbyes to your friends, letting Peter walk you out because you couldn't trust your legs, the cold air hitting your face as your teeth clamped down together.

"Pete, come on, you gotta tell me what's going on..." You felt him usher you to an alley, looking behind him to see if anybody was looking, but realizing he no longer had to be conscious about what he said because nobody would look at a boy in an alleyway to find out spiderman's true identity.

"You know me?" He asked again, fingers carding through your hair as you gave him a slow and timid nod, wondering if you actually were crazy and he was a figment of your imagination this entire time.

"Yes, Pete, I know you. Unless some shit happened in these two weeks-"

"Something did happen," He quickly said, his hands never leaving your shoulder, "Something big happened and n-nobody's supposed to know who I am," He glanced back at the coffeehouse, "MJ and Ned were supposed to forget me. You were supposed to forget me but," He looked back at you as if he could barely believe anything that had just happened, "You know me?" His voice felt so raw, so defeated that despite the millions of questions that swarmed your mind, not one of them mattered as you pulled him into a hug, allowing his tears to fall freely in the expanse of your arms, something he never thought he could do again in such a short amount of time since that spell happened.

"You know me," He said to himself because he couldn't believe that somebody still remembered who he was, "You," He embraced you back so tightly you felt the air in your lungs squeeze out, "Know," He kissed your forehead as he looked at you, his thumb tracing your cheek to make sure you weren't just another part of his nightmare, so glad to actually feel skin against his skin, "Me?"

And in that alleyway, with people passing by and the world moving around on its axis, his seemed to stop. Because here, he realized that he wasn't totally in the dark. That somebody, perhaps one of the most important people in his life, could hug him back as they muttered his name over and over again, a mantra of truth that made Peter Parker somewhat of a person again.

---

As the weeks passed, it seemed as though Peter couldn't let you go, showing you around his shabby apartment as he tried to slyly wipe the tears away from his cheek, giving you a wet chuckle as you noted about the little star wars figures on his desk and that you'd be sure to bring back more.

It was painful to tell Ned and MJ that something came up in your life to explain the outburst you had, and although they quickly forgave you, it didn't hurt any less when they moved along the topic as if Peter's name wasn't important to them.

You guessed it no longer was.

You waited patiently as he'd pace around his room, reading a book on his bed he tried to come up with different solutions as to why you still knew who he was, every detail about his past that even he had been starting to forget, but he could only blame it on a flaw in Strange's magic that allowed for this to happen.

His apartment was cold and dark, but he never failed to tell you just how restful you made it with all your visits, with the way you baked him your legendary pecan pie and made it the first thing he had in his rundown fridge.

His suit was tucked away in a corner, and he hadn't touched it much since that night. Crime had been at a low, and even if it wasn't, he felt rather nauseous whenever he put it on.

He'd tell you all about his plan in getting back together with MJ, to make her fall back in love with him, with how he promised both her and Ned that he'd come back for them, but his childish promise seemed more difficult to pull off seeing that they had moved to Massachusets a couple days ago.

He found a job at the computer store down the street, one of the last of its kind, and glimpsing at how you had been able to secure that Stark internship a couple years ago, Happy seemed intent on letting you stay as your job in New York continued from the comfort of your room. Moreso, Peter's, seeing how much time you spent there.

"I just," You looked up from your laptop as Peter slammed the door shut, kicking his shoes off with an annoyed huff, "I hate it so fucking much. Seein' MJ with that dick on her socials and Ned watching Return of the Jedi with Flash..." He flopped down on the mattress, his weight pushing you down a bit as you gave his back a comforting rub, your fingers tugging on his hair as he whined quietly again, moving so that he could situate his head on your thighs, looking up at his ceiling as he pressed a small kiss against your pants, trying for a smile as you began typing away.

"'M sorry Peter," You glanced down at him, giving him an apologetic grin as you rubbed his shoulders, "It fuckin' sucks, I know," You patted his cheek as you went to type something, letting out a frustrated groan when your code didn't work, forgetting what you were going to say to him when your mind got sidetracked.

He sat up, looking over your shoulder as he read what was on the screen, lips pursing together as he tried to make out what you were doing.

"Need some help?" He offered and had you not been running on two hours of sleep and about seven cups of coffee from the past three hours, you would have said no. But you just pushed it towards him, letting your back fall down as you heaved in a sigh of relief after being hunched for so long.

"When was the last time you slept?" He commented on your drowsy state and you murmured some incoherent words as you gripped onto his pillow.

"What?" He glanced at you, worry taking over his features as you moved in and out of sleep.

"About a day ago," You gave a loud yawn, "Or two," You tiredly rubbed at your eyes, "Maybe t-three, actually," You yawned again, this time louder as you stretched.

Peter instantly put the laptop aside, moving so that you could lay fully on the bed, taking your glasses off as he set them on the little table next to him, folding them as you subconsciously snuggled deeper into his fluffy sheets.

"Y/n," He muttered some things as you yawned again, letting him place his hand behind your back as he lay another pillow underneath your head, "You gotta take more care of yourself, this isn't healthy.”

Your lips pouted as you stared at him through your lashes, thoughts running behind that head of yours as your brows furrowed with one another.

"I got'chu though.” You murmured tiredly, your hands searching for his as you gave them a weak squeeze, earning a gentle one back in return.

"I know," He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he tugged the blanket over your body, "But I'm not always here and you gotta know when to stop, yeah? I don't have anybody else, so I gotta make sure you're doin' fine, okay?" You gave him a slow nod, adjusting your head into the pillow as you gripped onto his hand even tighter than before.

"'M always here," You muttered slowly, "Nothin' safer than spiderman's apartment.” You joked with slurred words, sleep overtaking your features as you nodded off.

"Yeah," He almost choked as he gave you a tight lipped smile, giving the back of your hand a kiss, "I know.”

Peter gave a small chuckle as he fell on the floor, not letting go of your hand as he used the other one to wipe at his tears.

It felt routine to have his eyes water up at the end of the night. Most of the time, he'd know the reason behind them. Some of them for MJ, for the fact that he was never able to tell her he loved her one last time, for the promises he made in the final minutes he was sure he'd never be able to make. For the fact that he'd most likely never be able to sit down with Ned and just watch a movie and laugh and have nothing else to worry about. Other times they were for May and the fact that her blood still stained his hands, no matter how many times you helped him clean them. On the rare occasion, Happy would plague his thoughts, and even worse was when he heard Tony's last words, the deaths that lined his conscience whenever he tried to sleep.

But here, it wasn't for the regret, the pain, the longing he felt regularly.

It was because you held onto him no matter what, that even as you tried to move in your sleep, you held his fingers with all your might. They reminded him that even in the world in which everything lit afire, you were there to put it out. The girl with the large glasses and books overflowing her backpack, the one that painfully waited for him to back after every mission only to watch with tearful eyes as you embraced him once again.

In these hours you reminded Peter that even when everything else he loved had gone to ruin, you never left, even if it wasn't in your power to decide that, even if the fates above decided who's string to meddle with more.

You heard a muted sniffle and eyes instantly snapped open, worriedly looking at him as he quickly wiped them away, but you were already shifting so that you sat on the ground next to him, pulling him into your side as you wordlessly hugged him.

Too many nights you'd waken up to get a cup of water only to find him crying silently to himself, so even when he pleaded for you to just pretend that everything was okay and to go back to sleep, you trained yourself in hearing the little sounds he'd make.

"Wanna go sleep?" You gently offered, yawning as you helped him stand up as you led him back to the bed, removing his coat as you folded it and placed it to the side, helping him situate himself on the bed as his cheeks shined in the moonlight that flooded in.

The two of you constantly switched places in taking care of one another, something that was rare before everything happened, but almost felt like clockwork as you began acknowledging that aside from Ned and MJ, who you rarely heard from anymore, Peter was really all you had left.

You went to go to the couch, your usual resting place when you felt him hold your hand, his brown eyes swimming with a mess of emotions as he refused to let go.

"Stay," He whispered, voice lost to his own mind as he almost beseeched, "Please."

You had slept in the same bed with him before. There was that one time you refused to sleep on his dirty floor and made him begrudgingly share the right side of his mattress with you, or the one time Ned kept on farting and he made him switch places with you, but never when he was this vulnerable.

But you gave him a slow nod, collapsing in when he scotched aside, letting you find your comfort as you edged into his back, the limited space not big enough to house the two of you in the simplest way, but you made it work.

You didn't know just how much it eased Peter when you relaxed into his chest, or the way his hand subconsciously found its way across your chest in his sleep and the way you turned around at one point, your breathing hitting each other as the two of you slept as though one.

---

After that, sleeping alone just never appealed to you anymore.

If not for his strange warmth, Peter was a comfort you seek out when alone, and being safely tucked away in his arms, however platonic, surely helped ease your thoughts at night that he wasn't doing anything idiotic.

He had changed dramatically since the boy you once knew.

He was quieter than before, much more reserved. The nights he went away on patrol were terrible because every siren you heard, every time you saw the clock tick past four you wondered if he'd be coming back.

Every time he left he'd promise he'd return, but it might have been your paranoia from before or the fact that you, alongside a handful of other people, actually knew him, and feared he may never come home.

Of course, he never wanted to leave.

Even though you assured him you'd be fine and could do well on your own, he always seemed to contemplate his departure much longer than he used to in his past, glancing at you and at the colorful array of locks at the door.

His apartment was protected, that much you knew. He had learned some things when he spent that awkward night with Bucky and Sam, but they had shown him some ways to make locks safer, and he had shown you how to turn off the safety on the gun he stored away just in case.

He told you to call him if you even got a papercut, and even though you promised you would, you forgot to call him that one time you accidentally cut yourself when making dinner and got an earful when he came back, fretting over your wrapped up finger as you assured him everything was okay.

But he never really went over what to do in case somebody actually broke in, and listening to the loud thudding from behind the door made you wish he had.

You had called 911 and they had told you they'd be here in a quarter to ten, but the clock on your phone was already read 10:05 so you heavily doubted if those sirens were going to come any closer.

You had called Peter multiple times, always going to voicemail, just as you suspected, and with each lock giving way from under the pressure from the people behind the door.

When he got to voicemail once again you let out a small cry, lips trembling as you tried to cover yourself the best you could with the clothes in the closet you laid hidden in.

"Peter," You let out a yelp when the door finally slammed down and multiple voices could be heard from the outside, "There are people outside and they just came in and I'm in the closet, I-I," You limited your voice to a whisper as the people on the other side shouted from one another, grumbling angrily to themselves as they realized there wasn't anything valuable in the small apartment, "I'm scared, I don't know what to do." You shakily admitted, the yelling never stopping as they searched through the cabinets and drawers.

"Check in there!" One yelled to the other and you couldn't do anything as the footsteps got nearer, ending the call as you tied to make yourself as hidden as possible, the door slamming open as one of the men began searching through the clothing, his eye never catching yours as he yelled back to the man behind him, stating that there was nothing here.

You stayed as silent as you could, not even breathing as the man left, going back to flipping the mattress over as they searched for valuables that weren't there.

You could see through the crack in the door when a flash of red flew by, screams momentary as Spiderman flew in, his masked face looking wildly around, seeing your face peeking out from behind the wide array of the coats as he let out a sigh of relief, not before he gave the two men what he came here to do.

"You touch her?" He snapped, voice lined with fury, something you had never heard before as the two men looked at each other confused.

"Who? We ain't touch nobody!" The one with the beard yelled, struggling against his webs.

"If my girl has a scratch on her fuckin' body you gonna tell me who did it?" Peter's hand flew to the other neck, his grip tightening as he wildly shook his head.

"We didn't touch anybody! Didn't even know somebody was here!" He yelled, words slurring together when Peter removed his hand just a bit, assessing your features as you shook your head, silently telling him that you were fine.

It only took a couple of seconds before he had them tied up and thrown away, letting the police do whatever they wanted with them as he came back, shutting the door with his web as he instantly sprinted to where you were, carefully and slowly peeling you out from your hidden corner as he dusted you off, his hands shaking as he looked over your face, almost not believing what was in front of him.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you wanna sit down?" His thumb swatted at the dried tear marks, pulling you into his chest as he hugged you as tightly as he could.

"I'm okay, I swear.” Peter let out a relieved sigh, nodding more to himself as he pulled away from you, only to bring you back in when the fear from minutes before settled deep into his bones.

"I got your voicemail and I swear I've never run as fast as I did," he muttered into your hair, "God," You heard him groan from above you, "Just about felt my heart stop when I didn't see you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and you pulled away, giving him a weak chuckle as you tried to wipe away at his tears.

"If I lost you…” He stopped, looking to the side as your hands moved up to touch his jaw, to redirect his focus back onto you, to take the pain away you knew he shouldered so well.

Peter's hair was messed up from the wind, his cheeks red and tinted with salty tracks, but he had never looked more beautiful than he did now, chocolate eyes finding yours as he felt everything in his stop.

"Y/n, if I lost you I think I'd lose just about everything that mattered to me.” He admitted, his hands never leaving the sides of your face as you whimpered, crying as he kissed the tip of your nose.

"Pete..." You couldn't finish the sentence as his hands moved down, gently lifting your face up as he placed a kiss to your lips, your breath catching in your throat as Peter kissed away everything you wanted to say.

He stated like tears and blood, but his lips were soft and forgiving. They moved in tandem with yours, greedy and hungry as he lapped away every sort of pain the two of you had felt in these past months.

It didn't matter that the outside world was slowly catching fire, because here, with Peter kissing you like you were his oxygen and he was a man starved of air, nothing else seemed to matter.

He was rough yet kind, quick as he tried to make sure you were here, that you had been here all along, and you let him move you around, throwing your head back as his lips hungrily moved downward, wet kisses lining your throat as he hungrily marked what was his.

"Peter," Your hands found purchase in his hair, "Pete, look, I'm okay.”He wanted to almost scoff at the way you thought he was kissing you like his life depended on it just because you were fine.

He moved away, lips bruised, red, and plump as his chest heaved, eyes dark with primal desire as he shook his head, hands gripping your waist with a force strong enough to bruise.

"I know darlin'," He pressed a chaste kiss to your nose, "I just gotta show you how much you mean to me, can't wait for a second longer.” And he stuck to his words as he quickly made his way to the bed, laying you down as your hearts intertwined in a peculiar, melancholy yet simple rhythm.

In those months the world forgot Peter Parker, his life was rewritten by somebody who seemed the realize that no matter what sort of power decided to mess with his gloomy, sunken life, you'd always be there.

Peter knew now that love wasn't what carried you through, or perseverance or the sheer fact alone that you were you and nothing could break the two of you apart, it was that when the world forgot Peter Parker, you could never forget the boy who stole your heart those years ago, the one that made his way into your very mind and refused to leave.

His life would never be the same again, no matter how much he wished it would be. The burden of the world would fall onto his shoulders at the end of the day, a cruel game he'd be tested with at every hour, but he swore that as long as he'd have you, he'd do whatever he could to make this cruel life somewhat sweet again.

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