#peter parker x brother!reader

[olsenmyolsen]

This Is Me Trying - One - (A Y/N Parker Spider-Woman X Kate Bishop Story)

masterlist

Summary: The Winter semester is challenging as you fall behind on exams and essays all while an old threat emerges.

Word Count: 3.3K

Content: College stress, cutie Kate Bishop

You, Y/N Parker, loved Christmas time.

You loved how it changed the city from a smelly concrete jungle into a smelly concrete jungle but with snow!

Lights went up with trees covered in decorations. Lattes got better, and so did the cookies.

The air got colder, and sometimes the people got warmer. Whether it was buying things for strangers or for a lifelong friend. Random acts of kindness increased, but on the flip side, so did the rate of crime.

Plus, swinging in the cold was awful, but with some insulation in the suit, it helped.

All of this to say you still loved this time of the year.

"You know, since you love it so much, how about you let me go? You know, like you said, kindness of strangers and all that!"

You looked at the guy webbed to a pole who just mugged a woman coming home from work and tilted your head.

"You know what you're right. Tis the season!" The man nodded as you took a few steps closer. "However, on second thought!" The man's eyes widened before you webbed his mouth shut.

"Marv, how many times are we gonna do this, buddy?" You patted the man's head as the sirens were approaching.

"Happy Holidays!" You yelled as you swung up to the nearby rooftop, looking for the woman whose purse was in your hand.

As you stay perched on the corner, your phone starts to ring. It was Peter—your best friend and brother. You debated whether to answer it or not, but eventually, you gave in and pressed the side of your mask.

"Hey man, what's up?"

"Not much... I know it's late, but I- I was just wondering if you started on Dr. Ohnn's paper yet? I'm completely lost. H-He knows we're sophomores, right?!"

You chuckled and sighed.

You haven't started on the paper yet.

"Sorry, Pete. I've been busy..." You heard Peter let out a disappointed sigh.

"Y/N... you're out, aren't you?" You felt bad. For the last couple of weeks, Peters has been asking you to take it easy with your after-school duties due to the number of exams these previous few weeks have had and, as mentioned before, the crime rate, but you haven't. If anything, you tacked on more. "Y/N, you know how dangerous I still think this is."

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, Peter, I know, but-" Before you could finish, you saw a person jump from one rooftop to another two blocks down from you. "Hey Pete, I gotta go..."

"Wait Y/N... Y/N!"

The line went dead as you tapped the side of your mask and took off, swinging purse in hand to the stranger on the rooftop.

As you front-flipped from your webbed, you laughed. "Well, if it isn't the purple bird!" You said when you got up from your landing pose, scaring the crap out of the archer. He jumped and drew his bow on you before realizing who it was.

With an exaggerated groan, he withdrew his weapon.

"What do you want, Spider!?" He sounded annoyed. You put your hands over your heart. Purse still in hand. "Ouch! I just wanted to check up on the man who destroyed 30 Rock last year."

Clint Barton rolled his eyes.

"It was a tree and a skating rink. Get over it." You raised your hand and mocked the archer as you stepped onto the roof's ledge.

"Where's the youngster?" You asked switching topics. Clint raised an eyebrow. "What are you spying on me now?" You put your hands up. "As if! Just curious. Making conversation. It's not my fault you two happen to fall into my patrol area."

Clint looked at you. "Your patrol area?" You nodded. "It's called New York. Ever heard of it?" Clint rolled his eyes again. "You can be a pain in the ass sometimes, you know that."

"I've been told."

"By friends?" You laughed. "No by enemies. Wait..? Why did you hear something?"

Clint cracked a smile. "Maybe." He hadn't, but he enjoyed this back-and-forth you two played. Like his protege, it was nice to have someone around who reminded him of the heroes of the past. People that brought hope for the future.

"So is that purse yours or?" Clint looked up from his binoculars at you. "No. It's not my color." When Clint didn't laugh, you continued. "Lady got mugged, and I don't know where to find her."

Clint looked from the purse to you and did it two more times. "What?" You asked when no words were spoken. Clint huffed. "You have her purse. It probably has her ID." You tilted your head before your eyes got wide. "Oh! Her address!"

Clint nodded yes and grumbled about you before looking into his binoculars again.

"Thanks, bird man!" You said as you looked at the address. It wasn't far. "Same time tomorrow?" You asked as you twhiped away.

Clint sent you a thumbs-up even though he wasn't paying attention. But you didn't know that. You saw a thumbs up and smiled.

You were getting through to the old man.

As you twhiped to the woman's place to return her purse, a bright-eyed Kate Bishop saw you.

"It's the Spider!" She very awkwardly whispered to no one else before running to the building; she had no idea you had just left from.

And when she got to the top: "Clint!" She shouted, making the archer jump before realizing who it was. "What!?" He said, looking at her as she smiled with excitement. "The spider! I just saw her!" He nodded like a dad would. "And?" He said. "And! And! And isn't that cool!" Clint shrugged. "I guess. She was here. She actually asked about you." Clint held in a smile.

It was a not-so-secret that Kate had a slight crush/admiration for the web-slinging hero.

"And!?" Kate took the binoculars from Clint and awaited his answer. "And... that was it. Nothing else. She joked around. I rolled my eyes. That was it."

Kate was going to press for my information, but Clint was useless when it came to details so mundane.

"Ugh. Fine. Here." Kate tried to hand the binoculars back, but Clint shook his head. "Look and tell me what you see." Kate looked through them and into the window of a known wheelman. "Tracksuits." She said, making Clint nod.

"See the guy with the awful chops?" Kate shifted her focus to a guy with bad facial hair. "Yeah."

"Look past him on the wall." Kate did just that and smiled. "I thought people only drew on blueprints in the movies?!"

"Our guys must watch a lot of movies," Clint said as he chuckled.

Kate put the binoculars down and looked at Clint. "After last year, do you still think Kingpin and these guys are connected? I mean..." Kate made a gesture that said, "really, these guys??" while pointing in the direction of the Tracksuits.

Clint shrugged. "I think it's best to believe they're connected than to not. Plus.. drugs and money still need to be run for guys like Kingpin. Any disposable person that's easy to pay is like Christmas to these guys."

Kate thought about it and nodded as she looked through the binoculars again. "Remember when we destroyed 30 rock."

Clint groans and closes his eyes. "It was a tree and an ice rink. Not the whole city!"

While Kate was busy trying to figure out what annoyed Clint and what Kingpin was planning next, you were busy climbing into your dorm through the window.

You tore your mask off as your feet landed on the floor. You ran your covered hand through your freshly shortened hair and took a deep breath before frowning. You sniffed the air before lifting your suit close to your nose. "Ah, man.."

The city really got to it tonight.

You tossed your mask into the hamper in your closet as you started wrangling out of your suit. You've been meaning to make adjustments to your suit since your arm muscle has only grown, but you hadn't, which left it a bit tight to get out of sometimes.

Lucky for you, you never had people drop by unannounced, so you could always take your time-

"Y/N is that you- OH MY GOD!"

You turned towards the voice of your brother as the top half of your suit fell, showing off you in your black sports bra and toned abdomen.

"Peter!" You yelled as he threw his hands over his eyes. "I didn't know. I'm sorry!" He shouted as he went to run out the door but hit your wall instead, causing him to fall to the floor, knocked out.

An hour later, as you moved your clothes from the wash to the dryer, Peter woke up. And after scolding him about not knocking, you and him got to work on Dr. Ohnn's paper.

But with your exhausted brain and body. Plus Peter's... mild concussion, you two didn't get far. So, just as you were about to suggest calling it for the night, your roommate came home.

Where she was or who she was with was always a mystery to you.

"Hey, losers!" Michelle-Jones, aka MJ, greeted you and Peter as she ran to grab the TV remote sitting on the table. She clicked it on and found the local news channel. "MJ, what are you-" She held up a finger and shushed your brother. "Look!" She pointed to the screen as a reporter was standing in front of a run-down apartment building that was on fire. "It's the fifth one this month!" MJ stated. "Everything thinks I'm crazy, but I know insurance fraud when I see it."

You and Peter weren't sure how to continue.

"Okay..." You started. "What's your point?" You questioned, hoping your roommate and friend was going somewhere with this. "Obviously, someone is doing something very illegal."

"Okay..." Peter said. "What can we do about it?"

"We can't do anything about it. But someone here can." MJ started motioning her head towards you, making you sigh. "MJ. I've told you multiple times. The pictures were a summer thing. I don't take their pictures anymore!" MJ rolled her eyes. Clearly not believing you. "Whatever you say..." She narrowed her eyes at you. "Spider!"

Before you could argue back, MJ got up and went to the fridge before taking a box of pizza to her room. "I'm gonna crash. Night."

"I brought that pizza..." Peter quietly said as you collapsed onto the couch. "You were gonna give it to her anyways." You turn your head to Peter. "Was not!" He defends, but you see through him. "You've had a crush on her for the last year, so please let's be honest here."

Peter closed his mouth and then said: "You're the one not being honest with her."

"Dude."

"Sorry," Peter mumbled. "It's just she's going to find out on her own if you don't tell her." He whispered. You nodded. "I know. I know. But you and I both know that the fewer people that know, the less I have to worry about. The less people get hurt."

Peter wore a sad smile on his face. "You're right. I.. I just hate lying to her."

You looked at Peter as he brought his knees close to his chest on the other end of the couch. "I'm sorry, Pete." He nodded. He knew it was easier for you to do this if the less people knew about your other life, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could lie to MJ.

The following morning, after Peter returned to his dorm, you woke up late.

Apparently, in your sleepy daze, you hit 730 into your calculator app and not your alarm clock application. On top of that, you forgot to charge your phone, so as you panicked to get ready for the day, you quickly put in the cable to charge.

You grabbed your closest pair of jeans and threw on your school sweater, all while grabbing the textbooks scattered on your desk.

You ran into the kitchen and grabbed your last pair of pop tarts before heading to the door and slipping on your vans. You zipped up your bag and bolted out the door.

However, you immediately reentered your dorm, ran into your room, snatching your glasses and phone, now on 16%.

_

The lecture hall was full by the time you entered. The booming of the door attracted the attention of everyone.

Your brother included. Your eyes found his, and he gave you a weak smile as you sat at the first seat you could find.

When you pulled out your textbook and looked up, you saw Dr. Connors sigh before he continued speaking. "As I was saying. Yes, just because the holidays are upon us doesn't mean we won't have our test on Friday. I want something fun to grade over the break, people." He gave an awkward chuckle that few students, including you, gave back. "Oh, and don't forget. Your papers on physics are still due by the end of the school year. If you've forgotten... well, there's a reason I'm tenured, and this class lasts all year." He smiled and proceeded to dismiss everybody.

Everybody but you.

"Y/N Parker. A moment."

You knew it was coming, but you kept your head up high. You look to Peter, and he nods. He'd see you after class.

"Dr. Connors, look, I'm sorry about being late-"

"Late?" He cut you off. "You missed the whole dang class." You sighed and adjusted the bag around your shoulder. "Look..." Dr. Connors started. "You're a bright student. I've seen it firsthand, but lately... it's like you're not even here. Your grades have been steadily declining. You always appear exhausted."

You nodded. "I'm trying. I wanna be here!"

"Then be here." He said before he sighed. "You still haven't told me what your physics paper is on."

You perked up at that. "I plan on doing it about fusion and Dr. Otto Octavius."

Dr. Connors sighs. "Well, planning is not a major at this university." He walks past you and goes to the giant board in the middle of the room. He then stops. "Octavius is a friend of mine. Better do your research, Parker." You nod. "I'd really hate to see you fail."

"I don't want to, sir." You say, making Connors look at you with a sad smile on his face. "I can pass along your information to Octavius. Whether he contacts you or not is up to him. After that..." He looks at you. "It's up to you, Parker."

When you exited the lecture hall, you found Peter talking to your mutual friend Ned. The closer you got, the more you saw Peter panic and tell Ned to "shut up."

"What's going on?" Peter shook his head as if nothing was wrong. You looked to Ned, who sheepishly looked away. "Ned." You drug his name out.

Ned took one look at you and broke. "I think I might know about the fires around the city!" He smiled and looked excited. It paid to have Ned be the guy in the chair.

You looked at Peter. "You didn't want him to tell me?" Peter sighed. "Y/N, you have so much going on already we don't need you." He gestures with his hand as if he was shooting a web. "Right now. Besides, you haven't even started on your essay, and you just got in trouble with Connors!"

Before you could defend your lack of action, you get interrupted.

"Hey guys!"

Immediately, your stress melted away as you looked down at Kate Bishop. Captain of the Archery Team. Your friend and study partner.

Oh, and your crush.

Katherine Elizabeth Bishop.

"Hey Kate!" You said a little too excitedly, something that everyone caught on to. Thankfully, they chose not to make a big deal out of it. "Hey, Y/N." She looked at you and smiled.

There goes the butterflies.

"So what are you three amigos talking about?" She bounced on her heels as she looked away from you and to the other two. "Oh, nothing!" Peter said. "I don't think you're allowed to say that?" Ned added with a confused face.

"Doesn't sound like nothing," Kate said, making Peter glance at you. "Sounds like Y/N is getting in trouble with Connors." She replied as she turned to you with a teasing smile. "Let me guess..." She made a thinking face. "Too busy studying for our History test?"

History test!! Oh crap, that is Friday!

"Okay, based on the look I just gained, you forgot." You nodded. Kate made a hmm noise but kept her head towards you as she thought.

"Shit," Ned spoke up. "Peter, we gotta go, or we'll be late!" Peter looked at his watch and came to the same conclusion. "Gotta go! See you, Y/N! Bye, Kate!" Peter and Ned took off running down the hall and out the doors before they sprinted across the courtyard.

"What class do they have?" Kate asked.

"Robotics."

"Sounds about right." She said. "We should probably get going." Kate smiled and gestured her head in the general direction of your History class with Kate. "Don't worry about the test," Kate said as you two walked side by side. "You always do just fine." You shrugged her compliment off.

Kate noticed. "But I was thinking if you want..." You looked at Kate and noticed her fingers interlocking with one another. "Maybe you could come to my dorm to study some more. Besides, I still need help on the laws and how they changed once the Sokovian Accords were ratified."

You and Kate had always hung out in mutual gatherings and settings. You two were good friends, but you had never been to her dorm.

On top of that. Alone.

You suddenly felt very warm and wary of your every move.

"That sounds great!" You managed to say. "When were you thinking?"

Kate thought. If it were up to her, you'd come over tonight, but Kate wasn't sure what her roommate Cassie was doing. Plus, she and Clint had a hot new lead to follow up on. "Ummm, is it cool if I text you?"

You nodded. "Sounds great." You smiled widely and pushed the door to your History class open. Letting Kate walk in first. You and Kate walked to your seats and sat beside one another.

"Shit." You heard Kate mumble when she opened her bag. "You okay?" You asked. "Uh yeah.." She bit her lip. A habit you noticed that she only got when she was embarrassed. "What's wrong?" You asked when you tore your eyes away from her chewed-on pink lips.

Kate sighed when her lips parted. "I forgot my textbook. I thought I packed after Clint- Clint-on Clinton and I got back from Archery, but I guess I didn't." Kate didn't look your way.

She was now warm and aware of every move she made.

"Hey, I surprisingly remembered mine." You pulled yours out. "We can share." You moved it in between the two of you. "Really?" She charmingly lifted her eyebrows. "Really." You said.

Kate let out a little cheer and wrapped an arm around you. "You're a lifesaver!"

If only she knew.

Kate didn't remove her arm from around you as quick as she usually would have; instead, you could feel her hand slide up your muscles to your shoulder.

Kate had been noticing your muscle growth as of late but didn't know where it came from...

Eventually, Kate removed her touch from you.

Yet you still felt her.

"It's no big deal." You said about sharing the textbook. But you and Kate both knew that based on your actions recently, you remembering to bring your book or not falling asleep in class was a miracle.

This was Kate's first time forgetting a book, and she could sense Clint's disappointed sigh.

Kate smiled as she watched your fingers turn the corners of the page in the textbook. Her eyes lifted to your fingers, to your sweater, and up to your face. She watched your side profile as you silently read a paragraph to yourself. She only stopped when you looked her way and hid a smile when you pushed up your glasses. "What's up?" You quietly asked.

"Do you want to come to my archery practice tomorrow?" Kate whispered back.

Kate wasn't sure what you had going on in your life. You and her were close but not close, like with Peter, Ned, and MJ. So she never pushed.

Plus, she liked you and didn't want to ruin what you two might have.

But when you said, "Yeah! That sounds awesome!" Like a dork, Kate smiled.

dividers by @/benkeibear

#spider person #kate bishop imagine #kate bishop fic #kate bishop hawkeye #spider person x kate bishop #spider woman #spider girl #spider parker #y/n parker #peter parker is our brother #kate bishop x reader #spider-reader #spider reader #female reader x kate bishop #female reader x hawkeye #hawkeye series #hawkeye #kate bishop is soft #kate bishop #the lizard #kingpin #otto octavius #ps4 spiderman suit

[youandtom2]

Little Birdie Part 2

Summary: You always thought you hated Tom more. But after a wild night that has now led into a confusing situationship you start to question who you should be hating more: your nightmare brother Andy, or his best friend Tom? w/c: 8.8k TW: just brothers being horrible A/N: Wow wow wow okay here it is. Please be kind as I am still easing myself back into this. And I know compared to the first one, it's barely anything, but writing 8k was actually a REAL struggle for me. There's probs mistakes and horrible writing but hey! i did it. And also DO NOT WORRY THERE WILL BE A PART 3. I DON'T INTEND TO LEAVE THIS STORY AS IS BUT I THOUGHT YOU GUYS SHOULD AT LEAST HAVE SOMETHING. okay okay okay all forgiven? Enjoy :)

LITTLE BIRDIE PART 1 // MASTERLIST

There was a book you once read years ago exploring the relationship between humans and dreaming, and it captivated your mind from the instant your fingers turned the first page. You were thrilled by its language, its storytelling, its theories and explanations to the point where you were absolutely obsessed by the enigma that is dreaming. The leading theory intertwined with its words was that dreaming was a human’s way of analysing their memories, learning from situations with hindsight and acting as a rehearsal for future challenges. 

It was a book you rarely forgot and a book you rarely shut up about. You remembered the moment you finished it and the profound imprint it left on your mindset. Your hands didn’t want to let go of it. From then on, it prompted you to question every dream you ever had since then.

The dream you had last night certainly fulfilled that theory. Images of your own troubled memory involving your own troubled brother flashed before you. Aside from the unstable, hostile relationship, there was actually another reason why you tended to stay away from Andy. And for some reason, your mind decided to remind you just last night in the form of a dream. 

Ten years ago, when you were eleven, you had just finished reading Matilda for the first time, one of the few books that occupied a home on your shelf as one of your all-time favourites. The storyline was almost an uncanny retelling of your life and because of that you immediately fell in love with it. You found so much of yourself in Matilda; a lonely girl with a love of books living with a family that didn’t quite understand her. Admittedly, your parents were much kinder to you than Harry and Zinnia Wormwood, but you couldn’t say the same about your brother. Andy resembled Matilda’s menacing brother, Michael Wormwood, in every way.

Prior to reading the book, you had had an awful week dealing with your brother who was in the early stages of his teenage years and you had yet to find a way of escaping his torment when your parents weren’t around. That was until you read Matilda, sitting on your front in a pillow fortress, swinging feet and unblinking eyes with the book perched so close to your face. One of your favourite moments was when Matilda had cleverly pieced together a very daring prank involving bleach hair dye, originally intended for her father but you took inspiration from it in any way you could and decided to replicate something similar for your brother. With the confidence given to you by Matilda, you found your mother’s bleach and concocted a mixture that was poured directly into your brother’s shampoo, cackling as you had finally gained a way to get back at your brother. At the time, you thought it was enough to keep him off your back, that with enough time he would realise the error in his mistakes for ever having mistreated you like Matilda’s brother Michael did. 

It was the biggest regret of your life. 

Things didn’t go your way. In the end, it was Andy that made sure you realised your mistake and a day later, you had suffered more than you ever had before. 

Enraged, Andy had stormed into your room, hair blazing with a tinge of orange that originally had you in fits of giggles, but when you realised the true extent of his anger, you weren’t laughing for long. He had fought to grab you by your ankles and vigorously drag you from your bed whilst insults and slurs passed through his lips. You had kicked and squealed but your parents were out for dinner with business partners. You were left by yourself, left to suffer the carpet burns up the length of your spine as he pulled you out of your bedroom, to defend yourself when he had pulled you to the edge of the half flight of stairs and sent you tumbling down the steps. Being a carpeted staircase with fewer than 10 steps, you got away with what could’ve been worse but it didn’t mean that the injuries you sustained you didn’t ache from. So blinded by anger, unprecedented for a fourteen-year-old, Andy couldn’t explain to your parents how you ended up with a split head that needed stitches. He couldn’t explain how you had ended up with carpet burn blisters on your back. He couldn’t explain why he did what he did simply because your parents didn’t need an explanation. They knew what had prevailed. 

It was a night you realised just how far Andy was willing to go to show how much he hated you and you vowed to never risk provoking him again. It was also a night Andy vowed to never risk hurting you again after the trouble he got himself when your parents arrived back home. 

Well, at least not physically. Little birdie would already have scuttled away before it escalated to that point.

The dream had fizzled out into a dark void as the memory turned blank. As you arose from your slumber, you wondered why, of all nights, would your conscience decide to resurrect such a memory. Again, you reminded yourself that no one really knows exactly why people dream and what messages they carry, but if you were to guess; perhaps knowing what transpired last night between you and Tom, it was your deeper conscience telling you to consolidate an old opinion of yours; that Andy was the truer evil you should be hating more. Not Tom. Not after how Tom looked at you with a soft glazing of affection in his eyes just before you fell asleep, tenderly caressing the skin of your thigh with a grounding squeeze, the very feeling that made your heart jump with giddiness. 

Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers. 

Maybe it could be a feeling you could get used to. You were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt just to feel more of it. 

The soft cotton of your black suite caressed your skin as you tossed and turned. The early morning sun streamed in through the small square window in the corner, illuminating the entirety of the shed. You had never slept on the couch before; it felt so out of routine. You were much more used to the bed upstairs hidden behind the blackout curtain, so you weren’t accustomed to waking in the bright morning light. It was somewhat uplifting. Albeit, the cramp in your neck was less so. 

You basked in daylight’s glow for just a minute before acknowledging how bare you were sandwiched between a blanket and the couch. Despite it being a foreign feeling, it was hardly startling compared to the savagery your body endured last night. Your ass stung, your pelvis throbbed and your head pounded. But nothing hurt more than the tightness in your chest, a pressure so suffocating that your heart was almost murmuring to be free. The pain of solitude was a bitter one. 

You, along with the black cinders of a dead flame, a raggedy towel and bottle of half-empty whisky lying by the side of the couch, and a broken promise were the result of what happened when Tom Holland got his way.

He didn’t stay. 

You wanted him to stay and he knew that, but he didn’t stay.

Your pain tolerance had been worn down to its last thread and you wanted nothing more than to be cocooned in comfort and warmth. You sought recovery under the thin blanket, grasping it in fists and pulling it tightly over your shoulder as you turned on your side while a sigh deflated from your lips.

It was too good to be true. Tom was never going to change and now, neither will you. You should just keep hating him like you did before.

~~~~

Andy also seemed to be a no-show when you eventually entered through the back patio doors into the living room. Although the air was still and calm, there was still a feeling of unease crawling up your spine when you walked past the mess left behind by Andy’s friends. Without thought, your eyes subconsciously landed on the settee where Tom had placed himself last night before he came to you, where he had sat with fire in his eyes as you bravely threatened to expose his misdemeanours. You remembered feeling like you had achieved something, like you were the victor of a battle that seemed impossible to overcome. Little did you know it was a threat he was going to face head on, and suddenly last night’s…punishment instantly flashed in your mind. 

Upon the thought, a sudden flash of realisation coloured your mind and your hand whipped to clamp over your neck. You almost forgot. The bruise on your neck. Shit, was it bad? 

You shifted nervously in front of the sheen of the oven door, seeing not one but multiple red splotches staining the skin of your neck in its reflection. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could you walk around here so brazenly with that on your neck? Trust Tom to be an issue even when he wasn’t here. Bastard. 

“You got nerve comin’ back in here after your little stunt last night.” Andy’s groggy voice along with shuffling bare feet entered the kitchen. Fuck, you were hoping for a little reprieve to wash, change and lather your neck in makeup before Andy even had the chance to leave his bedroom. Between the dream you had last night and the bruise to your neck, Andy suddenly being here caused your heart to thump a little harder in your chest, but it was his tone that made your blood run cold. 

He sounded…pissed. Well, that was nothing new. But aside from his usual abhorrence towards you, there was something about his expression that resounded a little deeper. Grumpier. His eyes also looked at you a little differently, like he knew something about you that he hadn’t before, something contemptible and there were no second guesses as to what it was. He can’t know. How could he know? Tom--he wouldn’t…would he?

Your hand stayed resting against your neck out of pure guilt while Andy roamed the kitchen, searching fridges, cupboards, drawers.

“What?” 

He froze in his tread and turned to look at you expectantly with a deep scowl. “Uh, the whole Tom thing? How can you not remember what you did? Are you that fucking stupid?” 

You swallowed thickly, quickly preparing words. “It…it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know what he was going to do!” 

“Well, what did you expect? You were pretty much asking for it!”

You took a hefty breath, body shaking with anger. “Fuck you, Andy. Just fuck you. Why can’t you just be on my side for once? That’s what brothers are supposed to do!”

Andy scoffed and turned back to the measly bowl of cereal he poured himself. “Well if you had just given me a slice of pizza like I asked then none of it would've happened! That’s what sisters are supposed to do, right? Do you know how pissed he was after you blackmailed him? He was blaming me for it, saying that I told you everything and how I betrayed him and how he can’t trust me anymore. I mean, how the fuck did you even know all of that?” 

Oh. He’s talking about that. 

Your hand remained casually resting against your neck, under the shield of your hair as a sigh blew past your lips. With quieter subdued words, you mumbled, “you guys aren’t exactly the quietest when you’re drunk and high.” 

“Well mind your own business and put some headphones on next time!” 

“Whatever.” 

“Why are you holding your neck like that?”

“I slept on my couch last night. Got cramp in my neck.” Ready to leave with your secret still undisclosed, you turned to make your exit from the kitchen, heading towards the bathroom. 

“Weirdo.” 

The shower was a degree or three colder than you would usually have it. Something about the freezing cold water inflicted a feeling of clarity upon your skin, like a breath of fresh air, cleansing the stains of the debauchery of last night’s secret. Even as you stepped out, you exited with a new mentality and left the promiscuous past to drain away with the water. However, in its place frustration took over. Typical that whatever relief was to be had from the refreshing shower was only to last mere minutes, because now the heat of loathing had consumed you. Of course, your inner-consciousness blamed it on Tom, but there was a small minority that was self-loathing too for even letting it happen. You should’ve known better. 

You stopped, frozen to the spot. The thing was…you did know better. You passed him off as a womaniser, the ‘selfish player’ who strives for nothing but his own satisfaction and only chases girls that share the same intent. You read him like one of your books, exposed everything you knew about him directly to his face and he confirmed it all without hesitation. So was there really anything surprising about what he did? No, of course not. You knew how sharp the blade was before you let yourself get cut by it. 

So why were you still bothered by it?

The thought still followed you as you mindlessly dabbed concealer over your neck. You watched yourself in the mirror and for just a moment tried to avoid looking at yourself as just a reflection and rather how others would see you.

It was obvious you had never been adventurous with your appearance, your virgin locks hung around your usually make-up free face, adorning wise but inexperienced eyes. What you saw was what you got. Nothing you wore represented your family’s wealth; plain, basic clothing and lacking the expensive accessories that your brother might choose to wear, but it showed that you didn’t need money to be content and preferred a simple life. The more deductions you pointed out about yourself, the more you regretted ever reading Sherlock Holmes, because fuck, you were so readable. So transparent to the eye that you assumed it was why Andy knew how to push your buttons, that your parents knew exactly what books to get you for your birthday, and possibly how Tom was able to win one over on you. 

The epiphany hit you hard and fast. Perhaps knowing Tom wasn’t the issue. After all, it certainly didn’t cause any vulnerability on his part. Perhaps the issue resided with never considering what others saw in you. Tom knew you would grow curious despite how adamant you were of opposing the idea. He knew that even though he was everything you hated about your brother and more, you would still fall into his trap. He knew how he made you feel when he was near, dissecting every sign until they were raw and unfiltered. He just knew. He even fucking told you!

“You’d be surprised at what I know about you.” Because you were so fucking readable.

Your head sunk deep into the caverns of your hands, quietly swearing an oath to yourself to stay away from Tom Holland until you figured out how not to be so transparent. 

“Hey, dude. I’m sorry about last night. You up for comin’ round again tonight? I’ll get dinner and beers. My treat. Cool, dude. See you at about 7.”  

As the words of an invitation echoed through the hall, you realised it was going to be much harder than you anticipated.

~~~~~

You spent most of the afternoon fretting over how you could avoid Tom’s inevitable return to the house. Your eyes gazed out of your bedroom window to see your shed exactly the way you left it. You couldn’t face going back there tonight. Tinted with Tom’s presence, it now served as a constant reminder of last night so it wasn’t exactly the best place to be if you wanted to avoid him. Being in the house was too risky which meant the only option you had left was to simply leave.

As 6:45pm ticked by, you tied your shoelaces, grabbed everything you needed and descended down the stairs, ready for your walk. You weren’t exactly sure where you were going to go, maybe you would find a Starbucks somewhere and read, but right now, your priority was to leave the house first and foremost. 

“Where you goin’?” Andy had asked, his lips already sealing around a bottle of beer. You were surprised he even cared enough to ask. 

“Out.”  

“Good. Can finally give me some peace.” 

Never mind. “Whatever.” 

“Scuttle away, little birdie,” he chimed, seconds before you slammed the front door. 

The pebbles clicked loudly underneath your feet as you marched your way down the private driveway. The sun had already begun to set beyond the horizon leaving behind orange remnants to colour the sky. Despite the day creeping into night, it was still warm and you praised yourself for leaving behind the jacket you considered wearing and indulged the feeling of having a warm breeze gloss over your arms. It was the first time you had seen outside of your house in a while and with that came the realisation that there was as much beauty in the real world than there was in your books. You should’ve done it sooner. 

No, really. You should’ve. Because Tom’s Lamborghini was slowly rolling up your driveway towards your house. You checked your watch; 6:49pm. Fuck. He was early. Why was he early? Why couldn’t he have turned up when he was supposed to? Why must you have to go through this again? 

Heartbeat accelerating, you looked back towards your front door calculating whether you had enough time to run back, but it had seemed you had walked too far and he had driven too quickly. There was no turning back. You had to face him head on.

Sweaty palms sunk deep into your pockets as you continued your stroll towards the gates, head down and ignorant of everything around you. Naively, you hoped for him to simply drive past you and pay you no mind, but of course, it was Tom Holland. Any opportunity to be a pain in your arse he was going to take it. You just wanted to be invisible, and despite the tinted windows and the pounding music coming from within, there was no way he wouldn’t see you and there was no way you were going to be able to avoid him. 

You expected a slow stop, a rolled-down window and a witty comment to leave his mouth before making the rest of the journey towards your house. And in all honesty, you would’ve preferred it that way. In fact, you would’ve preferred anything over what actually happened. 

The bubbling rumble of the engine stilled just a few yards ahead of you. The door opened and slammed shut again seconds later where a hearty silence followed. Quietly desperate to know what he was doing, you couldn’t resist the urge to lift your head to see him casually resting against the side of his car, waiting for your approach with his hands deep into pockets. Dark eyes latched themselves onto you as you neared and they instantly ignited a flame inside you, one that you hadn’t learned to tame yet. 

In the split second you had before anything was said, you reflected back upon your earlier epiphany about how readable you were to him. Although you hadn’t found a solution to it as of yet, you decided to play into it, letting your brows sink into a scowl, writing the words ‘fuck off’ across your features with as much ambition as you had. 

His head cocked to the side, purposely exposing the blemish you had regrettably left on him last night. You seethed at the sight. “Hey, little birdie. Where are you headed?” 

Fuck him and his patronising, mocking tone. “Out.”

“At this time?”

“Maybe I would've liked it to have been at least thirty seconds earlier, or if you were ten minutes later. Either way.” You had intended it to be a clear insult to him, but yet you couldn’t fathom why he was chuckling with that stupid grin on his face. He took a step closer and folded his arms, his eyes examining you head to toe. Even in a different light, his eyes still contained the same lascivious quality as they honed in you. You really wanted to shiver but you also didn’t want him seeing what those eyes did to you, not when you were supposed to be pissed at him. 

Longing stare…

Wordlessly and without warning, his hand reached out towards you allowing his fingertips to glaze over your jawline, purposely tilting your head to expose the part of your neck you doused in makeup. Your body burned at his touch, a violent act of betrayal of your own conscience as it pleaded with you to hate him rather than quietly yearn for him. 

Gentle touch…

He watched the hidden bruise carefully, twitching under the bob of your throat from swallowing nervously and perhaps with a twinge of guilt for having concealed it. Why you felt guilt, you weren’t quite sure. It had been estranged from your emotions all day, and if anything, you felt empowered by concealing what he left behind. But under the scrutiny of his disapproving glare, you were far from the feeling.

The click of his tongue spiked in your ears. “Andy doesn’t know, does he?”

“No. But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it? I suppose you’re just going to go and tell him anyway-”

“He won’t believe me. Not unless he sees what you’ve covered up.” 

“It’s better that way.” 

“And why’s that? I thought we agreed that little birdie’s free to do what she wants--” 

“And I thought you agreed to stay.” The words had fallen out in a trice before you had a chance to stop them. Tom wasn’t a fool to miss the anger behind them, and had he been a straight-up idiot, he would’ve missed the sadness in your eyes too. 

His hand retracted the moment you continued. “That’s why Andy doesn’t know; because I got played by your game even though I know what you’re like, and it’s fucking embarrassing. I didn’t want Andy to find out that I was that stupid and naive to think that maybe for once, you wouldn’t be an asshole. It’s like it’s all some sort of prank for you, isn’t it? Because after all, you’re the one that comes out on top and I’m the one being humiliated. It’s always been that way, I should’ve been fucking smarter to know it was never going to change.” 

Tom swallowed every word and embraced the silence for a moment before muttering your name in a voice quieter than normal. 

Soft whispers…

“Just…do me a favour and leave me alone. Shouldn’t be too hard for you. God forbid Tom Holland spends more than one night with the same girl.” 

Not sparing a second look, you turned towards the gate and quickly walked further from Tom who was left with nothing else to say. Although you were already fully convinced, you had secretly given Tom one last chance to explain himself. Just one chance to stop you and explain why he didn’t stay like he said he would, and still as you walked away and exited through the gates, he didn’t take it. 

Each step you took was harder and quicker than the last. You drove your heel into the ground as that same frustration pumped through your veins, constantly abasing you for being so caught in the humiliation of it all. 

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself when you noticed your hands shaking. For a while, you spiralled into your own subconscious questioning why his absence this morning hurt you in a way you didn’t expect it to. No matter how profound your own self-analysis of what you were feeling was and why you were feeling it, you couldn’t find a remedy for it.

And like with every other problem in your life, instead of confronting it, you ran away from it.

~~~~

“Hi mum. How’s the holiday?” Your tone was chirper than usual as you spoke into your phone. It didn’t at all reflect how you were feeling inside, but you couldn’t let your mum worry about you. It would ruin her holiday. 

“Hi honey, it’s nice hearing from you. It’s amazing; weather’s sunny and warm, the food’s great and all is relatively stress-free, well, except from when your dad dropped his passport at the airport and nearly lost it--” 

“Jesus!” 

“I know! I told him! The moron. Anyway, how are things with you and Andy? You sound like you’re outside. Oh God. Is the house still standing? It hasn’t burnt down has it?” 

An airy chuckle fed through the line. If only she knew that Andy was just half of your problems. “Yes, it’s still standing so no need to panic. And I’m out for a walk. Decided I needed to leave the house for a bit to get some peace and fresh air. Andy has…been his usual self. Don’t get mad but he had a party the first night.” 

“Ugh! I knew it! Truthfully, I always knew he was going to throw a party but I didn’t think it was going to be as early as the first night! Great. Now I owe your father a grand. It wasn’t too disastrous, was it? You must’ve spent the night in your shed. Did you get pizza delivered?” 

You opened your mouth but no words came out. You never told her you were going to be staying in your shed, nor did you ever tell her about ordering pizza, regardless of the fact they happened on separate nights. She was still, in some aspect, right. 

“Y-yeah, I did.” A long sigh broke the pause in between your words. “Hey, can I ask you something? And be honest with me.” 

“Sure. What’s up?” 

“Am I predictable?” 

Your mother somewhat spluttered through the phone as she tried to find her words, obvious enough that if she had just said the first thing that came to her head you would’ve already had your answer. 

Yes.

But of course, she was your mother, and in her sweet, maternal manner, she decided to answer delicately. “Well, you were always set in your ways, even from a young age. Very much a creature of habit. Routines and tendencies, you know?”

“So…I shouldn’t have a routine?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying. Everyone has a routine. For example, your dad and I get up at 7 every morning, we’re at work by 8, we come home at 5, we make dinner, we watch TV. Every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, I go to the gym. Yes, I have a routine but that doesn’t mean you’re going to know whether I’m in the mood for tea, coffee or vodka and it’s the same with you. I know you spend your evenings reading, but that doesn’t mean I know whether you’re going to read romance, mystery or horror. My point is; just because you have a routine, doesn’t mean your personality is predictable too, just the likelihood of your next steps. I’m just making it apparent that yours hasn’t changed since you were young. What’s got you asking?” 

The truth sat on your tongue.

Andy’s best friend, Tom, whom I’ve hated most of my life, said he was going to fuck me even though I didn’t want to fuck him, but I still let him fuck me, and now I’m angry that I let him fuck me because it proved that he knew I was going to let him fuck me. 

Obviously, that wasn’t what you really said. “Lately I’ve been feeling like everyone seems to know what I’m going to do before I even know what I’m going to do.” 

“Well, change up your routine. Read in the afternoon and take a walk in the evening. Spend time in the living room instead of the shed.” 

You hummed quietly, deliberating her advice. You remained quiet for just a second too long for her liking.

“Honey?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with Andy. He hasn’t said or…done anything hurtful to you, has he? You know it would break me if he was to repeat what he did ten years-” 

“No, no, it’s okay. He hasn’t done anything in particular, at least nothing I can’t handle myself. Now go and enjoy the rest of your holiday. I’ll text you soon, love you.” 

She sighed, unconvinced, but replied back with the same familial passion she had always shown you. 

As the hours drifted late into the night, you made it to your local Starbucks and sat with your hot chocolate encased in your hands. While your book lay unused beside you, your old habits drove you to blankly stare out of the window, casually watching other people as they continued on with their life while you reflected on your own. The conversation you had with your mother still ran circles around your mind, and as ever the insightful person she was, you thought it best to heed her words carefully. Change your routine, she said. 

What was your routine? What was a guarantee in your life? Well, for one, you had to look no further than your own memory of Tom’s words not too long ago. ‘It's hard enough that the sight of Andy makes you scuttle away so easily…’. As much as it pained you to admit, he was right. It was the only cause-and-effect Andy and his friends could rely upon. The longer you thought about it, the more and more of your little tendencies surfaced in your head. 

So you decided to change them all. 

When your mother said to change your routine, when translated into your mind it read along the lines of ‘when Andy comes along, don’t scuttle away. When his friends are invited over, stay in the house. Throw them off, don’t let them know your next steps.’ Although it was going against your human nature, you were going to put your mind to it. Do not let anyone have a higher power over you. Do not let anyone know what you might do next. It was going to be a real test of your mental and emotional stability. 

~~~~~

As it had appeared, that test arrived sooner than you anticipated. Not two days after your mother had bestowed you with her advice, Andy had organised yet another party at your house. There wasn’t exactly a strategy in place per say, but you had already pre-emptively taken everything from your shed because you didn’t want to dangle the temptation of retreating to your sanctuary in front of you. You wanted to remain strong in your ambitions no matter how you were going to do it or how difficult it was going to be. 

As night fell, you watched from the upstairs office’s tall windows as people started to flood into the house, just to get an idea of what to wear. You wanted to look the part, wanted to look like you belonged there and not just a lost ghost floating around the house like you had been before. Most girls you saw were pretty casual, thankfully swapping the short dresses and skirts to jeans and a nice top, choosing comfort over style, nevertheless still maintaining that expensive price tag. That shouldn’t be an issue; you pondered over the choice of Balenciaga shoes you had in your wardrobe. 

Once the party had started, you gave yourself a generous 45 minutes to psych yourself up for the night ahead, throwing back a few drinks you had brought in from the shed, fixing up your hair and makeup with a little more detail, and spending many, many minutes staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes fell to your neck, the deep purple of the bruise had simmered to just a faint wash of pink that it wasn’t completely obvious to the eye, almost invisible in the dark. The foundation brush in your hand hovered a few inches above it, wavering between covering it up and leaving it be. 

No. Leave it. Who cares who sees it? Not you. Not anymore.

The brush rattled against your vanity desk as you dropped it, turning towards your bedroom door and walking downstairs before a second thought could cross your mind. 

With each step you took, you counted the number of things that were a guarantee for tonight: drink, drugs, games, chaos, debauchery, gambling, a mess. You had always seen the result of those things when you stepped onto the scene the next morning, but tonight, you were going to see them happen in action. A little daunting if anything, but if you were trying to look on the brighter side, you were fulfilling an unsuspecting part of your curiosity that had always wanted to see what exactly Andy got up to during these parties of his. 

The crowd was once again split between the open living room, the kitchen and the veranda. There was no doubt that in time other rooms would eventually be used for other things, but the night was still young, sober and relatively innocent. You wanted to grow with it. 

You couldn’t help but notice how you caught a few eyes with your entrance; a group of girls in the corner whispering between each other, a few of Andy’s friends turning their heads to catch a glance; shock, confusion and curiosity evident in their pregnant stares. It was attention you weren’t used to receiving, but that was the whole point of tonight. Change your routine. Be unpredictable. Be unreadable. Take control. 

There was a pair of eyes you had yet to see, though. 

Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers. 

Stop it. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” It was Andy, lips pursed, teeth gritted. It was obvious your sudden appearance was startling to him, and it was no surprise to you that he wasn’t taking it well. His control was slipping…

“Here? As in my own house? What could I possibly be doing here?” The sarcasm dripped from every word as you yanked back your own arm from Andy’s fist. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

You smirked. “Says who?” 

He opened his mouth again, at a loss, but was interrupted by louder, higher-pitched voices as they swarmed in from behind him. “Oh my God, Andy, is this your little sister?” It was Morgan, the girl Andy had brought back to your parents’ bed on the first night. She seemed to be engrossed with you, introducing herself animatedly and already inviting you to get drinks with her from the kitchen, much to Andy’s dismay. Despite being a little dumbfounded by Morgan’s sudden interest in you, you decided to not question it with the sheer satisfaction of knowing that you were stealing his attention. 

“She was just leaving.” 

“What? No, come on, let her join. You said tonight was going to be chill. ‘The more the merrier’, you said. Remember?” 

Morgan whisked you away by the curl of her arm wrapped around your shoulder, bearing nothing but her pearly whites as she escorted you to the colourful array of expensive vodka bottles, mixed amongst the fat, golden champagne bottles on the kitchen counter, every second one uncorked. Morgan helped herself to the champagne glasses stacked up in the tall cupboard like she had done it so many times before, grabbing one for herself and one for you. God, it was like this wasn’t even your house and she was the hostess. 

“It’s so nice to finally talk to you. You know you’re like a myth to us.”  

Your laughter was loud and abrupt. “What?” 

“No, seriously. We all knew Andy had a little sister but, like, we never see you.” 

She handed you a glass of bubbling champagne and you took it delicately between your fingers, twirling as you reflected upon her words. “Well, I’ve decided to change that.” 

“Good for you. I’m sure there’s plenty of people who want to meet you--oh! Talia! Over here! It’s Andy’s little sister!” 

A slender body circled around yours and facing you was Talia, the girl you once fantasised over replacing. She greeted you with a smile on her face against the backdrop of her long, blonde hair as a red hue crossed yours. It was a smile that seemed genuinely welcoming and a sly thought spawned in your mind; maybe she doesn’t know about you spying on her that first night…

You couldn’t imagine her being so welcoming if she did.

“Oh hey! I can’t believe you’re here. It’s so strange seeing you outside your shed.” It was so strange to see her not latching onto Tom. Speaking of, where was he? “By the way, thanks for letting me use your toilet that first night, I don’t think I would’ve made it if you hadn’t. I was just so drunk and I literally couldn’t hold it.” 

“Sure, it was no problem.” 

“Really? I kept thinking that I had pissed you off.” 

Well…“Don’t worry, it wasn’t you. It was…um, Tom. Didn’t want him in, honestly.” 

A look of disgust contorted her features at the mention of his name. It didn’t make sense in your head albeit it was something you could resonate with. Perhaps you weren’t the only one to be foolish enough to lose at his game. Her eyes rolled widely and the click of her tongue conveyed a message that didn’t need words. She apparently despised him. Both a sucker for gossip, Morgan filled you in on the details with Talia giving extra snippets of insight every ten seconds or so, and after an unnecessarily long and dramatic build up, you found out that Talia and Tom used to have a little friends-with-benefits-no-strings-attached situation going on over a number of months. Talia had been using Tom in the same way he was using her; to alleviate boredom. It wasn’t news, honestly. In fact, it was hardly discreet. But the shock came from what Talia told you after. 

“He texted me like three nights ago saying he wanted to end it.” 

He would’ve been with you when he texted her. You must’ve been asleep by the time he did. A nervous glance to your left gave away your paranoia, regardless you probed for more. “Why?”

“Something about maturing or growing up or whatever.” She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder with a short, unbothered sigh, her phone now perched in front of her face. “Oh well. I mean it wasn’t like we were exclusive. I can get my fun elsewhere.” 

Stuck in thought, your eyes mindlessly gazed over Talia’s shoulder where your focus pulled your attention to the living room, full of bodies sitting, standing, conversing, drinking, all blurring into one amalgamation of movement. But there in the centre of the room was one motionless figure, a solid rock amongst the waves and it caught your attention immediately.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

Adrenaline was fed through your veins at the sight of Tom, just like it had done before. His stature was strong and confident as he faced you, clutching a beer in hand while the other burrowed into his pocket. He had you in his sights and with a glare so firm from eyes so dark, you found yourself being ensnared by them. You couldn’t put a name to the expression on his face and it left you wondering what his intentions were. Several ideas coursed through your mind but none had any semblance of plausibility.

With slow and careful movements, Tom tilted his head in a smooth motion to crack his neck. Only then, did you figure out what was going through his head.

With a breath caught in your lungs, you stayed vigilant as he subtly raised his beer just inches into the air with the neck of the bottle tilted slightly in your direction, dedicating a small, personal toast with the gentle nod of his head. What the hell did that mean?

You swallowed, cautious. You turned your attention back to Talia. “So…um, you haven’t heard from him since?”

Her eyes looked at you from the phone. “No. Knowing him, he’s probably moved onto someone else. Lucky bitch whoever it is. Tom was kinda my favourite to fuck around with. He knew what he was doing if you know what I mean.” 

“No.” You deadpanned. “I don’t.”  

Oh yes you do…

Having that very enlightening conversation with Morgan and Talia was just the first of many. Every second you spent around the house, the more people began to realise that you were here to stay and took the opportunity to find out all about Andy’s mysterious little sister. As introverted as you thought you were, you were actually enjoying the conversations, realising that not every one of Andy’s friends were as conceited as he was. At first it was the girls, watched by many begrudging boys as you single-handedly stole their attention, a problem that could only be resolved by joining them, chatting to you, finding out more about you and lure out the embarrassing stories of Andy they knew you had stored away somewhere. You were more than happy to oblige as it passed that point in the night when people had estranged themselves from sobriety, opening up with every drop they drank, including you. Although, you told yourself you didn’t want to take things too far, not on your first night of liberation from Andy’s silent clutches of which he was struggling to retain. 

You had chatted to all but two. Two boys who had cowered to the far ends of the room for the majority of the night, watching, observing, refusing to follow the crowd. There was no attempt to patronise you, manipulate you, mock you in any way because, like your mother had suggested, you were completely out of routine. So out of character that the boys didn’t know what to do and unlike what you were dreading earlier, the party had developed into something you were happily embracing. It had actually pained you to take a break from the party when your phone had completely drained of its battery, so overused from adding multiple people on socials, adding numbers, taking photos that it had actually died. 

Quietly excusing yourself, you made your way up to your bedroom believing you hadn’t been followed. It wasn’t until you tried to close your door behind you that a foot had stopped it from sealing you in. You barely made it to your charger when the intruder grabbed your arms and violently spun you around.

“What are you doing, get the fuck out my room!” Alcohol fuelled your anger as you spat words at your brother who was far from pleased. 

“You little shit. You told all my friends about Mexico?!” 

Mexico was your biggest weapon against Andy. It was a time where you and your family went on a summer holiday to Cancun a couple of years ago; an amazing time for you, but for Andy, it was his most embarrassing memory. Just days after arriving, Andy had an unfortunate incident involving the sea, lost swimming trunks, and a very awkward interaction with a lifeguard. Andy was absolutely mortified and the rest of the family giggled uncontrollably as they vowed to him to never tell a soul. It didn’t stop them from talking about it when the family got together, and while they kept their promise to never tell another soul, you had been embarrassed one too many times by Andy to solemnly keep that vow. 

“Serves you right for embarrassing me in front of your friends all those other times-”

“That’s not the fucking same!” 

“In fact, you’re right. Mexico doesn’t even begin to cover the amount of times you’ve embarrassed me. Now get off me before I start telling all your friends about everything else.” 

His grip tightened, containing your struggle. “You’re not going back downstairs,” he ordered. 

“Face it, Andy. You’re just too scared to admit that all your friends actually prefer me over you. That’s why you never ever let me near when you have them round.” You knew all too well that you were provoking him, something that you promised yourself never to do again, but you’ve lived so many years cowering from him. Just for once, you wanted to give him what he deserved. 

“Shut up!” Enraged, Andy shoved you, and you landed just short of your bed, your spine landing onto the wooden bedframe with a clatter. With the door being closed and the music blasting downstairs, no one could hear the fight ensuing in your room. Once again, you were left to fend for yourself. But you were older and stronger than what you were ten years ago, surely you could stand a better chance against him. 

In a tanlge of limbs, punches and kicks were thrown where and when possible, the two of you caught up in a careless fight with no clear winner. It lasted several pain-inducing minutes until the final, winning blow was taken by Andy who had managed to get you pinned to the ground. You weren’t sure what to expect from him as he forced you to the ground. Of course damage had already been done, but what else could Andy do to ensure you would stay here like he wanted you to? He knew as well as you did that at the first chance of escape, you would take it, so with every second that passed, the worry and fear in you increased. He was stuck for options, having nothing to keep you pinned. 

There was an intense moment of anticipation. Your eyes remained locked in place with his as you internally battled it out with each other, waiting for either to have the chance to do something. 

You clocked the moment his eyes wandered to your neck and heat rushed to your cheeks because you knew exactly what caught his attention. 

“What’s that?” 

“None of your business,” you spat. “Let go--” 

“Is that…is that a hickey?” His voice was incredulous as he brushed a harsh finger over it, expecting it to be make-up but when it didn’t disappear, his eyes locked back onto you and his hand remained around your neck. “Who?” He demanded. The fire inside him roared ferociously. For a moment, the thought that he could potentially suffocate you crossed your mind. “Who?!” 

To both of your surprise, the door swung open. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing? Get off of her!” 

Andy’s weight was alleviated from you very swiftly, and your eyes caught on to the soft brown curls of Tom as he hauled him away from you, giving you just enough time to catch your breath and find your feet. By the time you came to stand, Tom had Andy shoved against your bedroom wall, a look of confusion riddling his face. He still didn’t know why his best friend had sided with you, and it made him all the more angry to think about what you had said earlier. He wasn’t ready to admit anything. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Tom yelled, face reddening by the second. “She’s your sister?!” 

Andy glared at him through furrowed brows. Defending you was so uncharacteristic of him so it felt like a stab in the back for Andy. “Why are you taking her side in this, man?” 

“How could I possibly take your side when you just attacked her?” 

The two boys continued to argue in front of you while you stood silently behind them. The novelty of having Tom openly defend you against Andy had yet to wear off, so you were curious to see how far he would go and how it would play out.

“Dude, she told everyone about Mexico!”

“So? You’ve embarrassed her in front of all of us before.” Damn, right he has. “You told us all she was a virgin--”

“Was?” There was a brief silence in the argument, the gears winding in Andy’s head. His eyes twitched, stealing a glance of you behind Tom’s shoulder but contempt drove them back to Tom. “You know, don’t you? Who did it? Huh? Who left that thing on her neck?” 

“Probably someone who can do a better job of looking after her than you can--”

You decided to finally cut in. You mustered the confidence and spoke firmly. “Tell him.” 

Tom turned to you, a little surprised, almost as if he wanted confirmation of what you just asked him to do. With his eyes gazing over your features like they had done so many times before, he was able to clearly see the resolution written in your eyes and the confidence he saw as you stood your ground, unblinking. A small smirk tugged at his lips. He could read you so well. 

Little birdie’s free to do what she wants. 

“It was me.” 

“You…no, you’re lying. I don’t believe you.” 

“He’s telling the truth.” You came to a stand in front of Andy. “The night you had all your friends round for sports night. Tom left early, didn’t he?” 

“How do you know that, you were in your shed…”

“Because he didn’t go home. Did you not think it was weird that he came back the next day with a hickey on his neck? That it’s just as faded as mine is now?”

An epiphany soon glossed over Andy’s eyes. “You were holding your neck…but you-you said you had neck cramp.” 

“Or I was covering something up.” 

Andy looked to you, to Tom and then back to you, betrayal and anger riddling his features. Between you and Tom, neither of you could quite tell who he was going to lash out at first and as a precaution, Tom took a step in front of you, curling his arm around your front. You initially thought it strange that Tom felt the need to protect you given what your brother had just found out, especially since you knew that you were considered ‘off-limits’ to your brother’s friends. Then again, it wasn’t out of brotherly-protection, it was out of greed and possession, and knowing Andy and his lack of familial compassion, you realised that you were just as much in the firing line as Tom was. His next words attested to that. 

“You…whore.” 

Now Andy had called you a lot of things, but a whore was never one of them. It had your blood boiling, your skin crawling with absolute disgust, and your molars grinding together. What did you do to deserve a brother as rancid as him? 

The moment he uttered that word, you pounced for him in a blinding rage. What stopped you from actually hitting him was Tom, making a very mature decision to collect all of your flailing, swinging limbs and calmly escort you out of the room. Andy attempted to retaliate but with a swift and threatening ‘do not fucking touch her’ from Tom, he retreated and sulked his way to his room. Regardless, you refused to relent until you were safely out of his sight, out into the front garden and trailing towards the front gate with the music of the party dulling behind you. 

Once you reached the gates, Tom turned to you once to ask you if you were okay and in your alcohol-adrenaline-induced state, you simply nodded. That was good enough for him. 

Wordlessly you followed Tom, having little to no idea what he was doing or where he was taking you. All you knew was that he had your hand in his and you were walking out of your driveway. You shook your hand lethargically to test whether or not he would let go but his grip only tightened, apparently adamant on his decision to take you away from here.

“Where are we going?” 

“We’re going back to my house.” 

“Why?” 

“So that this time, you’ll know I’ll stay.”

All things considered, you should’ve said no. You should’ve reminded yourself exactly why you were trying to avoid Tom. You should’ve stopped him and given him a ‘what-for’ for all the hurt he had caused you like you did with Andy. But you didn’t because you couldn’t stop reminding yourself of why you wanted to say yes.

Rough hands, dark eyes, desperate moans. Longing stare, gentle touch, soft whispers.

You were tired of the reasoning, tired of the tension, tired of constantly battling, and tired of trying to decipher what every little minute detail meant. You just wanted to say yes and get on with it. 

So you did. 

Part 3 coming soon

#why am i nervous to post this??? #i rlly hope you guys like it #i know its just a filler #this shit will have a part 3 #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #smut #dom!tom holland #rich!tom holland #tom holland imagine #enemies to lovers #big brothers best friend #little birdie #tom holland x you #peter parker fic

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Opening Up (Peter Parker x Male!Rogers!Reader) *PLATONIC (For now) *WARNING*

Characters: Peter Parker x Male!Rogers!Reader, Steve Rogers x Teen!Brother!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

WARNINGS: This is a dark one, Male!Reader kind of unwillingly breaks the Geneva Convention, mentions of torture (HYDRA), burns, scars, being shot, blood, injection, unwilling sedation.

Notes: I didn't intend for this to be as dark as it came out, but hey ho it happened. Also it was already super long when I was writing and trying to finish this and come to an ending so kind of didn't get around to making Peter and reader's relationship more than a friendship, so when requests open I'm hoping to do a much happier and nicer part 2.

Can you do a male reader fic where the reader is from the 40’s and is steve’s baby brother who has always looked up to him and Bucky(3-4 years old)? He got caught by hydra after Steve went into the ice, was given Pyrokinesis and has a bunch of scars on him because of what hydra has done to him and maybe some burns, the avengers go into a hydra base just to clear it out and then they see reader going to attack them (he’s around peter’s age by now), reader fails, they take him back to compound, he’s no longer brainwashed, he has a little reunion with Steve and Bucky, he meets Peter because he needs a friend who’s around his age and then they start to date after a while and comes out to the avengers? Sorry if it’s too long! You don’t need to do this one if you don’t want to

HYDRA has been your life for your whole life. They were your education, your home, your social life. You had grown up not knowing anything other than HYDRA, their agenda and plans, and so it made sense that for a long time, you never questioned them. You never questioned if they were good people, or if they had your best intentions at heart, or how it even came to be that you wound up in their care, or even how strange it was how they’d make you sleep in a strange contraption and how sometimes you’d wake up and people had aged, changed, died and replaced as you had been asleep, or the experiments ranging from simple tests, to excruciating injections that made your blood feel like fire, or the training, and how no one explained it to you. You’d grown up with it, why would you question it? 

You didn’t question them until your first supervised mission, where they took you to a secluded tiny abandoned village, leading you to a large barn on the edge of town, and instructed you to set fire to it. You turned to your supervisor, and asked your first question. “Why?” 

“We want to see how strong you have become without restriction. Go ahead, make us proud. Do not stop until it is nothing but ash.” He told you. His voice was calm, confident, and almost friendly. Like there was a silent promise behind is words that if you did good and made him proud, you’d be rewarded. And so, you turned to face the barn, held your arms out, them igniting up to your shoulders, facing your palms to the building as fire shot out of them, and hit the building. The wooden structure set alight quickly, and it wasn’t until the flames had trickled up the panels to the roof did you hear the screaming start. The banging on the walls on the inside of the barn. Of the people of the village you thought was abandoned. An absolute terror washed over you at what you were doing, but you felt your supervisors eyes on you, your eyes darting to the other agents, also staring at you, their hands on their guns, prepared to shoot you if you disobeyed or turned on them. You were scared, too scared to stop the flames, to scared to protest. You burned the barn down, no one emerging. Your supervisor praised you, giving you a pat on the back. The other agents made jokes with you on the way back about the atrocities that they now felt comfortable sharing with you, as you were now ‘one of them’, and you just tried to smile, nod, act happy to be there and accepted by them, and try to keep your eyes not too wide, to not drift off into your thoughts, to not cry. You tried not to think of the barn, even years later. Tried was the key word there.

Since then, you’d begun to silently question what was happening around you. Every mission when they had to burn buildings to the ground, destroy documents, heat metal rods and chains to use in negotiations. More evidently, all of this wasn’t harm-free to you. If you didn’t concentrate enough when using your pyrokinesis, you could and have accidentally turned your flames on yourself, leaving you with burns on your arms, chest and even on your face. All of it left you questioning why. Why? Why were they making you do this? Why did you have powers and not them? Why did they forbid you from talking when out on missions, especially with outsiders? Why? What was the point? But after you asked them that, you quickly learned to stop asking questions after the torture they put you through for a week, though that alone answered it all for you. They were making you do this because they were bad people. You had powers because they did something to do, because they’re bad people. They didn’t want you talking because you could spill secrets, because they’re bad people. And you had helped them, whether aware or not, you had helped them do awful things, and that made you a bad person. You were just as bad as them, and so even if you hated them, you believed you were where you belonged. 

At least, that was the only thing you could consider, up until your current situation. That situation was the base you were currently at, being under attack. Your first orders were to go with the lead scientists and your handler to escape, but as things became more dire, escape plans going out the window one by one, you were given new orders- stay behind, hold them off long enough to let the others escape. You knew if you asked questions they’d probably just shoot you, so you just nodded, and headed back down the hallway you came from to fight off whoever was attacking, knowing whoever it is was either going to be your victim, or your executioner. You hoped the latter. 

As you turned the corner, you saw unfamiliar faces, one making arrests, another coming out from searching a room and turn to face you. His eyes met yours through his blue mask, and for a second you swore he was familiar, and neither of your moved. However, the second he took a step towards you, you set your arms on fire, pointing one at him. However, before you could project the fire, a red headed woman appeared from behind him and took a shot at you, hitting you in your shoulder, before another shot hit you in the side, breaking your concentration, and the flames began to burn you instead as you yelled in pain, clutching your arms to your chest as they finally extinguished, and you tried to ignore the pain in your arms to focus on your wound in your stomach. You looked up, seeing the man approaching you quickly. “Stay away from me!” You yelled at him. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He told you firmly as he stopped in front of you, pressing his hand on your shoulder wound making you cry out before you tried to gather yourself. “Cooperate with us, okay? What’s your name?” He asked. You glared up at him, heaving with pain. “I know for a fact that you’re not here on your own accord, so drop the act and we’ll help you, okay? What’s your name?” He said. You clenched your jaw. 

“I don’t know.” You answered, trying to sound strong and bold still despite your situation, but your voice wavered and shook like a scared child. You saw his expression soften a little. “Now will you stop touching me? When I’m in a lot of pain, I can lose control of the fire.” You warned, seeing him frown, his eyes looking at your scarred and now badly burned arms. 

“Not until we have your wounds tended to. We’ll get you some pain control, come on.” He pulled you along, passed the woman who shot you, and several others till you were outside, and you were moved onto a jet with the man. “I’m Steve Rogers.” He finally introduced himself as he got you seated, and you just nodded, trying to focus on not setting this machine, run by flammable fuel, on fire by accident. A medic came over, injecting you with something that eventually made the pain a little more bearable, injecting around your bullet wounds as well before they worked on them. Able to actually think, you looked around and assessed your situation, and you seemed to process that this whole thing was… odd. Why were you not in cuffs? Why did they shoot you twice then get you immediate medical care and pain control? Why was this man, who had now took his helmet off to show a blonde man underneath, being so caring and remaining by your side? You turned to the man, who sent you a reassuring smile, patting your good shoulder gently, before you felt yourself become drowsy, realising that whatever the medic had given you, was a lot more than a painkiller- it was also a sedative. 

“You bitch.” You slurred at Steve, slumping in your seat a little, before your eyes grew heavy. You faintly heard him apologising but promising it’ll be okay. You didn’t believe him. 

When you regained consciousness, you didn’t move for a minute. You didn’t open your eyes, try to shift or move in the slightest. It was a force of habit to try and eavesdrop on anyone nearby, and you got lucky. “Why didn’t you ever bring it up?” You heard a woman’s voice ask. She was a few feet away you deemed from her voice. 

“It’s not exactly an easy conversation, and not something I’ve wanted to talk about.” You recognised the new voice, which was in front of you and pretty close, as Steve. “I did my own research, and I found nothing after a certain point, so I just presumed the worst and didn’t want to think about it or speculate what happened, it was too painful.” He explained to the woman. 

“The time it happened as well didn’t help either.” Another male voice spoke up, this one behind you, and you felt yourself go tense for a moment from the surprise, and also from not liking the idea of someone behind you, and realising you were now surrounded and outmanned. “Documents were destroyed, even now there’s so many people, including civilians, who are deemed missing from that time, and we’ll never know how many were totally fine and we just lost documentation of them, and who had tragic ends… he’s slipped through the cracks.” The voice continued. There was silence in the room, and you remained still. “Steve… if I had known he was in there-”

“There was nothing you could have done, Buck. You were brainwashed and it was totally out of your control. Even if at any point you saw him and recognised him, you would have had your memories wiped the second they realised something was wrong.” Steve interrupted him. Now you weren’t an idiot, you realised that you were the centre of their conversation, and the man behind you, was at some point in your group you were with. You thought about it long and hard, especially about their comments on ‘slipping through the cracks’ and Steve seemingly looking for you at some point… Steve knew you, though you didn’t know him. 

“Speaking of brainwashing, are we sure that he’s not going to wake up swinging? We have restraints…” The woman spoke up. 

“No restraints, that’s final Nat. He’s had his memory wiped at best, since he doesn’t even know his name, but if he was brainwashed, he would have fought back a lot harder, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have warned me not to touch him because he can lose control when he’s in pain.” Steve responded sternly. It was at this point that you decided that it was time to ‘wake up’. You shuffled a little in your sleep, the room going dead silent as you opened your eyes. In front of you, as you predicted, you saw Steve sat in a seat beside your bedside, and across the room, you saw the red haired woman who had shot you, her arms crossed. You stared at her, not saying anything. Steve leaned down, interrupting your line of sight, and smiled at you to distract you. “Welcome back, kiddo. You feeling a little better?” He asked you. You remembered your wounds- the gunshots, the burns… you sat up in bed, feeling where you were shot in the side, and while it hurt quite a bit, you felt the bandaging and the pain was mostly dull now. You checked your shoulder, finding the same, and then you looked at your arms, fully bandaged. “We’re flying in the best doctor we have who can make fresh injuries and even scars practically invisible.” He explained, and as you did so, you glanced to your other side, seeing the other man leaning forward in his own chair, who had brown hair, and a metal arm. He nervously smiled at you, clearly anxious to be there. You didn’t recognise him, and he seemed to recognise that, and either calmed down or deflated. You couldn’t tell. 

“Where am I?” You asked, turning back to Steve. 

“You’re in New York on our base.” He explained to you. “You’re safe.” 

“You sedated me.” You pointed out. “And stuck me in a room with the woman who shot me.” Steve winced to himself, and you focussed back on ‘Nat’, who raised an eyebrow at you. “Here to make sure I behave?” You asked her. She smirked at you, walking over, offering her hand to you. 

“I’m Natasha Romanoff, as long as you don’t try and set me on fire, I’m sure we’ll get over that little bump and become good friends.” She said, You hesitantly shook her hand, before she stepped back. “I’ll leave you two to explain everything, I’m sure he wants answers to the conversation we were having a moment ago.” She said, before turning and leaving. Steve looked at her confused, before turning to you. 

“You were awake? How much did you hear?” 

“I know you somehow know me, and I know he was at some point with… them.” You commented, turning to the man opposite, who tensed a little, before standing up, grabbing his chair, and carrying it around to sit next to Steve. “I want answers. Now. Who are you?” 

Steve and the man who you now knew as James, had done as told, answering your questions fully and to the best of their ability, and it very quickly became overwhelming and daunting for you. They sat and told you that your name was Y/N Rogers, Steve was your older brother, and you were actually born in 1943. In 1945, James, who was Uncle Bucky to you back then, fell off a train and was found and kidnapped by HYDRA, and Steve crashed a plane before the end of the war, freezing in ice for several decades. HYDRA were the group, who at some point after your brother’s ‘death’, kidnapped you under the radar and did their experiments on you to give you your powers, and while that was happening to you, James was being tortured, brainwashed and had his memory wiped, and you were both frozen repeatedly over time. Eventually Steve was found and unfrozen, James was able to escape several years ago, they reunited and joined a group called the Avengers, and the Avengers were enemy number 1 to HYDRA, which is why they were attacking the base. Steve didn’t realise you were his little brother until they ran a DNA test to try and locate any family and find out your identity while you were sedated.

Being told things about yourself that you didn’t know was understandably daunting, and after dropping everything in your lap, answering any other questions you had- like other family and what happened to them, and asking if they’d forgive you if you did bad things for HYDRA. Steve tried to get you to elaborate, but it was at that point you shut down. Bucky convinced him to leave. Soon the doctor he told you about arrived, and she silently fixed you up though you refused to go into the strange machine that she promised you would get rid of your scars, so when she was done, you were escorted to a small bedroom, where you locked yourself away and just tried to process everything. 

You hadn’t realised until now, that part of what made what you did in HYDRA just bearable, was that the people around you didn’t judge you for what you did, because they encouraged and participated. Now you had a big brother, his best friend who had been in HYDRA and had an idea of what kind of thing you could have done, surrounded by ‘the good guys’, and now the idea of them knowing what you’ve done, being disappointed, being disgusted, fully capable and justified in killing you for what you’ve done was terrifying to you. You couldn’t bare to look your older brother in the eyes and tell him what you did. 

A knock on the door made you tense. Steve, Bucky, some other people including Natasha had tried to talk to you, but you had totally blanked them. You just presumed it was one of them, before the door opened, and you turned and saw… a boy? He was about your age, and he awkwardly smiled and waved, stepping in, and closing the door behind him. “Hi, I’m Peter.” He greeted. You didn’t say anything, and he awkwardly walked over, referencing a part of the bed that was empty, and when you didn’t respond, he hesitantly sat down. “Mr Stark said that you’re Mr Roger’s brother and told me to talk to you… I didn’t know Mr Rogers had a brother.” He explained. You sat up cautiously and turned to look at him, and he saw some of the scars on your neck and side of you face, and he frowned. “What happened?” He asked. You looked down at your hands, bandages now removed, showing your new burns that were finally starting to heal.

“When I break focus… the flames burn me.” You muttered. You don’t know why you were talking to him- maybe because he wasn’t exactly a friend of your brother, maybe because he was your age. You looked back at him, and he frowned for a moment, before he shuffled a little closer. 

“You have powers? Pyrokinesis?” He asked, and you nodded. “I have powers too… I was bit by a radioactive spider, and now I can stick to stuff and I can like… sense things. Mr Stark calls it my Spidey sense.” He explained. The whole idea sounded strange, but then again you guessed having fire powers was strange. “I make my own webbing, and I shoot it out of this thing on my wrist, see?” He asked, showing the contraption around his wrist.

“When you say you make your own webbing…?” You inquired, and you saw him get flustered, before elaborating he meant in a lab. It made you smile. An actual genuine smile. 

Peter sat and just talked with you- he did most of the talking, going off into rambles due to nervousness, but eventually he calmed down enough to just talk. He got you to open up a little, explaining what Steve had told you, what happened to you in HYDRA, how you came to be here now. 

“So they just dumped all that on you? That’s a lot.” He sympathised. 

“That’s not why I’m not talking to him.” You told him. He looked at you confused, and you sighed. “Peter… when I was 12, they took me on my first mission, and they… they made me do something really bad. And after that, whenever they told me to do anything- destroy evidence of what they or I had done, I did it, because one time I asked questions and they made me suffer for it… and I don’t want Steve to hate me for being a bad person.” You told him. 

“... You were in HYDRA for as long as you can remember, right?” He asked. You nodded. “You knew nothing about anything outside of HYDRA, that they were the bad guys until after that… mission, right?” He asked, and once again, you nodded. “And when you realised, you asked questions, and they hurt you badly, right?” 

“Yeah… they tortured me for a week.” You confirmed, and he froze at that, before swallowing and nodding. 

“And that scared you into just doing what they said because you were scared of what they’d do next time?” He asked, and you nodded. “Then it’s not your fault. You were pressured and forced to do it. It was to keep yourself as safe as possible in that situation, Steve will understand.” He assured. You shook your head. 

“Peter… they made me burn down a barn full of people. An entire village of people. I heard them screaming, and I killed them. To this day, I don’t know why they made me do that, what the purpose was. Afterwards they treated me like one of them, like I was part of their team… I’m one of them, even if I don’t want to be.” 

“That’s not true, Y/N! Listen- Bucky was a part of HYDRA, he did a ton of bad stuff, he was brainwashed and had his memory wiped and was tortured all the time. He's guilty about what happened, but he’s not responsible, that was all HYDRA! HYDRA made him do it, they made you do it. If you hadn't done it, they would have done to you what they did to Bucky. I know that for certain. Steve will know that. Bucky will know that. We all know that.” He reassured you. “Listen… just talk to him, okay? Steve found Bucky a great therapist, I’m sure he could find you help too. He’s not going to be angry at you- maybe at HYDRA for what they’ve done, but not you.” 

You sniffed, fumbling with the bedsheets between your fingers. “You promise?” You asked, glancing up at him, and he smiled confidently and nodded. “Can you go find him for me?” You asked. He grinned, nodding, getting off the bed, promising to be right back. 

Peter stepped out your room, closing the door behind him, before turning to walk down the hallway, immediately stopping when he saw Steve sat slumped on floor just outside your room. “Mr Rogers? How long have you been out here?” Peter asked in a startled whisper. Steve looked up at him with red eyes. 

“Long enough to know my little brother needs me a lot more than I realised.” He answered, keeping his voice low. Peter frowned. 

“He… wants to tell you himself.” 

“I know… give me a few minutes to pull myself together, okay?” He asked, Peter nodding as Steve wiped his eyes, pulling himself up, and pulling himself together. “Thank you for being there for them, Peter. I really appreciate it. They’re going to need some help getting used to everything in the modern world, mind helping them out with that?” 

“Not at all, sir.” Peter smiled and nodded, before making his leave. Steve took one last big sigh, before walking over, knocking, and letting himself in. 

“Hey kiddo, Peter said you wanted to talk to me?

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @dailyteambucky @mxrvelsaos @insanityismysanity12345@klanceiscannon14 @marvelhoeingismyhobby-blog @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort  @freyathehuntress @abbybills22-blog@mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @alicedanganh @sleutherclaw @sleepy-coffee-bean @stawwpp@rebellionofthecattle @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic  @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe @petersparkers3

#marvel #avengers #steve rogers #peter parker #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #captain america #spiderman #wintersoldier #black widow #winter soldier #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x male!reader #steve rogers x teen!reader #steve rogers x brother!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x teen!reader #peter parker x rogers!reader #x reader #x male!reader #x teen!reader #x brother!reader #x rogers!reader #reader #male!reader #teen!reader #brother!reader #rogers!reader #request

[mrmaybank]

Fandom: DC, MCU

Title: Did She Run Away?

Series: Wheres My Love (2/??)

Character(s): Peter Parker, The avengers, Talia Al Ghul, Connor Kent, Jon Kent

Request: No

Genre: Fluff, Angst

TW: None

A/N: Reader used to be superman’s sidekick . When I through New York in here, if y’all didn’t expect this to be a DC, Marvel cross over idk what to say

Key:

(Y/S/N) = Your superhero name

(N/N) = Nickname

(S/W) = signature weapon

Masterlist

December 1st, 2019

Almost two years that’s how long you had been here, in New York city. You were living with your friend Peter Parker and his aunt May. It had hit the news quickly that (Y/S/N) had moved from crime fighting in Gotham, Bludhaven, and Metropolis. To fighting crime in New York city, you hadn’t had a run in with the avengers, the rip off justice league as you called them, or heroes that were affiliated with them yet.

That would change tonight though. Since you decided to suit up about two months into your stay into New York, you had only gone after minor thugs. Which you found patrolling, which you were doing at the moment. When a familiar spider-boy who wore bright red decided you need company.

He swung down landing in front of you, before he could say anything you spoke. “What you want?” You asked.

“I thought you would like some company,” he replied, he stuck out his hand. “Spiderman,” he told you.

You rolled your eyes before taking his hand, “(Y/S/N),” You replied. You two began talking for awhile, getting to each other without revealing anything about your secret identities. You too had moved so you were sitting on the side of building with your legs dangling off the edge.

“So what’s it like working for superman?” He asked.

You shook your head, “I didn’t work for him, sure I was his sidekick but there no power dynamic. I would boss him around sometimes, he would do the same to me. He’s my mentor but he was also so much more then that,” You replied.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, “It must have been hard leaving. I don’t what I would do if I had to leave behind black widow or Iron man,” You gave him a sad smile, and nodded.

“Why’d you leave?” He asked. You froze, you hadn’t told anyone not Peter not May. The only people who knew were the ones back in Gotham and Metropolis. He must have noticed your reaction to the question because he quickly told you, that you didn’t have to tell him.

“No, I’ll tell you. It’s fine,” you replied.

“You sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,”

“It’s fine,” you assured him, you took a deep breathe. “My robin died,” you told him.

He tilted his head much like a confused puppy would, “Huh? Your bird died?” He asked.

You laughed and shook your head, “No, Batman’s sidekicks are called Robins. Mine died, he was killed by the Joker. It was couple of years ago but I never got over it, I spent months reviewing the footage from Batman’s suit from that night,” your voice cracked, “Trying to figure out if someway, somehow he wasn’t dead. But I just found myself watching my baby die, over and over again.

I did it until realized he was gone, that he wasn’t coming back. So I started visiting his grave, telling him everything that he was missing. I thought I was okay, I really did. Then one night I found myself fighting the joker. And were there, at the warehouse or what remained of it.

And he started things and I just remembered how mad, I was,” tears rolled down your face, “Mad that this sick son of a bitch was alive, but my baby bird was dead. Then I just snapped and I almost killed him and I just remember thinking that was I wanted to do it. I want him dead, I was gonna kill. If Nightwing and Orphan hadn’t shown up, I would have killed him,” You looked over at spiderman, “I’m not a murder,” you told him.

He shook his head, “Your not a murder (M/N).”

“How..?”

He removed his masking, revealing that he was Peter. “I figured it out, while you were talking,” the brunette explained.

“Can we go back your apartment?” You asked.

Peter nodded, “let’s go,”

March 2nd, 2020 (There is no COVID)

As the elevator went up heading to the top floor, where currently the Avengers resided, so did your nervous. Peter must have sense this because he placed a hand your shoulder, “Relax, everything is gonna be okay,” he told you.

You scoffed, “Telling people to relax doesn’t really make them relax,” You replied, “Besides this like meeting the Justice League all over again,”

“But it’s the avengers this time,”

You shook your head, “Still. Do you know how bad I embarrassed myself the first time, I met the Justice League?”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Peter replied.

“It was that bad!” You exclaimed, “I fell into the fucking pool of Justice!” You looked over at Peter and noticed he was trying not to laugh, which earned him a small shove. “Asshole, don’t laugh!”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” He replied, “Pool of Justice?”

You bit your lip trying to stop yourself from laughing as well because you knew if you laughed, Morpheus would strike you down then and there. “Yeah…the justice league isn’t the best at name things,”

“Then I feel really bad for there children,” Peter laughed.

You shook your head, “Surprisingly there kids have good names, well the ones who didn’t name themselves or had names before they got there,”

“Named themselves? Names before they got there?” Peter asked.

“Well sure the justice league treats there sidekicks and refers to them as there kids but most of them aren’t. Like my buddy Dick, he might be Bruce’s son but Bruce didn’t name him.

Dick’s parents did and so did my parents. And as for naming themselves, sometimes there sidekicks are manmade. Like my brother, Conner. He was made to be a clone of Clark and Lex Luther, he escaped the lab though and he needed clothes. So he stole them from one of the guards and the name on the outfit was Connor,” You explained.

Before Peter could respond the elevator door opened signaling you were on the avengers floor. “You ready?” Peter asked, you nodded. The two of you exited the elevator and walked down a small hallway that took you to living room.

Where a butch of people sat you recognized them all right off the bat. There was Black Widow or Natasha Romanoff, Iron Man or Tony Stark, The god of thunder or Thor, Hawkeye or Clit Barton, Bruce Banner or the Hulk, and Steve Rogers aka Captain America.

They all smiled at you, “You must be (M/N) Kent,” Tony smiled at you.

“I am indeed,” You smiled back.

Natasha patted the space next to her, “come sit down,” she told the two of you. You both did as you were told.

“We’ve heard a lot about you from Peter,” Clit told you.

“Good things, I hope you,” you replied.

“Really good things,” Steve assured you. You spent the next hour or so getting to know them all. It was nice, you laughed a lot this much since Jason died.

“How’d you end up with, Superman and superwomen?” Thor asked.

“My parents dropped me off outside, Superman’s house. Apparently they were work buddies with his Superwomen and they couldn’t take care of me. I was two, they left a note with my name and I haven’t seen them since. But it’s okay because Superman and Superwomen raised me as there kid. There my family,” You explained.

“So why’d you leave, Metropolis and Gotham? If all the family you’ve ever known was there?” Tony asked, “Get tired of the Justice League up your ass?”

You shook your head, “The love of my life died,” you told them. You felt the whole rooms atmosphere change.

“I’m so sorry, what happened? If you don’t mind me asking,” Natasha asked.

“It’s okay,” you replied, “He was murder by the Joker and years later I thought,” You shook your head, “I didn’t think, I knew I was okay. Then I’m back at what remained of the warehouse, he was killed, fighting the Joker and I almost killed him. I was lucky two of my friends were in the area because they pulled me off of him and at that moment I knew I couldn’t stay,” you explained.

“I’m so sorry,” Tony replied, “I wouldn’t know what to do if Pepper died, especially if I found myself fighting the person who did years later,”

“It was hard,” You replied.

“Well, on a happier note,” Bruce spoke up, “we don’t usually summon people to the Avengers tower, you’re aware of that correct?” Bruce asked, you nodded.

“Well were thinking about giving you an opportunity, to work with us. You know this business way better then a lot of us do, and we could use that,” He explained.

You lit up, “Really?”

Bruce nodded, “You could teach a lot of us some things and some of us have been in this game for years.”

“I’ll try my best,” You replied.

“So you in?” Peter asked.

“Of course,” you smiled.

August 23rd, 2021

You sighed as you unlocked the door to your apartment, yes your apartment. You moved out of May’s and Peter’s a couple moths ago. Finally having enough money to buy your own, which you were very happy about. You loved Peter but after a night a patrol all you wanted to do was go to sleep, which was with him that was not so easy.

As you entered the apartment you were quick to realize that the Tv and the light in the living room were on. This set you on alert, you pulled your (S/W) out and slowly made your way to living room. As you got closer you heard a laugh, one you had heard so much that you almost immediately knew who had broken into your apartment.

You rolled your eyes, as your entered the living room. “Con-” you cut yourself off. Curled up, asleep next to Connor on the couch looked like a mini-boy version of Louis Lane who couldn’t have been more then four years old. “Whose that?” You whispered.

“(M/N), meet our younger brother, Jon,” He smiled at you.

You were very skeptical, “Is this another clone?” You asked.

Connor shook his head. “So Clark and Louis…,” you didn’t finish the sentence.

Connor nodded once more, “Yep, they had sex. I wonder how that would work, I always-,” you grimaced and cut your brother off.

“Connor!” You exclaimed, “I don’t wanna think about my mother and father figure having sex!” Your shouting cause Jon to stir next to Connor, immediately opening his eyes.

He blinked a couple times before looking around eyes landing on you. “(M/N)?” He asked. You smiled and nodded, getting down on your knees in front of your baby brother.

“Hello, Honey,” you smiled.

Before Jon could respond Connor spoke up, “You know, Bruce had another kid,” Connor told you.

“Really?” You asked not taking your eyes off of Jon.

“Mhm, he’s an Al Ghul,” This caught you off guard, you turned Connor wide eyed.

“Yep, I know,” Connor replied.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed.

“Hey! Watch your mouth in front of Jon!” Connor scolded you.

You put your hands up in surrender, “I’m sorry,” you replied.

“You better, do you know how much of a bad mouth Dick, Stephanie, and Tim have?” You watched as Jon visible lit up at those names and quickly looked around.

“Dick?” Jon asked, you shook your head.

“He’s not here buddy,” you turned Connor, “he can’t be more then four, when did Louis have him?” You asked.

“She was three months at the time you left.”

You couldn’t believe it, Clark and Louis probably knew but they didn’t tell you. Hell they didn’t even tell you he was born. You were anger but also hurt, Connor could tell. He could always, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry (N/N),” he told you.

“How could they not tell me?” You asked.

“I don’t know, maybe they thought you’d come straight home,” Connor suggested, but you both knew it wasn’t true.

“I can’t believe it!” You exclaimed. “I’m just much as there kid your two are,” you gestured to Connor and Jon, “I didn’t know my parents, Clark and Louis were the only I had. How could they not tell me?” You felt tears burn your eyes and at this moment you didn’t care, you let them fall freely.

Connor weakly smiled at you, he moved off the couch and sat down on your right. He took your hand into his, you could tell he was fighting back tears. You two had always been close, doing everything together. So when one broke down, the other was very close to following because you didn’t like seeing each other like that.

You didn’t like seeing each other in pain, or sad, or sick. “(M/N), Clark and Louis aren’t good people. You always looked up to them, so I never wanted to tell you but there not. Heck once Jon’s old enough, and Clark doesn’t need me around to take care of his son. I’m gonna grandma and grandpa, I’m not gonna be welcome at home anymore.

I’m gonna be superboy, he is. Because he was kid Louis and Clark wanted,” You watched as the tears fell down your brother’s face, “Not some clone made of him and his arch enemy, not some random kid left on his door step. He’s gonna be the golden boy, the golden child and were gonna be left behind like we never exist,” Connor told you.

You didn’t wanna believe it but deep down, you knew it was true. There was no avoiding it. “Do you ever wish you lived with Lex, instead of Clark?” You asked.

Connor nodded, “Because he even the small times I see him because I have too. Because as much as Clark and Louis want to deny it i’m his kid too. He treats me better then either of them did, he might be asshole sometimes and supervillain but he’s good dad. You ever wonder, what it would be like if you parents kept you?”

You nodded, “Everyday. I wonder what it would like. If they take me back now, even with how fucked I am,” Connor squeezed your hand.

“You not fucked up,” He told you.

You shook your head, “I am! Connor, I am! I couldn’t take care of myself before Jason died, I can hardly do it now. Hell i tried to kill the Joker. I’m having nightmares about the Lazarus Pit and Jason crawling out of his grave. Even though I know it’s gone, and so is he. I’m fucked Connor,”

He shook his head, as he pulled you into a hug. “I love you so much,” he told you, “Your brother, and trust me your not fucked. Clark, Louis, the

joker, and everyone else is,” you felt an extra pair of arms wrap around you and looked to see Jon.

He smiled at you, “I love you too,” he told you.

You couldn’t help but smile as well, “I love you too, Jon. I love the both of you,” you told them.

“Now I have two awesome brothers!” Jon exclaimed. Your smile grew even wider at that.

February 1st, 2022

You, Peter, and Nat were building away from were the other avengers. There was group of people who had landed on Avengers and tower and Friday classified them as threat. The group of people, they brown robes and on the back of them was a symbol one you had seen before.

You knew it but you couldn’t remember where it was from. You remembered it being from a league of some sort, you watched as leader of the group, a women, looked around and as your eyes laid on her you realized who she was, Talia Al Ghul.

“Shit!” you exclaimed. You moved from the building you were on to the Avengers tower. Nat and Peter’s called your name but you didn’t care, as you cared about was making sure Tony, who blasted was currently pointed at Talia, didn’t do something that would cause a war behind the league and the avengers.

You landed in front of Talia seconds before Tony was about to shoot, “Stop!” You exclaimed.

“Good of you finally show up,” Talia told you, you just rolled your eyes

“(Y/S/N), what are you doing?” Tony asked.

“You can’t hurt her, you’ll start a war behind the league and the avengers and believe me that is the last thing y’all need,” You explained.

“A war?” Steve asked.

“The league is a very power power group,” you turned from your friend toward Talia, “What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Can’t I visit my son’s boyfriend?” She asked.

You cocked your eyebrow at her, “Huh?”

Talia just rolled her eyes, “Jason, my son?”

You couldn’t help but be more confused, “Since when is Jason your son?” You asked.

“Since a couple months ago,” she replied.

“Talia, Jason died. He’s been died for years,” you replied.

Talia just smiled at you, “Oh (M/N), he’s alive,” you froze, “And you know it. You’ve been having dreams of him and the Lazarus Pit,”

You shook your head, “No.” You simply said, “Jason died years ago, The Lazarus pit was destroyed years before that by the Justice League,” You exclaimed.

“Yes, but I rebuilt it. I need someone to take of Damien,” She replied.

“So you brought my boyfriend back to life?!” You screamed.

Talia frowned at you, “I thought you would be happy,”

“Oh i’m thrilled!” You stomped your foot, “So fucking thrilled, do you know how dangerous that is? Talia, sure he can protect Damian but he is gonna have urges cause by Lazarus. He’s gonna be so unbelievably anger at Bruce, the Joker, Dick! Everyone!” You exclaimed. Then you remembered, Damian was in Gotham, “Is he..,” You didn’t finish the sentence, you didn’t have too.

“He is,”

“Talia,“ you whispered.

“I didn’t know,” she replied, “You need to stop before he does,” she told you.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Your connected to him. You can stop him, you can help him,” Talia replied. One of the assassins whispered something to her and she frowned, “I have to go but you need to stop him.”

Before you could speak they were gone you just stared at where they once were. “(M/N)?” Tony asked.

You turned around and noticed Nat and Peter had now joined the other avengers, “I have to go home, I have to go back to Gotham,” you replied.

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯/Next

#jason todd x male reader #peter parker #the avengers #talia al ghul #connor kent #jon kent #league of assassins #Clark kent x Son!reader #Louis Lane x Son!reader #Connor kent x Brother!reader #Jon Kent x Brother!Reader #dc x male reader #marvel x male reader #x male reader

[noellie-writes217]

Word Diary

Chapter one: Whelve

Summary: Tom comes back from a hectic year to find his ex from his teens in his parents’ house. She’s got big plans for herself and all of Tom’s brothers know, he’s a risk for her.

Series warnings: Smut, exes to lovers, pining, additional warnings per chapter

Tom came home for the holidays on December twentieth of 2020 but was not expecting to see what he saw in his childhood home on that day. His mother sits there indulging in conversation with a friend she’s had since Tom was born.

“Tom! Honey! Look who’s here!” She points to her friend who’s been playing with a puppy.

“Hello Holly. It’s good to see you.” But it’s still really awkward given the history… but then again, Holly doesn’t know the history.

“Tom honey, come see Rosalind’s new puppy! His name is Cerberus.” Tom’s brows raise a little more when he hears the name.

Instead of kneeling and playing with the puppy immediately, he stands there for a second wondering if this is real or not.

He hears laughing from the kitchen, and then his younger brother Sam walks out with Holly’s daughter, Rosalind and a few dishes for dinner.

Once he sees Rosalind, everything stops for him. She’s wearing that smile she used to wear around him when they were alone and no one knew. The one he hasn’t seen in years. The one he’s dreamt of. The one Harrison has made fun of him for fantasizing over. The one he’s had no luck finding in any other girl. The one he fell in love with right before he left for carpentry school. It still hasn’t changed.

She looks up for a moment at him and her smile fades so she quickly leaves with Sam as he tells another story.

Harry of course notices and texts the brothers group chat calling an emergency meeting.

BROTHERS GROUPCHAT

Harry:Meeting in Paddy’s room. ASAP

Sam:why?

Paddy:Yeah and why my room?

Harry:All will be explained. Just get there

Tom:I just got home. Can it wait?

NON FAMOUS HOLLANDS

Harry: Tom’s still in love with Roz. He’s either gonna be a dick or a loser if we don’t talk to him about it. That’s why we need a meeting.

Sam: Seriously? Still? He was such a dick last time they saw each other.

Paddy: Agreed

Sam: If he starts acting like that again she might not just leave for Paris for school, she could leave forever

Harry: Thus why something. Needs. To. Be. Done.

Paddy: Meeting in my room

All of the brothers get to Paddy’s room in a short few minutes. And Tom is told to sit on his bed while the twins get ready to interrogate him and paddy guards the door.

“I saw the way you looked at her Tom,” Harry starts.

Tom tries (and fails) to bullshit through this conversation, “what are you talking about?”

“We’re talking about you being awkward about Roz being here,” Sam chimes.

“Roz is like a sister to us, and we’ve seen you fuck it up with her to the point where she left the fucking country,” Harry says, “so whatever your thinking about her, stop. She’s too good for you and everyone knows it but you apparently.”

Tom gets angry at his younger brothers for trying to tell him what to do. He has since they were all little… well, little-er. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Rosalind left so she go to ballet school in Paris. That had nothing to do with me.”

Now it’s Paddy’s turn to speak up, “Oh yeah? When was the last time you talked to her?”

5 years almost. Right before he went to carpentry school.

“Exactly.” “We lost a sister because you were a fucking asshole.” Sam crosses his arms. “And she probably wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t for that other dick.” His twin copies his gesture.

‘Does Roz have an ex?’ He wonders. She does not. The dick that Tom’s brothers are referring to is Rosalind’s father, who just got his mistress pregnant. Rosalind moved back to England to support her mother during the divorce.

“Look, mates,” Tom starts, “do you even know what happened between me and Roz?” It’s silent for a moment. “Exactly. So don’t assume that just because I used to like her, I’ll automatically still be in love with her. I’m not. Nor have I ever been!”

What Tom didn’t know was that Rosalind heard everything that just happened.

Instead of busting in on them, she just goes back downstairs and decides to text Sam that his dish was ready.

“Shit, my foods done,” he states, “let’s call this a wrap for now and follow up later.”

The lot of them sit at the table eating the food Sam made.

Most if the conversation is made up by Tom’s parents and Rosalind’s mother. She compliments Sam on the food.

“Thank you so much, Holly. Roz made desert too, and it looks absolutely delicious. What’d you say it was?” Sam asks the girl.

“Lavender vanilla bean beignets.” She informs.

“My mouth is already watering with anticipation! That sounds lovely.” Tom’s father comments.

Roz has always been bashful when someone compliments her. Tom has always found it adorable… which is why he would compliment her any chance he had when they were teenagers.

“My friend’s mother taught me the recipe. She said it was a family recipe and I’m not allowed to tell anyone… so please don’t ask.” She jokes.

“Damn. That sucks. I was gonna ask for it.” Sam says.

Rosalind smiles lightly.

“So, Rosalind,” Nikki calls for the girl’s attention, “do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Moving into my new flat, meeting up with some old friends, and then I have a date.”

Holly’s mother peeps up, “be careful, darling. Unless you’re lucky enough to marry a Holland, men tend to disappoint.”

Holly doesn’t know about Roz and Tom. That they used to see each other after the sun went down, sneaking out of each other’s windows to mess around.

Holly was a nurse who usually worked nights and Rosalind’s father was just an idiot who didn’t notice Tom taking the condoms.

“Trust me Mum. I know.” Rosalind’s eyes shift up to Tom for less than a second but it’s enough for the other boys to notice. Harry kicks his shin.

“Actually, I should probably get going now. There’s a lot of stuff I need to unpack. And Cerberus is getting sleepy. But I do hope you all enjoy desert.” She politely gets up from the table.

Nikki clicks her tongue, “Oh, darling! I was so hoping you could stay so we could discuss our plans for Christmas! And Tom just got back from filming. It’d be so lovely if you’d stay.”

“Love, if it’s just unpacking I’m sure one of the boys could help you tomorrow.” Dom says.

It’s true. All four boys would be more than willing. But it would be far too soon for Roz to be ok with it.

“No no. It’s ok. I also have to figure out some choreo for some clients.”

“Well let me help you with your stuff.” Sam offers.

“So what exactly is your new job?” He asks once they’re alone.

Rosalind clips Cerberus’s collar and leash, “I’m a new ballerina for the royal ballet company. And when there’s time, I choreograph for musicians.”

He nods and grabs an umbrella. “You might want this.”

She smiles at the nostalgia, “I can’t believe you’ve had this in your umbrella bin all this time! Thank you Sammy.”

“You know you’re still the only person who gets to call me that.” He laughs

“What? Not even your girlfriend?”

“That’s still pretty new.” He explains, “you would have met her tonight, but she had her own family thing.”

“Well I’d love to meet her.” Rosalind pulls the strap of her bag onto her shoulder before opening the door. “And thanks for setting me up on that date.” She calls out before patting her thigh for Cerberus to follow her. She waved one last time to the boy before leaving on her way.

Little did either of them know that Tom heard the entire conversation between them.

“What the hell, Sam!” He claps his brother on the back once Rosalind is out of eyesight and earshot.

Sam shrugs, “You know, for a guy who said he was never in love with her, you seem to care an awful lot. Maybe I should set you up with someone too.” With that, Sam walks back inside.

#tom holland angst #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #spiderman #enemies to lovers #tom holland #ballerina #young love #exes to lovers #peter parker #harry holland #sam holland #paddy holland #brothers trust #peter parker angst

[uncasualfangirl]

HI TOM!!!! IVE MISSED YOU!!!!

#how can one man be so fine #tom holland x reader #tomdaya #tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland smut #peter 1 #peter x mj #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker #spiderman no way home #i have missed him #the brothers trust

[cardierreh15]

Web Of Lies

Warnings 18+: Violence , Cursing , Smut , Use of Deadly Force , Near Death Experiences , Blood , Mentions of Parental Loss . (Will be adding more along the way 😊)

Chapter 1: Itsy Bitsy Spiders WIP ⚠️

#spiderman #spiderman x black!female oc #spiderman x black!plus size female #spiderman x black!fem!oc #spiderman x black!female #xblaxk!oc #x black!reader #x black!fem!reader #spiderman 2 ps5 #spiderman 2 game #Peter Parker #peter parker x black!reader #Peter Parker x black!female oc #Peter Parker x black!plus size female #Peter Parker x black!oc #black!oc #black!reader #miles morales #brother!Miles Morales #spider man #Venom #Dr. Octavius #dr. otto octavius #green goblin #Electro #the lizard #kraven the hunter #Kraven #Spotify #Rhino

[multiversalchick]

Comment movies i should watch and i'll write reviews on them .......

#jj maybank x reader dance #holland brother x bold!reader #tom holland x sister!reader #john constantine x reader #outer banks fic #john b x reader #peter parker oneshot #movie critic #everyday carry #happy pride 🌈

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XVII (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, mentions of MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You stared into the darkness of the basement for what felt like too long.

It was quiet down there, but not the kind of quiet that felt comforting. It was the kind of silence that felt suffocating—taunting. It was so loud in its taunting, snickering at you and your idiocy and naivety. Even as you laid on the floor, feeling like the lowest of jokes, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret the decisions that brought you here.

Nat was your friend. Or at least, you liked to consider her one, and even faced with the threat of the worst punishment Steve could muster, you just couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything differently. You couldn’t imagine yourself waking Peter up that night and telling him you saw the redhead escaping, effectively alerting the other husbands to her presence, leading to her subsequent capture. It just wasn’t in you, and clearly none of these men—not even Peter—knew you at all if they thought it was.

The first time you tried to move, you couldn’t, and for a brief moment, you thought that Steve had injured you in his delight to toss you down the stairs like a sack of flour instead of a person. However, you quickly came to realize that wasn’t the case. You could move your fingers and toes fine, even twitch your leg, but you just couldn’t find the strength to move. You felt beyond defeated, and when you blinked, you weren’t shocked to feel a sting behind your eyes.

There was the most awful aching feeling in your chest, both heavy and hollow even though you didn’t know how that was possible. You wanted to cry and scream, but you also never wanted to utter another word ever again. You wanted to let out everything you felt since the moment you came here, but in the same breath, you desperately wanted to feel numb. If you didn’t feel a thing, then you couldn’t get hurt, and you hurt so much, right now.

Peter killed Michelle.

He didn’t help kill her, but he did kill her, and in the grand scheme of things, maybe that shouldn’t make a difference. After all, you’d still been under the impression that he did nothing while his brothers did. You’d still been under the belief that he allowed it to happen at best and helped it happen and cover it up at worst. So, why did Peter pulling the trigger make all the difference in the world to you?

Was it because you thought you were falling in love with him?

That thought had you squeezing your eyes shut, so tight that it hurt, and it was hard to hold back your sob. Your nails scraped against the hard floor as you shook, struggling to breathe as your stomach turned. Once you started it was so hard to stop, and it wasn’t long before the sound of your choked cries were filling the basement. It was a thought you’d considered before, but that was when he wasn’t a murderer.

That was when he hadn’t murdered your best friend.

How could you possibly rationalize it now? Deep down, you knew that this wasn’t your fault. Deep down you knew that there were names and studies dedicated to people in your position and the psychology behind it, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Peter had murdered your friend in cold blood…

…and you thought you loved him.

The thought made you want to be sick, and with horror, you could actually feel your stomach turning. You hurried to sit up, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you struggled to keep it down. The bathroom only some feet away was locked—wouldn’t be unlocked until someone came down to open it and let you in—and you didn’t think you could handle sitting in a room with your vomit just stewing in the corner.

Struggling to get to your feet, you pressed your other hand to your stomach, trying to settle it. Keeping your mouth closed, you breathed through your nose, lashes fluttering, and after some time, you slowly stumbled towards where you knew the bed to be. You didn’t care about turning on the light, finding no need, and when you sat down, your head drooped in defeat.

There was really no telling how long they’d keep you in here until they figured out what to do with you, and while you knew that Peter would try his damndest to get them to go easy on you, you also knew that they wouldn’t consider a word that left his mouth. You—and also Peter by extension—had proven Steve and the others right, and you found it unlikely they’d ever listen to another suggestion from Peter about you ever again. Or at the very least, not for a long time.

Besides, Peter wasn’t the aggrieved party.

Bucky was, and such a thought made you shudder. You’d done well to avoid attracting Bucky’s ire even though he reminded you of Steve in some ways. Although, unlike Steve, Bucky didn’t seem the type to look for any and every excuse to punish you as he’d prefer in a contrast to Peter’s methods. Bucky seemed—if nothing else—fair to you, and that’s what scared you the most.

Bucky now felt wronged by you.

So, there was really no telling what was in store for you.

You recalled the way he’d reached for you, desperately trying to get past Peter in his efforts to get his hands on you. You didn’t want to imagine what he would’ve done had he succeeded, and you swallowed as your mind went rampant with the possibilities. Your hand came up to graze the tear in your sleeve, wincing at the slight sting you felt when your finger came in contact with the skin. Some part of you knew that had Bucky succeeded, he just might have killed you in his rage, and where you once would’ve welcomed such a thought…

It only made your heart ache, now.

You didn’t want to die, and when you thought about why, your stomach only twisted into knots once again. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you keeled over, throat tight as you tried to swallow down another sob. Your chest hurt so much, feeling like someone had an iron grip on your heart and was just squeezing and twisting it to their content. When you gasped, a cry escaped with it, and the only other time you could recall feeling like this was the day you realized your friends were dead and you were all alone.

You cried until your throat felt raw, and you didn’t fight your body as it started to collapse to the floor, sliding off of the bed in a heap. Covering your face with your hands, your lightly dragged your nails down your skin, frame shaking as you rocked back and forth. Your stomach wouldn’t stop hurting, and you couldn’t stop shaking. In fear or anger or despair—you didn’t know.

You did know that this was all Peter’s fault. He was the one who decided he had to have you, as if you were some thing to be acquired instead of a human being with a life and feelings and autonomy. If it weren’t for him, your friends would still be alive, and you wouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be feeling ripped apart by how you felt about the man who kidnapped and raped you. All of this was Peter’s fault…and even still…more than anything…

All you wanted was for him to hold you.

It was hard to say how long you stayed in the basement. The darkness and silence was endless, and it felt like months, but in reality, it was probably mere days. You did know that it was long enough for your stomach to ache from more than just fear and for your nightgown to stink from more than just sweat. You didn’t think you were capable of feeling embarrassed about that anymore. After all, Peter never made you feel like it was something to be embarrassed about, but that was before you heard the sound of the locks on the basement door.

Despite your shame, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Until the light from the top of the stairs outlined a familiar silhouette.

You merely stared at him as he stood on the first step, yours on him and his eyes on you. You couldn’t hear any noise coming from the main part of the house, and you said nothing when he closed the door behind him. Peter wasn’t good. You knew that since the beginning when he told you that everything he did was so that he could have you, making it all okay. Peter had never been good.

So, why did looking at him now hurt so much more than it ever had?

As soon as Peter was close enough, the first thing he did was take your face into his hands. You couldn’t really feel them, realizing that you got your wish to feel numb, and that just made your chest ache more. Just days ago you were desperate to feel the comfort of Peter’s touch, and now you couldn’t feel it, at all.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, face a mere inch away from yours.

When you didn’t say anything back, you noticed the way his face fell, lips pressed together as he eyed you. His gaze lingered on yours for the longest, thumbs just grazing your skin, and you watched the way his tongue darted out to swipe between his lips.

“We need to get you cleaned up.”

His words had you blinking, and it was only then did you notice the fresh dress resting on the crook of his arm. You didn’t ask him what day it was because it didn’t matter. You only knew what would be happening today, and it’s why the dress on Peter’s arm was so pretty. It was why you’d been locked in the basement for days. It was why Peter looked at you the way he did as he helped you stand.

“I’m so sorry,” were the words he murmured into your hair as soon as he leaned you against him.

What was he apologizing for exactly? For killing Michelle or lying to you about it? For taking you and ruining your life in the first place? Or for failing to protect you from the wrath of the other husbands? Maybe he was apologizing for what was to come, and that made you shut your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again as he brought your head to rest in the crook of his neck.

You didn’t respond—didn’t know how to—only allowing him to guide you into the bathroom after unlocking it. You couldn’t really say how you got naked, only feeling as if you blinked before finding yourself sitting in a tub of hot water with Peter raining water down over your head. He was talking to you, saying something that went in one ear and out of the other. All you could focus on was that dress on the toilet, wondering what they planned to make you do while wearing it.

When you felt the weight of Peter’s gaze, it was only then did you take note of the silence. You didn’t know if he’d asked you a question or if he simply opted to stare at you, but when his hand came up to graze the side of your face, you assumed it was the latter. Perusing you, you watched as his gaze became distracted by the shallow scrape on your arm from Bucky’s nails, and when Peter’s jaw tightened, you knew that he realized where it came from too.

“Peter,” you softly forced out, throat tight.

He gave you his undivided attention, and you licked your lips.

“What are they going to do to me?”

Your question came out almost inaudible, just barely above a whisper as you found yourself almost too afraid to ask—too fearful to want to know. When Peter’s face fell some, your own frown deepened, and when he sighed, your heart sank.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he slowly told you, and you could see that he was telling the truth.

You knew that Peter would have no say in this, you’d known that, but faced with the knowledge that was completely in the dark only served to make your stomach twist more. Only this time, you weren’t able to stop it, and it was Peter who kept you from falling as you hurried to get out of the tub. You only just made it to the toilet in time, and with nothing in your stomach to throw up, all you expelled was bile.

One of Peter’s hands were on your waist, the other soothingly rubbing your back as you vomited again. With every heave of your stomach, you shook more and more, and when you were done, you could only stare at the wall behind the toilet.

“You’re sick,” he said, tone strained with worry.

You shook your head.

“No, I’m just… I’m scared,” you honestly told him, lifting your gaze to meet his. “…and heartbroken.”

Peter sadly tilted his head, and your lips quivered.

“Why did you lie to me?” you breathed. “Why did you…? Why did you minimize your part in it?”

You continued before Peter could lie some more.

“Why did you hold me and comfort me and tell me you weren’t as bad as them when you’re much worse?”

“I’m not,” he argued, grabbing your shoulder.

“…but you are,” you said with a frown. “At least with Steve and Tony and Bucky I know who they are. I fear them because they’ve shown me why I should.”

Peter pulled you closer, resting your head on his chest as he rocked you.

“You made me love you.”

The words came out small and choked, your face crumbling as Peter stilled, and you’d stupidly thought you had no more tears left. Your body proved you wrong, frame shaking as your chest tightened, a cry escaping you in the otherwise quiet bathroom. Peter didn’t respond right away, just holding you as you cried.

“I’m still the same person I was before you found out,” he whispered, rocking you. “…the same person you begged to run away with.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” he confessed. “…but it’s why I can hold you every night for as long as I want.”

He leaned down to gently kiss your forehead, and your vacant and tearful gaze was on the bathtub, now.

“You don’t have to agree with it, even I don’t agree with it, but it had to be done if I wanted you all to myself.”

You knew that justified it all in Peter’s mind, and the part of your brain that was conditioned to normalize your new reality wanted to pull him closer, but the part that desperately missed your friends and family and old life only wanted to be sick.

When Peter rinsed you off and dried you, his fingers grazed your skin as he helped you get dressed. Soothing words left his lips that didn’t really mean much because how could he calm you against something that was unknown to him too? He didn’t even know what he was comforting you from. Once dressed, he stood before you, looking you over with his fingers grazing over yours.

When your eyes met his, his gaze softened, and you didn’t stop him when he leaned in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. Like every touch and kiss of his, now, you didn’t really feel it, and when Peter pulled away, you felt that the numbness that consumed you reflected in your own gaze. He heaved a sigh, fingering the ring on your finger.

“I still love you,” he assured you, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “That’ll never change…and even… Even when I have to do whatever it is I have to do today, I’ll be doing it with love.”

Those words didn’t exactly comfort you, and your eyes briefly closed when he walked you out of the bathroom. The stairs were hard to take, courtesy of your lack of food and what little sleep you’d managed to get. You shook beside Peter, and you knew that it was from more than just not eating. In fact, you were sure you were going to throw up again.

The house was unusually quiet—as well as empty—and that did nothing to alleviate your uneasiness. Peter’s hold on your hand was gentle, and as much you loved to hate him in this moment, you appreciated that he walked outside with you instead of walking you outside like a prisoner. You were surprised by how early it was in the day, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the rising sun. Days in the darkness had them hurting from the harsh natural light.

Just as you got used to it, a familiar and intimidating voice spoke.

“Leave her right there.”

Only, it wasn’t the voice you were used to being on the receiving end of. Your eyes met familiar blue ones as Peter was forced to step away from you, Bucky’s gaze very much transparent as he looked at you. His anger and disgust were palpable, and you found that you couldn’t hold his gaze.

That was a mistake.

“You will look at me,” he sneered, hurrying over to you and harshly gripping your chin.

Behind him, you could see Peter take a step forward only to be stopped by Sam. Bucky’s fingers were painfully pressing into your skin, and as difficult as you found it, you held the brunette’s gaze. It was in that moment that you realized why the house had seemed so quiet on your way out. You noted that the only person missing was Jane, and you guessed with her pregnancy and a need for someone to watch Margaret and Sharon’s children, they decided to kill two birds with one stone.

They clearly didn’t want to stress her, and that only made you more fearful of what was in store for you.

“We’re not stupid, you know,” Bucky said to you, and you swallowed. “We expect the odd escape attempt here and there.”

You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of Bucky’s venomous gaze, blue eyes icy.

“We look forward to it even,” he confessed. “None of you will ever succeed, so it helps you realize that, and you get it out of your systems.”

You blinked back tears, and Bucky took note of them, lip curling over his teeth.

“In fact…we had been anticipating yours from the moment we let you out of that basement, but I guess you really were too docile to fight back properly,” he continued, voice growing bitter. “Too docile even to tell one of us when our wife was trying to escape.”

When you blinked again, a tear finally escaped, and you didn’t know if you were supposed to respond. Evidently you were.

“What?” Bucky wondered, roughly letting your chin go. “Nothing to say for yourself?”

Your chest heaved with a deep breath, and you started to glance around.

“No, don’t look at them. Look at me,” Bucky ordered. “After all, it was my wife who anything could’ve happened to.”

When your gaze met his again, more tears spilled over, and you sniffed.

“I’m sorry-.”

“We expect you to fight back…try and make a run for it… What we don’t expect is more loyalty to a traitorous wife than the men of the house,” he interrupted you, spitting the words out and making you flinch. “…because anything could come of that. You could kill one of us.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you said again, knowing it wouldn’t change anything but also knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

Bucky stared at you for a long time—too long—just looking down his nose at you as if he could barely stand to look at you. You were all too aware of the eyes on you, all too aware of the example being made out of you. You were in the dark about what was going to happen, now, and it made you want to be sick. However, of all the things you expected…

You didn’t expect Bucky to quickly grab your arm, twisting it—and you with his other arm—before violently shoving you to the ground. It happened so fast that when you finally cried out in pain, clutching your wrist, you were already looking up at him from the grass. He wasn’t looking at you though, hands behind his back as he stepped away from you.

“There are two outcomes for you today,” he started, making his way towards Peter who looked like he was moments away from committing murder—again. “Personally, I’m partial to either outcome…”

When you started to push yourself to your feet, the dark-haired man heard it, pausing to look at you with a wag of his finger.

“No, no. You don’t get up yet…”

Heart sinking, you sat back down, clutching your arm to you as you looked between him and Peter.

“The first,” he dragged out, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We finally get to see what Peter has in him…”

You froze, skin growing cold and heart dropping to your gut.

“…see if he has what it takes to make you…” Bucky turned his gaze to you, eyes glinting wickedly “…beg him to stop.”

You couldn’t stop more tears from spilling over, the realization of what this day could possibly bring crashing down on you like a wave. When you glanced over, your eyes met a familiar green pair, and Nat’s disgust and regret was plain as day on her face. She looked at you like she wanted to take your place in a heartbeat, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

You couldn’t hold in your sob, pressing your hand to your mouth.

“You can’t cry, now,” Bucky’s voice reached you as he neared you. “We haven’t even started yet.”

He forced you to your feet, and his hands were the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

When you first got here, Peter promised that that would never be you. He told you that he would never, but considering the circumstances of your offense, that choice was no longer up to him. You couldn’t stop sobbing, choking noises climbing out of your throat as Bucky continued.

“The other option is two months in the basement.”

When your eyes met Bucky’s again, there was a gleam in his eye and a curve to his lips that told you it wouldn’t be so easy as choosing which you’d prefer. You didn’t even want to say that the choice would be easy if given one because while your worst fear was recreating what Margaret had to go through during your first days here…you also knew that two months down in that darkness would break you beyond belief.

Two months down there, and you were sure you wouldn’t even be yourself when you emerged.

“It all depends on who gets to you first,” Bucky softly said, making you frown at him.

When he stepped away, you swayed on your feet, but his hand met your arm again when he turned you towards the small pond, free arm gesturing towards the dense trees behind it.

“Those legs that are near and dear to Peter’s heart are going to take you as far as you can go…”

His whispered words made you frown.

“Now, don’t think that you’re getting away…” he looked at you and you slowly looked at him. “…because you’re not. Someone will catch you, it’s only a matter of who, and that determines if this pretty little dress is coming off or not.”

His reminder of one of the possibilities made you lightheaded, and you pressed your hand to your chest when he walked away.

“If Peter catches you, then Peter will do what he has been instructed to do…”

The man in question spoke up, quietly pleading with Bucky, but the older man ignored him.

“…and I was going to participate in this little game,” Bucky said, jaw ticking as he looked at you. “…but you deserve to be terrified after what you did.”

You pressed your lips together, blinking away tears as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“So…” he backed up, a small smile on his pink lips. “If Steve catches you…”

You couldn’t stop your knees from buckling, world spinning as you caught yourself on your hands and knees. Your skin pricked, and you felt almost on the verge of a heart attack.

“He gets to put you in the basement…” a pause. “Again.”

The sounds of the world were going in and out, and once again, you felt like you were going to throw up. Both options were the last thing you ever wanted, and once you ran into those trees, you didn’t know what would relieve you less—the sight of Peter or the sight of Steve. It was sick, really, because obviously you would rather be caught by Peter, but not if it meant…that.

…and if Steve caught you, you just knew it wasn’t going to be that simple

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky’s words were mocking, filled with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction, and as you looked up at him, you didn’t know who you hated more—him or Steve. The blond in question was someone you had avoided looking at since you stepped outside, bitter to see the sick satisfaction that no doubt covered his features at your humiliation.

Your comeuppance.

Pushing yourself to your feet was a struggle, and you didn’t look at Peter, too afraid to realize that he might be who you wanted to catch you, after all, even if it did mean public humiliation beyond comprehension. You felt beyond alone as you walked down the small decline, the dewy grass so nice against the soles of your feet despite the circumstances.

It was only when you got to the tree line, staring inside, did it hit you.

You were going to be hunted and chased down like some animal, and depending on who caught you first, that was what your punishment would be. Both options were enough to make your stomach flip, and for the life of you, you just couldn’t decide which was better. With a panicked sob, you forced your feet to move.

Every tree looked just like the other to you, and there was nothing in these woods to signal some kind of progress as you ran. It was crazy to think that there had once been days when you dreamed about being in these woods, closer to freedom and away from the craziness you’d been forced into. Now, however, you were in said trees and all you could think about was who would get to you first.

Bucky’s words echoed in your mind.

It wasn’t a matter of whether either of them would catch you. Both of you knew that you weren’t getting away from here, let alone from Peter or Steve in these woods. One of them was going to find you first, and even as you brushed past harmful branches and stumbling vines, you still didn’t know which choice presented to you was better. More than anything, you wanted it to be Peter to find you, but could you be okay with being raped for the whole household to see? This wasn’t like that day with Margaret…

Both Steve and Bucky wanted to make the biggest example out of you, and so the entire household would be there to witness your humiliation. However…it was one day. One hour even at the most of Peter doing what he normally did whenever you were alone…just in front of everyone else. If Steve caught you on the other hand…

Two months in the basement was a thought that actually made your knees shake, causing you to stumble against a tree. You knew—you knew—that you couldn’t handle that, and you knew that Peter knew it too. One option was just one bad day, that was all, but the other option would turn you into even more of a mess than you already were. You’d spent less than a week down there at the most, and both times were hell for you.

The second more so than the worst, and you didn’t want to unpack why that was.

When you heard a tree branch snap, you felt yourself freezing. The tree you were next to was larger, much larger than you, and you remained perfectly still as your hand rested against it. You had only stopped for a few moments, and the whole time you’d been lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even heard any footsteps. In fact, something in you told you that you were supposed to hear the snap of that branch.

When you dared to peek around the trunk, all of your breath left you.

The sight of Steve’s blond hair and back was a stomach turning one, and just as quietly as you peeked around, you hid yourself behind the tree once more. With one movement, you could end this torture and not have to be fucked for the whole household to see, but no matter how much you didn’t want that…you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

…because you didn’t want the alternative either.

Steve terrified you beyond belief—something Bucky had acknowledged—and something in you just knew that he wasn’t going to find you and take you back to the house as easy as that. Outside of raping Margaret, you had never heard of Steve doling out any kind of physical abuse, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Steve would strike you square across the face if he could get away with it.

Peeking around the tree again, you watched him walk away, scanning the area before him for any sign of you. Your nails pressed into the trunk, and with a sinking heart, you both accepted and hoped that Peter would find you, making peace with what that meant for you. With Steve completely out of your sight, you didn’t know which way to go, and so you went forward, adjacent to the direction Steve went.

You felt like you were getting so turned around the further you walked, and you wondered what would happen if you just decided to go back to the house. You wondered how the punishment would be decided then—provided you actually made it back without being caught. The thought of being caught by Steve prevented you from remaining calm and thinking clearly.

Or maybe it was everything else that did that.

You could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes, and you struggled to swallow, throat feeling incredibly tight. You’d thought that you cried enough in the basement, but that kept proving to be untrue. A few tears skipped down your face before many more followed behind, and you took in a shaky breath.

How was it that you hated Peter so so much for what he did…while also wanting nothing more than to just return to your bedroom with him when this was over? You didn’t want to go back down there, alone and bathed in darkness. You wanted to sleep in your bed with Peter and you wanted him to hold you while you cried about the very thing he’d done that caused the tears.

You hated him, but you wanted to be near him.

You didn’t want to hate him from afar. You wanted to hate him while staring at his face every night and listening to the sound of his breathing and feeling his hands on your shoulder as he sat behind you in the bathtub. You hated Peter so much for what he did—and lying about it—but it just wasn’t the kind of hate where you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and you hated him all the more for that.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and considering you’d gone in the opposite direction of Steve, you were prepared to meet your fate when your gaze would meet that of a familiar brown one. Only, the eyes that met yours weren’t brown…they were blue…and you felt your lips part.

You didn’t hesitate to run the other way, a scream climbing out of your throat when you were tackled to the ground. Steve’s hand was pressed to the back of your head as he slammed your face against the leaves and sticks, making you gasp, and when his arm snaked around your neck, a choked sound left you.

You weren’t surprised when he threw you to the dirt again.

“I knew…” he started, slowly following you as you attempted to crawl away. “From the moment Peter gave us that crock of shit about a gentler method, I fucking knew.”

You clawed at the dirt when Steve reached down to pull on one of your legs.

“I knew then that he was being too soft with you,” he spat, flipping you over. “I knew that it would come back to bite us.”

Steve squatted over you, one hand tightly curling around your throat, and you struggled to breathe as he slowly forced you to your feet. Your scraped at his hand, gaze tearful and pleading as Steve stared you down, nostrils flaring. His blond hair was a mess, an unusual sight for you, but those blue eyes were as cold as ever.

Steve really hated you.

“Bucky is better than me,” Steve hissed at you. “…because if Margaret had gotten as far as Nat did because of you, I wouldn’t make Peter stop until you were begging for him to put you out of your misery.”

You pushed at his hands, panicked, and he only shook you in response.

“You think he’s your best fucking friend,” Steve breathed through clenched teeth, sizing you up. “Instead of the man who owns you.”

When he threw you down, your head spun, and you struggled to right your vision. You pressed your hands to your temples as you cried, fighting the urge to curl in on yourself.

“That ends today…”

Steve’s words were spoken with finality, and you didn’t quite understand the meaning of them as you heard approaching footsteps. You heard Steve exhale, and when you dared to look up, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of Peter.

“Peter,” he acknowledged. “Love that timing of yours.”

Peter didn’t hesitate to hurry towards you, placing a hand on your head as you sobbed. As you’d suspected, you knew it wasn’t going to be that simple if Steve caught you instead, and you realized just how complicated it was going to be at the sound of his next words.

“We need to make sure nothing like this happens again, Peter,” Steve told him, and they shared a look, something unspoken between them that had Peter’s jaw clenching.

“So, is that why you forgot who she belongs to? Is that why you treated her like you used to treat Peggy on her really bad days? She’s already terrified of you. What more do you want?” he sneered at him, briefly looking at you and brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I need her to be terrified of you,” Steve answered, hands on his hips. “I told you from the beginning that you were too soft with her. I told you what needed to be done for her to get it.”

“Yeah, Steve, alright, I get it-!”

“…but you don’t,” Steve yelled at Peter, staring at the younger man just like a brother would. “You don’t get it because if you did, this would’ve never happened.”

Steve gestured around, cutting you a scathing look that made you wither.

“She would’ve never felt more loyal to Nat than the men who run this household. She would’ve understood that she exists to serve you and the house as a whole by extension.”

You hated the way Peter’s hands slowed on your face, and when you looked at his own face, he looked to be deep in thought.

“Not just the wives and whatever they think is best, but what’s best for the family,” Steve paced. “You are going to make her understand that she’s not your friend and certainly not your fucking equal.”

You watched Peter defeatedly exhale, eyes falling closed.

“You are going to make her understand that, right now,” Steve snarled.

“Steve…”

Peter’s tone was pleading, and that was when you finally sat up, looking between them with a racing heart. You scooted back, but Peter’s hand on your arm prevented you from going far. When your gaze met his, his eyes had softened, something in them pleading with you.

“I will make you, Peter.”

Steve’s tone was scarily calm, and you glanced at him, lips shaking at the malice in his eyes.

“Do you understand me? I will not rest until I catch her slipping up again, and depending on my mood that day, I just might make you fuck her right there in the garden for all to see,” he quietly told him. “So, it’s either now or it’s later…but it is happening. You decide.”

In truth, you didn’t know why you were crying. You had already accepted that you’d rather get the bad thing over with than drag it out for two months. However, that was the thing, wasn’t it? Steve was going to make Peter do this and still turn around and throw you right down in that basement. Even though there was less humiliation involved, it still seemed unfair.

“Do this and…maybe I can convince Bucky to only leave her down there for a month,” Steve proposed, and by the tone of his voice, he knew that he’d won.

You barely had time send Steve a scathing look of your own before your back roughly met the ground.

Peter’s mannerisms were rough, and while you knew it was because Steve wanted them to be, it didn’t mean you had to like it. You didn’t think Peter had ever been rough with you, and you cried out at the harsh pull on your hair, his other hand painfully digging into your waist.

“See, you need to understand, sweetheart,” Steve’s voice reached your ears as he circled you. “That you belong to Peter. You exist as an extension of him, now. You exist to exalt him, and the only way that you will get it in your head that you’re his property…”

Peter had flipped you onto your stomach, now.

“Is if he treats you like it.”

You yelped when your chest was forced to the ground, Peter manhandling you in the way he knew Steve wanted.

“…and what better way to do that than to show you that he can and will take you wherever and whenever regardless of who is around to see it,” he slowly said, making sure he was heard loud and clear.

The humiliation of feeling Peter push his cock into you before Steve’s very eyes had you squeezing yours shut, a harsh sob escaping as Peter’s skin slapped against yours. His hand was on your throat, and you clawed at it, gasping when his teeth pressed into your shoulder.

“You don’t have autonomy over your body anymore. You don’t exist independently of Peter, and that extends to this family…”

Peter’s harsh thrusts made your toes curl, and what was once a rough entry had become much smoother. With no warning and feeling wholly unprepared for this turn of events, tears escaped your eyes, and your fingers dug into the grass and dirt. The feel of Peter’s cock pushing into your walls was a familiar one you’d grown to love, but the sound of Steve’s pacing steps and voice made you want to crawl in a hole.

You felt torn apart.

“Had you previously understood that, all of this could’ve been prevented.”

Steve sounded pleased with himself—and Peter—and the thought made you sick. When Peter pulled your head back, you winced, and you started to move away from him, wanting this earlier and regretting it now—especially since you were going back into the basement anyway.

When Peter’s lips grazed your ear, you shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you, hand painfully pulling at your hair, making you cry out again.

You recalled Peter’s words from earlier, and you knew why this was happening. You understood the hierarchy in the household, understood that what Steve said went, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Steve would’ve absolutely made this happen for the whole house to say. You understood that this was the better alternative, but that understanding is what made you cry more.

This wasn’t something to be understood. The man thrusting into you had killed your friends and kidnapped you, and the man before you had helped. Peter wasn’t your husband or your lover but instead your captor and rapist. Nothing about any of this was right, and in this moment, you shouldn’t be rationalizing or understanding anything.

…but you did.

You understood why Peter grabbed you with no hesitation and proceeded to fuck you under Steve’s watchful eye. You understood why being raped for all to see had briefly been the better choice to you than being sent back into the basement. You understood why Peter was murmuring sweet nothings and apologies into your ear as he roughly held you down and plunged his cock into you.

You understood it all, and you hated it.

You didn’t want to simultaneously hold Peter closer and push him away as he roughly fucked you against the grass, face to face with you, now. You didn’t want him to obey when Steve told him to fuck you harder. You didn’t want to understand that Peter didn’t actually want this because if that were true he simply wouldn’t do it, right? You didn’t want to accept that this house didn’t follow the rules of the outside world and that so long as you were here—and you would be here forever—neither would you.

“Are you sorry, now?” Steve wondered, somehow able to hear his voice over the sound of your cries. “Hmm?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, but you knew you gave him that anyway the moment you started crying. When Peter’s eyes met yours, he shushed you, a poor attempt to make this better somehow, and his next words made you blink.

“Do you see how much worse I could be?” he whispered, too low for Steve to hear. “How much worse they want me to be?”

You stared at him, nails digging into the skin of his arm, and with another harsh sob, you nodded.

“Do you understand what I’ve been trying to protect you from?”

Again, you nodded.

Peter’s nose grazed your own.

“Do you get it now?” he sadly asked you.

When you nodded again, unable to find your voice between cries, Peter shushed you. His fingers pressed into your skin, and his hips painfully came down against yours. When his lips pressed against yours, they swallowed the noises that escaped your throat.

“I never wanted this for you.”

…and you knew Peter was telling the truth.

#peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #dark fic #peter parker imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #cop au

[vivwritesfics]

"I Know"

Peter Parker has the best girlfriend ever

1.1K

Peter Parker x Reader

I've been MIA for the longest time because the inspo just hasn't been there. But I've gotten away from university for a few days, and this is what came from my peaceful time alone

"I'm so sorry, baby," said Peter. He stood on top of a building, watching a bank robbery happening opposite. A bag full of snacks and two pairs of his favourite pyjamas lay discarded beside him, and Peter made a mental note to pick it up later. The wind was biting, but Peter didn’t care. His attention was split evenly between his girlfriend and the bank robbery.

This was not the first time he had flaked on date night, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He and his girlfriend both knew. But Peter Parker had the most understanding girlfriend in the world.

"It's okay, Pete," she said. Peter could picture her now, snuggled up in her bed, waiting to change into a pair of his pyjamas, with her snack basket filled and her laptop loaded up with a Christmas movie. "Go... save the world."

It wasn't quite saving the world, but she made Peter smile. She always made Peter smile. Y/N was the most understanding person in the world. "I'll be at yours as soon as I can. Don't open the chocolate without me."

After that, Peter had no choice but to hang up. The bank robbery had started to wrap up and Peter had to stop them. He put his phone in his bag, pulled his mask over his face, and swung down to the bank. "You guys have ruined my date night."

“What the fuck?” One of the bank robbers dropped his white bag filled with green notes and swung a bat at Peter.

It was cartoon-y, how these robbers were behaving. The white bags, the notes flying all over the place. Their ski masks weren’t masks at all, but unfolded beanies with the eyeholes cut out. “Wait, can I get a picture? My girlfriend is going to love this.”

***

Y/N’s family loved Peter. Somehow, he’d never been late to dinner with her parents. Either criminals decided to take the day off, to let Peter have his dinner, or for once somebody else was cleaning up the city in his stead.

But not tonight.

“I’ll be maybe ten minutes late,” he said as he swung through the city. His suit was discarded, but his tie was still around his neck.

Y/N had her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she put in a pair of earrings. Dinners like these were a big deal to her parents. The whole family dressed up fancy, all of her sibling’s partners were invited and they had at least three courses. “Pete, babe, it’s fine. I’ll cover you.” And, as she said it, she didn’t sound disappointed at all.

Peter really had the best girlfriend in the world. “Holy shit, I love you,” he said, only just noticing his tie. But it was too late to remove it now. “Please send me the cover story.”

They said their goodbyes (with Y/N begging him to stay safe) and went to do their things. Peter fought the bad guy, managing to keep his rather expensive tie intact. Y/N finished getting dressed for dinner and went downstairs to greet her parents.

Her siblings and their partners were already downstairs, drinks in their hands.

“There she is!” Called her brother as Y/N stepped into the room. He checked his watch and feigned a frown. “Not like that boyfriend of yours to be late, is it?”

With her hands clasped behind her back, Y/N rocked on her heels. “Actually, Peters gonna be late today,” she said, hoping they weren’t going to ask anymore questions.

“That Parker boy is never late,” her father said, “What’s holding him up?”

Before now, Y/N hadn’t thought of an excuse for Peter. She had just hoped they wouldn’t ask, and then he could’ve come up with his own backstory. (Peter had gotten good at that).

“Uhh…His house… caught fire? And his aunt… is in the hospital… with death?” oh yeah no this was not going well. “Oh! And the tire on his bike popped.”

Yes. That was very believable.

But nobody questioned it as Y/N sat beside her sister and her sister’s girlfriend. “He’ll be here soon.”

Her eyes shifted to the floor, which only made everything more believable. She pulled out her phone and sent Peter the cover story, just seconds before the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” She shouted, jumping up.

Racing to the front door, Y/N pulled it open to see Peter stood there, still sorting out his suit. “You are so lucky nobody else answered the door,” she said and buttoned up his shirt correctly. “I sent you over the cover story,” she whispered and kissed his cheek.

Pulling him into the house, Y/N pushed him towards her father. “Hello, Mr L/N! Sorry, I’m late, my tire burst.”

Suddenly, Y/N’s mother came running out of the kitchen. “Peter, my dear!” She shouted and pulled him in for a hug. “I’m so sorry to hear about May and your house. You can stay here for as long as you need!” She cried, running her fingers through her hair. He looked at Y/N with her brows furrowed. ‘Go with it’, she mimed. “How about we all go and visit May as soon as we’re finished with dinner?”

“Oh! Please, Mrs L/N. That’s not necessary.” Peter pulled away from his girlfriend’s mother and grabbed Y/N’s hand. “Can I have a word with you upstairs?” He asked her, and Y/N allowed herself to be pulled up to her bedroom.

As soon as the door was shut Y/N was wrapped around him. “I missed you,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Missed me so much you told your family that May was in the hospital?”

“And that your house burnt down,” she said quietly, laying her head on his chest. “I know I said I’d cover for you, but I’m not very good at it, Pete.” Her arms snaked around his middle, sitting beneath his blazer.

Peter’s phone suddenly buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned once he looked at it. “Oh god, what is it?” Asked Y/N, looking up at Peter with wide eyes.

“Baby, I love you but, I’ve got to go. I swear this’ll-”

“It’s okay, Peter, I know.”

Peter kissed her. It was slow, yet oh so intense. One of those kisses that makes you gasp. “I have the best girlfriend in the world.”

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x female reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker x you #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker x reader smut #andrew garfield #andrew garfield imagine #spider-man #the amazing spider man

[waitimcomingtoo]

I Can See You

pairing: Peter Parker x Happy’s daughter!reader

synopsis: You can see Peter being your addiction and Peter can see you as a secret mission

real synopsis: Happy forbids you and Peter from dating, which only makes you want to do it more

Masterlist

“Hey.” You nodded at Peter as you wandered into his room. The hair on Peters neck stood up on high alert now that a stranger was in his bedroom. He shut his laptop and swiveled in his desk chair to follow what you were doing. He watched you walk over to his Lego shelf as if you’d been in his room a hundred times and admired his Lego titanic.

“Um, hello. Can I help you?” Peter asked.

“Did you build this?” You asked in reply.

“Oh, yeah. I did. It took me almost a full month.”

“Wow. It’s huge.” You said and gently ran your hand along the side of it.

“I know. It’s kinda cramped in here, though. I want to display it in the living room.” Peter told you. His tingle was telling him you weren’t a threat so now he just saw you as a pretty girl who had wandered into his room.

“You totally should display this thing. It’s awesome. What’s stopping you?” You wondered.

“The family pictures in the way.” Peter laughed dryly.

“Psh. Who needs those?” You joked, making him smile.

“Not me.” Peter played along. “But my aunt might be just a little upset if I replaced photos of her dead brother and dead husband with my Lego titanic.”

“That’s nothing. My dad replaced my high school graduation picture with a photo of his dead best friend eating a cheeseburger. It’s not even a good picture. It’s blurry and my dads pinky is in the frame.”

“Damn, your graduation picture? That’s next level. Either he really loved his best friend or it was a really good cheeseburger.”

“Probably both.” You shrugged. “Uncle Tony knew all the best cheeseburger spots in Queens.”

“Wait, Tony? Like Tony Stark?” Peter asked and stood up from his desk chair.

“Yeah, Tony Stark. Oh, that’s right. I forgot you knew him.” You said and tapped the side of your head.

“Your dads best friend.” Peter said to himself. “Wait a second. Are you…”

“Y/n Hogan. Your aunt invited my dad and I over for dinner.” You said and you held your hand out.

“Wait, you’re Happy’s daughter? But you’re so pretty.” Peter said in disbelief as he shook your hand.

“What?” You laughed.

“I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. Your dad is a very beautiful man. I can see the resemblance.” Peter quickly followed up.

“Seeing the resemblance is impressive considering I was adopted.” You laughed again and continued looking around his room. You saw his Spiderman suit hanging in the closet and touched it with a fond smile on your face.

“Oh God. Can we start over? I feel like I failed at this conversation.”

“You didn’t. I actually think you’re doing a pretty good job talking to me considering the deep lore that runs between us and our mutual acquaintances.” You assured him.

“Oh.” He blushed. “Thanks.”

“No problem. So did this thing come with a Lego iceberg?” You asked and pointed to the Lego titanic.

“No. That would’ve been perfect. But unfortunately, Lego didn’t have a dark sense of humor.”

“But I do. Do you have any blue legos?” You asked with a devious smile.

“Yeah. What are you thinking?”

A few minutes later, you and Peter were sitting on his bedroom floor with his Lego bin between you. You led the conversation, much to Peters delight, as you added onto each others creations. Even though Peter was usually shy and awkward around strangers, he found it very easy to talk to you. Maybe it was because you were already apart of his secret world and he didn’t have to lie about anything, or maybe it was just because you got along. Whatever it was, Peter really enjoyed talking to you. You felt more like an old friend rather then a stranger. Happy came into the room after a little while and was surprised to see you already in there.

“Oh, there you are. I was looking for you. But I see you found Peter.” Happy said and gave Peter a stern look.

“You never told me you had a daughter.” Peter playfully scolded him to keep the mood light.

“That’s because I don’t disclose any personal information to teenagers in spandex.” Happy said curtly.

“Dad. Be nice.” You whispered harshly.

“What are you guys doing in here anyway?” Happy asked as he folded his arms.

“Making a Lego iceberg for Peters Lego titanic.” You explained and held up what you had built so far.

“Interesting, interesting. Peter, can I talk to you for a second?” Happy said through a fake smile.

“Yeah. Sure. Be right back.” He told you before getting up to follow Happy into the hallway.

“What’s up?” Peter asked kindly.

“Don’t even think about it.” Happy said immediately.

“Huh? Don’t think about what?”

“My daughter. Don’t even let it cross your mind. Because if it crosses your mind, I’ll know about it. And if I know about it, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Wait, you think I’m trying to date your daughter? I just met her. Relax.” Peter laughed.

“No, I won’t relax. I don’t ever want to see my daughter in your bedroom, okay? That’s gross. I don’t want you getting your horny little nerd germs on her.”

“We were just playing with legos.” Peter pointed out.

“That’s always how it starts.” Happy wagged his finger. “I know your type. You lure girls in with your boyish charm because they think you’re safe.”

“I am safe, Happy.” Peter insisted. “You know me. You know I’d never break her heart.”

“I know you won’t. Because you won’t get the chance.”

“I’m sorry, but why is it okay for you to date my aunt but not for me to date your daughter?” Peter asked and folded his arms.

“Oh, so it has crossed your mind? I knew you were thinking about dating my daughter.” Happy pointed accusingly at him. “I knew it the second I walked into your room. You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you? Well stop. My daughter is not allowed in your head, okay? Ever. Get her out.”

“I wasn’t thinking about dating her until you put the idea into my head. But I kinda want to do it now.” Peter laughed in amusement and looked back at his room where you were.

“Don’t you even dare.” Happy whispered and took a step closer to him.

“Or what? What’ll you do?” Peter challenged him. He didn’t even care that much about it, he just wanted to antagonize Happy for his own amusement.

“Kill you.” Happy stated like it was obvious. “Like I said.”

“What if she likes me? Huh?” Peter smirked. “You can’t tell her not to date me. That’ll just drive her straight into my arms.”

“That’s not gonna be a problem because she’ll never like you. She’s too smart.”

“I’m a good guy, Happy. Tony knew that. Wouldn’t you rather her date a nice, responsible guy that you’ve known for years over some random stranger whose intentions might be impure?”

“She can date a guy I know.” Happy shrugged. “Just not you.”

“We’ll see.” Peter shrugged as well.

“What? What does that mean? We’ll see? We’re not gonna see anything because you’re not dating my daughter.” Happy declared.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” Peter shrugged again.

“No, you definitely won’t.”

“How are you gonna stop it?” Peter asked him.

“With a gun.” Happy replied. “That I use to kill you. To death.”

“I don’t think your daughter would appreciate you killing her future boyfriend.” Peter said innocently.

“You’re not her future boyfriend. You’re not her future anything. But you’re a future dead person if you keep this up.”

“Relax, Happy. I’m just messing with you. I’m not gonna date your daughter.” Peter laughed and patted Happy’s shoulder. Just then, you came out of Peters room with the Lego iceberg you had built.

“I’m gonna help May in the kitchen. Maybe I’ll accidentally knock down a few family pictures while I’m in there.” You said and winked at Peter.

“Why would you do that?” Happy asked you.

“Peter gets it.” You smiled coyly before disappearing down the hall and into the kitchen. Peter watched you walk away and felt something blossoming in his chest. That simple moment of sweet understanding between you was all he needed to fall head over heels for you.

“Happy?” Peter said without taking his eyes off where you had just been standing.

“Yeah?” Happy replied. Peter turned to face him, put his hand on Happy’s shoulder, and smiled sympathetically.

“I’m gonna date your daughter.”

Before Happy could respond, May called everyone in for dinner. Peter and Happy exchanged a look before throwing on smiles so that you and May wouldn’t suspect anything. Happy sat across from Peter with you sitting beside him, meaning that every time Peter looked at you, he got a kick under the table from Happy. Similarly, anytime you tried to ask Peter a question or start a conversation with him, Happy cut you off. Peter tried to do the same with you but was always met with a death glare from Happy. The incredibly silent and awkward dinner ended all too soon and Happy could not have taken you out of Peters apartment fast enough. You waved to Peter as Happy pulled you out the door but there was no time for an exchanging of words. What a beautiful wedding jk jk iykyk.

Peter was fully prepared to let his little crush on you go away on its own without any intention of acting on it. He knew it was a bad idea anyway to get involved with the daughter of the head of security, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about you from time to time.

“Hey Happy. I just wanted to report that I found a lost dog today. But then it ran away again after I returned to to the owner. I’m starting to think it wanted to be lost. Maybe he met a bunch of stray dogs and felt more at home with them on the streets than he ever did in his owner’s apartment. What do you think?” Peter asked over FaceTime as he gave Happy his daily report from patrolling the neighborhood.

“Kid, I don’t care. I never have. You don’t need to keep calling me with random updates of what you do on patrol.” Happy told him. In the background of Happy’s video, Peter could see you walking into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around yourself and your wet hair hanging around your face. He perked up and felt his face heat up at the sight of you.

“Is that Peter?” You asked and walked over to where Happy was sitting.

“No. It’s not.” Happy said and tried to shut his laptop.

“Hi Peter.” You opened it back up and waved, leaving you with only one hand to hold your towel onto your body. Peter turned bright red as he stared at the screen and felt all dialogue options leave his mind.

“Oh, uh, hi.” He stammered. “I didn’t see you there. I didn’t even know you were home. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good.” You shrugged. “What kind of dog was it?”

“What?”

“The dog you found. What breed?” You asked with genuine interest. Peter smiled at you wanting to know and felt his blush deepen.

“Chihuahua. His name was Pinto.”

“Aw.” You smiled. “That’s so cute.“

“Oh, yeah. Very cute. Very, very cute.” Peters eyes glazed over as he stared at your through the screen. Happy looked back and forth between Peter and you before realizing what Peter was staring at.

“I’m hanging up now.” Happy warned.

“Wait-“

The call ended abruptly and Peter was left alone staring at a black screen. If Happy was going to stop him from seeing you, he would going to have to get creative.

A few nights later, Peter formed a new plan. If Happy was gonna date his aunt, he was going to use it to his advantage.

“Oopsie. I just accidentally ordered two pizzas instead of one. Silly me. What will we do with all this incoming pizza?” Peter asked as he dramatically scratched the top of his head to make it look like he was thinking.

“I don’t know.” May shrugged. “Eat a lot of pizza?”

“That’s a great idea, May. Or, and this is just coming to me now, what if we invite Happy over to eat some? So you guys can have a little date night. He even can bring his daughter. What was her name again? Telulah? Annabeth? Marcy?”

“Y/n?” May chuckled and raised her eyebrow.

“Right. Her.” Peter played dumb. “She probably likes pizza, right?”

“I know what you’re doing, but I’m gonna go with it anyway because there’s no way we can eat two pies and I hate wasting food.” May playfully scolded him as she dialed Happy’s number.

Much to Peters delight, you and Happy showed up a few minutes later. You were standing behind your dad with a bag behind your back.

“Hey. Thanks for the invite.” Happy said and kissed Mays cheek. You looked at Peter over your dads shoulder and waved.

“No problem.” May replied. “It was actually Peters idea.”

“Oh, was it?” Happy asked and stared daggers at Peter. Peter shrugged innocently before making eye contact with you. He discreetly nodded towards his bedroom before going to it. You followed after him once the coast was clear.

“Hey.” You smiled at him and shut his door behind you.

“Hey. Thanks for coming over. I’m glad you could make it.” Peter played it cool but was screaming on the inside over you being in his room again.

“I’m glad you invited us. I have a present for you but I didn’t have any way of getting in touch with you.”

“You wanna touch me?” Peter said in a low voice as he stared at you with his eyebrows raised.

“What was that?”

“I said you have a present for me?” He quickly corrected himself and threw on a smile.

“Uh huh. Look what I found.” You held the bag up and pulled out the Lego Super Star Destroyer, a Lego set Peter had dreamed of owning since he was a kid.

“What?! You got this for me?” He jumped out of his chair and held the box to read it.

“Yeah. You mentioned last time that you always wanted this one. I know you’re a big fan of the movies so I wanted you to have it.” You smiled sheepishly as you stared at him. His childlike excitement and wonderstruck expression made him even cuter than you typically found him. His expression changed suddenly when he realized he could never accept such a costly gift.

“This set costs a fortune. You really didn’t have to do this.” Peter looked apologetic as he looked into your eyes. You laughed a little at how bad he felt and put your hand on top of his.

“It’s okay. I wanted to do it.” You assured him. “Plus, Uncle Tony put me in his will so I’m kinda flushed with cash right now. I would’ve just spent the money on something stupid. And I know he loved you so he’d be happy I used the money to buy a Lego set for us.”

“Us?” Peter cracked a smile and felt his excitement return.

“Yeah. I thought we could build it together while my dad makes out with your aunt.” You suggested.

“Gross.” Peter grimaced. “But the part about building it together sounds fun.”

Now that he was willing to keep it, you tore the box open and dumped the pieces out. You and Peter sat next to each other with your knees touching as you built the spaceship. Peter snuck glances at you every now and then, and you caught them every time. You accidentally made eye contact at one point and he turned pink.

“You know, my dads been up my ass all week because of you.” You said with a soft laugh.

“Me? What did I do?”

“I don’t know. Did you tell him we were dating or something?” You questioned him, making him gulp.

“Actually, he told me not to date you.” Peter admitted.

“He told me the same thing. Little does he know, that just makes me want to date you even more.” You replied. Peter froze and realized that if what Happy said made you want to date him more, that meant you already wanted to date him in the first place. You realized that you had said too much at the same time Peter did and looked at him out of the corner of your eye to see if he was weirded out. To your surprise, he was staring at you with a soft expression. He quickly cleared his throat and looked away when you caught him staring.

“Doesn’t he know that the hottest thing a guy can do is be disliked by the girls dad?” Peter said like it was obvious.

“Exactly. I told him disapproving of you was just going to send me straight into your arms. And who could even blame me? They’re really nice arms.” You shrugged and gave Peter a coy smile. Peter laughed shyly and busied himself with the legos so you wouldn’t see him blushing.

“What did he say to that?” He asked you.

“That there will be a cold day in hell before he lets me go out with you.” You laughed.

“And what did you say?” Peter asked as he looked up at you and found that you were already looking at him.

“I told him that he can’t tell me who to date and if I wanted to go out with you, I will.” You said simply. Peter gulped and never broke eye contact with you and he reached for a Lego brick. Your hands accidentally touched and he saw sparks fly.

“Do you want to go out with me?” He asked quietly. You opened your mouth to answer just as May opened hers.

“Hey, kids. Pizzas here.” May said as she appeared in Peters doorway. You looked at him apologetically before getting up and following May to the kitchen. He desperately wanted to get you alone again to finish your conversation, but Happy was never gonna let that happen.

It came time for you and Happy to leave and Peter was visibly disappointed. As Happy and May said their goodbyes, you pulled Peter to the side.

“Goodnight, Peter. I had fun tonight.” You said sincerely.

“So did I. Thank you again for the legos. It’s the nicest thing anyones ever done for me.”

“I’m glad you liked them. Hopefully I’ll see you again. Hopefully soon.”

“Yeah. Totally.” Peter nodded eagerly.

You held out your hand to shake Peters, which Peter found a little strange. But when he shook your hand, he felt you slip a piece of paper into his. Peter waited until Happy was out the door before opening the paper up. Written in your handwriting was your phone number. Peter looked up in surprise and made eye contact with you.

“Call me.” You mouthed to him and made your hand like a phone just as Happy pulled you away.

And that’s exactly what Peter did. It became your nightly secret mission to sneak off and call Peter once you were sure Happy was asleep or preoccupied in front of the TV. You would talk for hours in hushed voices so no one would hear.

“Can you imagine what my dad would do if he found us out?” You asked Peter one night as you hung over the edge of your bed to talk to Peter.

“So there’s an us to find out about?” Peter asked and felt grateful you couldn’t see his blush over the phone.

“I don’t know.” You smiled timidly. “I really like talking to you, Peter.”

“Well that’s good. I’m happy to hear that. Because I like it too.” He laughed shyly.

“I think about you a lot when we’re not on the phone.” You admitted as you switched positions and rolled onto your stomach.

“You do?” Peter gulped.

“Uh huh. All the time.”

“What do you think about?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe half the things I see inside my head.” You chuckled. Peter gulped again and felt his face heat up. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Why don’t you explain it to me then?” He asked. Before you could answer, a loud crash sounded from his side of the phone.

“What’s all that noise?” You asked him.

“Mays looking for the pasta maker.” Peter sighed. “We have a thousand boxes of mezzi rigatoni but she wanted fettuccini.”

“Fettuccine actually sounds amazing right now. I need to get up and make some food. I just hope my dad went grocery shopping or else I’m eating sleep for dinner.”

“You should come over tonight.” Peter said before he would overthink it.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Come make pasta with us. May usually burns something and then gives up about 15 minutes into cooking so we wouldn’t have to hang out with her the whole time. We could make pasta together. Just the two of us.”

“Okay. My dads watching a movie in the den so he won’t mind if I go out. I’m in.” You smiled and started to get ready to see him.

“Awesome. Great. See you soon.” Peter grinned and hung up the phone. He quickly brushed his teeth and put on a fresh shirt before joining May in the kitchen. There was a knock on the door soon enough and Peter practically ran to open it.

“Ciao.” He said as he flung the door open.

“Ciao, bello.” You replied. “Scopiamo stasera o cosa?”

“Wait, what? I don’t actually speak Italian.” Peter sheepishly.

“That’s probably for the better.” You laughed and walked into his apartment.

“Oh, good. You’re here. And you brought wine! Even better. Come in, come in.” May kissed your cheek before taking the bottle of wine and opening it.

“Peters been dying for you to get here.” She whispered in your ear, but loud enough for Peter to hear.

“May.” Peter whined and motioned for her to zip it.

“What? I’m just being honest.” May shrugged. “Honesty is the best policy. That’s what I always say.”

“She’s right. That’s a great policy.” You said and gave Peter a look.

“Oh yeah? Does your dad know you’re here?” Peter asked you and folded his arms, already knowing the answer. Your smile dropped when you realized he was right.

“A little lie never hurt anybody.” You replied. Peter smirked, knowing he caught you.

“Come here. I’ll show you how to make the dough.” Peter said and led you to the kitchen with his hand on your back. You and Peter made the pasta dough while May chopped up some tomatoes and made a sauce. May switched the radio on to play some instrumental background music that made the apartment feel like a small cafe in Italy.

“All right. I think we’re ready. I’m gonna get the pasta maker. It should be in the attic.” May broke up the party and put the meatball back in the sauce.

“If you can’t find it, what do we do with all this dough?” You asked her.

“I don’t know. Make a shit ton of Pizza.” May shrugged and left to go find the pasta maker.

“Okay then.” You chuckled. Once you and Peter were alone, you hoped up on the counter and leg your legs swing.

“Should we try it to make sure it tastes good?” You asked as you rolled some dough between your fingers and made a snake.

“Yeah, but not that piece. You made a worm.” Peter said and pointed to your dough.

“So what? It’s just dough. Try some.” You replied and dangled the dough in his face.

“Dough way.” He laughed at his own pun and swatted the dough away.

“Oh, we’re making pasta puns now? You’re gonna pay for that.” You playfully warned him.

“But I dough not want it.” Peter pouted and leaned on the counter you were sitting on so you were caged in between his arms. You both became aware of how close you were at the same time and laughed shyly.

“Can’t think of anything other than replacing “do” with “dough” huh?” You asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Dough, I can’t.” He shamefully admitted. You gave him a look and he held up his hands in defense.

“That one was different.” He pointed out.

“All right. I’ll give it to you. Now eat the pasta worm.” You playfully demanded and dangled it in his face again.

“No. Get that thing away from me.” He laughed and smacked it away. It flew across the room and stuck to a nearby cabinet with a loud smack.

“Wow. Look at that.” Peter said, genuinely dumbfounded.

“It’s kinda beautiful.” You said as you quietly stared at the pasta in awe. Peter turned to look at you and rested his hands back on the counter.

“You’re kinda beautiful.” He said in a soft voice. You tore your eyes away from the pasta to look at him but couldn’t form a single word.

“Even with flour on your face.” He chuckled and wiped a smudge of flour off your cheek with his thumb. You gulped and discreetly picked up some flour off the counter.

“You have some flour on your face too.” You told him as you stared into his eyes.

“Where? Here?” Peter asked and touched his cheek.

“No. Here.” You smirked before throwing the handful of flour at him. Peter coughed and waved his hand to get it away from his face.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” He warned and grabbed a handful of flour. He went to throw it at you but you caught him by the wrist to stop him. Peter wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him so that you couldn’t block his next attempt. But instead of feeling flour on your face, you felt Peter kissing you. You weren’t actually sure if you kissed him or he kissed you, but you didn’t really care. You wasted no time in tangling your hands on his hair and deepening the kiss. His hands slid up and down your back before finding their way up your shirt. You felt your entire body heat up as you kissed him and felt all the tension that had been building up release into the atmosphere between you. He kissed you until you felt dizzy but you didn’t stop even then. You started to unbutton his button down when the moment was interrupted.

“Found it!” May called from the hallway. You jumped apart so quickly that you fell right off the counter. You screamed on the way down as Peter watched with his hands over his mouth. He rushed to pick you up just as May came back into the kitchen. She took one look at the flour covering the two of your, most noticeably the flour handprints on either of Peters cheeks, and knew what had happened.

“Oh my God. What happened in here?” May played dumb.

“Fell.” You and Peter said in unison.

“Oh no. Are you okay?”

“Maybe?” You smiled weakly and rubbed your throbbing head. Peter touched his hands, which now felt cold from the absence of you.

“Oh my God. How did you get flour all over your back?” May laughed and turned you around to see the flour Peter had left all over your clothing.

“I’m a messy girl.” You shrugged and hoped she’d buy it.

“Look at that. The flour on Y/n’s butt looks like a perfect handprint. How funny is that?” May laughed again and pointed to the handprint Peter had left on your black leggings. He turned so red that he had to turn around so May wouldn’t see it.

“I’m gonna go potty.” You said quickly and ran to the bathroom.

“She okay?” May asked once you were gone.

“Her? What? Yeah. She’s fine. Nothing weird happened while you were gone.” Peter said a little too quickly.

“Hm. How did that piece of pasta get stuck to the cabinet?” May asked and pointed to the pasta Peter had flung.

“I’m not sure.” Peter lied.

“Are you feeling okay? Your face and neck is all red.” May asked and pressed her hand to Peters forehead. He knew she was getting suspicious and had to think of a lie to get out of there.

“I have to poop.” Peter blurted and walked out of the kitchen.

“Y/n is in there.” May called after him.

“I’ll go to the other bathroom!” He shouted back.

Peter passed the bathroom in the hallway and stopped outside of it. He pressed his ear against the door to try and hear if you were freaking out or not.

Which you 100% were.

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t just kiss him. You slut bag! You hussy! You don’t even know how he feels about you.” You whispered to the mirror. You splashed some cold water on your face to calm down before looking at your reflection.

“Woman up and get your shit together. Go out there and make pasta with your dads girlfriends nephew like a fucking normal person.” You warned yourself in the mirror.

The bathroom door suddenly opened and Peter fell inside. You gasped and pulled him the rest of the way in before shutting the door.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t doing anything!” Peter said quickly.

“What are you doing out here?!” You whispered harshly.

“Nothing! I just wanted to talk!” He whispered back in a panic.

“So you wait outside the bathroom door? What if I was pooping?! You would’ve heard it.” You whispered even louder and angrily shook his shirt.

“But I didn’t.” He said weakly.

“I think I need to go home.” You sighed and left the bathroom.

“Wait, no. Please stay.” Peter pleaded as he followed after you. He caught you in the hallway and gently pulled your arm to get you to stop.

“I can’t. I can’t go back in there. She’s gonna know something sus happened.” You whispered to him and pointed to the kitchen.

“It wasn’t sus. But I really think we need to talk about it.” Peter said and looked at you with his big puppy dog eyes. You knew he was dying to talk about it and you felt guilty leaving him after what happened.

“Peter, look. I’m really sorry that I kissed you-“

“I’m not.” He cut you off and pushed you against the wall. The interrupted kiss was resumed and even more passionate than the last. He had you up against the wall as he kissed you as if he hadn’t seen you in years. You forgot all about the pasta and your dads warning and just got lost in his touch. You both knew it was wrong and that you could be caught any second, and that’s what made it feel so right. Peter squeezed your hip, signaling you to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist. You couldn’t feel him smiling into the kiss as he pressed you against the wall. That was the moment you knew you were never giving this boy up, no matter what your father said.

“Peter! Y/n! What happened to my sous chefs?” May shouted from the kitchen. You pulled apart and stared at each other as you caught your breath.

Peter gently set you back down on the floor but stayed in your personal space as he leaned against the wall. You never broke eye contact with him as he fixed a strand of hair that he knocked onto the wrong side of your part. You gulped and smoothed your clothing down before looking away.

“Can we talk after? Please? Don’t go home.” Peter pleased as he buttoned his shirt back up. You looked him up and down and knew you were at his mercy.

“Fine. You’ve convinced me. I’ll stay.” You agreed. Peter smiled in relief and led you back to them kitchen.

“Look who decided to join us.” May smiled proudly and stepped to the side to reveal Happy standing behind her. Peters knees buckled and he immediately fainted onto the ground. You caught him and let him lean on you as you waved your hand in front of his face to wake him up.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” You asked through a big fake smile.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He said through an even faker smile.

“I was making Peter with Pasta. I mean, pasta with Peter.” You stumbled over your words as Peter came to and nearly fell over again. You held him upright but his waist until he could stand on his own. Happy was watching the whole thing and growing more suspicious by the second.

“Hm. You didn’t mention you were going over my girlfriends house when you said you were going out. I find that a little strange. Don’t you?” Happy shrugged as he folded his arms.

“Maybe I find you a little strange.” You said out of the corner of your mouth.

“Now that Happy’s here we’re gonna need some more pasta. Honey, can you knead the rest of the dough?” May asked you.

“Sure. I can dough that.” You laughed nervously. Happy gave you a strange look and you gulped.

“I’m sorry. I kiss-poke. I mean, misspoke.” You gulped again and went over to the dough. Peter went to follow you and earned a longing glare from Happy as he did. The two of you bumped into each other and dropped things on the floor numerous times from how nervous you were now that Happy was there. Once Happy and May disappeared to the couch to drink wine, Peter knew it was safe to talk.

“Stop being weird.” He whispered to you.

“I’m about to murder-suicide us.” You said at full volume.

“Peter, can you help her? You gotta put your elbow grease into it.” May called from the couch.

“Yeah. I can dough that.” Peter replied.

“Stop making dough puns.” You hissed.

“I literally fucking can’t.” He deadpanned. You suddenly felt his arms wrap around you as he put his hands on top of yours to knead the dough.

“What are you doing?” You asked him.

“Helping you knead the dough.”

“Why wouldn’t you just stand beside me?”

“Because this is how men show women how to do things in rom coms.” Peter said very seriously.

“Okay, but we’re not in a rom com. We’re in real life in your real kitchen with my dad who has a real gun.”

“He won’t shoot me. I’m his girlfriends only nephew. I’m untouchable.”

“And so am I as long as my father is present.” You said and slipped out of his arms.

“Is everything okay over there?” Happy asked from the couch.

“Yes.” You and Peter shouted back in unison. You finished with the dough and brought it over to the pasta maker.

“You better speed run this fucking pasta before I lose my mind.” You whispered in his ear.

“I’m going as fast as I can.” Peter whispered back as he put the dough in the pasta maker as painstakingly slow as possibly. The pasta maker squeaked as he turned the handle and echoed off the walls of the silent kitchen. You could feel sweat running down your face and started to fan yourself.

“I can’t handle this. My dad is gonna know what we did.” You said and gave your hair a stressful tug.

“We haven’t done anything wrong.” He pointed out as he finished up with the pasta. You nodded in agreement and picked up the pasta he had made.

“Yet.” He added and stole a kiss against your neck. You gasped and put your hand where his lips had been.

“What are you doing? My dad is in the next room?”

“I know. That’s what makes it so exciting.” Peter said and leaned in to kiss you again.

“The water should be boiling by now. Can you start putting the pasta in?” May asked as she appeared in the kitchen. You quickly turned around and pretended to be doing something so she wouldn’t suspect anything.

“Sure.” Peter smiled calmly at her and put the pasta into the boiling water. May went back to the living room, leaving you and Peter alone once again. You picked up a wooden spoon and pushed the pasta around the pot in an attempt to look busy.

“I can see you. Stop staring at me.” You said when you felt Peters eyes on you. You looked up and sure enough, he was watching you with a soft expression.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.” He said as he walked over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you into him. It felt nice for a moment but you knew it shouldn’t be happening.

“I am off limits, okay mister? You cannot be staring at me like that.” You whispered and slipped out of his arms.

“Off limits? What does that mean?” He played dumb.

“It means that we cannot happen.” You said and gestured between the two of you. “We can never, ever happen. My dad will reign hell fire on you for even thinking about it. And he’ll reign regular fire on me because I’m his daughter which will be less hot but still really bad.”

“Psh.” Peter scoffed. “I’m not scared of him.”

“You should be. He has access to all of Uncle Tony’s weapons. So unless you want to get blown up or turned inside out, you need to stop. That’s means stop staring at me, stop touching me, and definitely stop kissing me.” You whispered as you got in his face. Peter smirked now that he had you close again and put his hands on your hips. You gulped and looked anywhere but his eyes as he got close to you.

“You want me to stop kissing you?” He asked as he tilted your chin up to look in his eyes.

“Yes.” You replied, but it came out like more of a question than a statement.

“Are you sure?” He asked and moved in even closer. His lips brushed yours when he spoke and you felt your eyelids flutter shut. Right before your lips could touch, you covered your mouth and stepped back.

“No. No more. We can’t.” You said behind your hand. Peter smiled sadly and nodded his head. He looked disappointed but like he understood.

“I know we can’t happen.” He said in a soft voice. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to.”

“It doesn’t matter what we want.” You gently reminded him and nodded towards the living room where Happy was.

“So you want it too?” He asked innocently and tilted his head to the side. You sucked in a sharp breath and thought about the way it felt when he had you up against the wall and how badly you wanted that again.

“Peter.” You breathed out.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful I find you?” Peter asked you. Footsteps approaching made you jump apart and turn your backs to each other.

“Hey guys. How’s the pasta coming?” May asked as she walked into the kitchen.

“It’s coming.” Peter replied.

“It’s definitely pasta.” You nodded in agreement.

“Great. I’ll set the table.” May laughed at your strange behavior and grabbed some plates. Once you were alone again, you answered Peters question.

“Yes.” You told him.

“What?”

“You asked me if I’d want this to happen too. My answer is yes.” You said and looked into his eyes. Peter smiled now that he knew you felt the same but didn’t want to let you off that easy.

“Oh. But then I asked you if you knew how beautiful I found you so I thought you were answering-“

“Shut up.” You laughed as you cut him off. Peter smiled fondly at you from across the kitchen and you felt yourself smile back.

“Do you really feel the same?” He asked, all teasing in his voice gone.

“I do. But I told you, it doesn’t matter what we feel. We can’t date. Ours is a forbidden love.”

“I know. That’s what makes me want you even more.” Peter said with a wicked smile. You stopped leaning on the counter and started to walk to Peter when your dad suddenly walked into the kitchen.

“What are you guys talking about?” Happy asked suspiciously when he noticed the love struck expression on both your faces.

“Dad.” You whined. “Don’t you knock?”

“Knock on what? You’re standing in the middle of the kitchen.” He pointed out. You and Peter exchanged a look, and then you and Happy exchanged a look. Happy looked at Peter and narrowed his eyes, making Peter panic.

“Dinners ready!” Peter shouted despite 75% of the people in the apartment being right in front of him.

“Um, Peter, the pasta is still raw. It’s only been in there a few minutes.” You reminded him.

“Dinner!” Peter said again. “Let’s sit and eat.”

You shrugged and went with it to keep your dad from getting suspicious. You drained the pasta and put it in a big bowl before Peter added the sauce on top. You brought it to the dining table that May had set and put it in the center. Everyone sat down and served themselves some pasta.

“So what’s new with everyone?” Happy asked.

“Nothing.” You and Peter said at the same time. You gave him a look and he gulped nervously.

“Is anything new with you?” You asked May politely.

“Yeah.” Peter nodded. “Talk about yourselves. Tell us everything.”

“Well, um, May and I have been thinking about getting married.” Happy said sheepishly. You spit out your water as Peters jaw dropped.

“Oh.” May smiled tightly. “I didn’t realize we were telling them.”

“Wait, married?” You asked them.

“Yeah. Thinking about it.” Happy nodded as May shook her head.

“But, uh, if you guys got married, what would that mean for us exactly?” You laughed nervously and gestured between you and Peter.

“Well, I’d become Peters uncle, so you guys would technically be cousins.” Happy shrugged as May nodded in agreement. A chill ran down your spine at the use of the “c” word. Peters mouth started to heavily salivate like it usually did before he threw up.

“Cousins?” You choked out.

“Or would they be siblings?” Happy wondered.

“Oh God.” You whimpered. “Not siblings. Anything but siblings.”

“No, just cousins.” May explained. “Because I would become Y/n’s stepmom but Peter isn’t my son so they would be cousins. But you guys could consider each other siblings if you really wanted to. It might be nice to have a sister, right Peter?”

“Stop talking.” Peter said in a grave voice as he gripped the table to keep from fainting again.

“Relax guys. It won’t be too weird. You’re basically cousins already.” May said with an innocent smile.

“Oh no. Don’t say that.” You whispered and clutched your stomach.

“I’m gonna throw up.” Peter said through a gag.

“Why?” Happy asked as he narrowed his eyes at Peter.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t you want to be cousins? It’s just you and me on holidays Wouldn’t it be nice to have a bigger family?” May asked Peter.

“Don’t call us “family”, please.” Peter said and gagged again.

“Yeah, no more.” You pleaded. “Not while we’re eating.”

“Are we missing something?” May asked.

“I don’t want her to be my cousin.” Peter grimaced and shook his head.

“Peter. That’s disrespectful.” May scolded him.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want him to be my cousin either.” You assured her as you wiped some sweat from your forehead. You looked over at Peter and he was just as distraught if you were. He was pale and sweating and extremely close to breaking. You snapped your fingers at him under the table and motioned for him to keep his mouth shut. May and Happy exchanged a suspicion look at the strange behavior in front of them.

“Is there something you guys aren’t telling us?” May asked and leaned on her hand. She stared at Peter, who looked at you in a panic. You shook your head at him, making Happy frown in confusion. He turned to stare at Peter, and that’s what made Peter break.

“I made out with my cousin.” Peter blurted before gasping for air. You groaned and put your head down on the table as May and Happy reacted.

“You what with your what?” May scrunched her nose in disgust.

“You what with my what?” Happy asked and glared Peter.

“Haha. He’s just kidding.” You laughed nervously and waved your hand.

“He better be.” Happy stated without taking his eyes off Peter. Peter was staring all around the room at everything other than Happy.

“This pasta is amazing. Let’s all eat it and stop talking.” You said and shoved some pasta into your mouth.

“It’s a little undercooked.” May commented. “How long did you guys leave it in the water for?”

“Peter?” Happy asked calmly.

“Yes, sir?” Peter answered while looking up at the ceiling.

“Look at me.”

“Yes?” Peter said and looked near Happy, but not at him.

“Peter, look me in the eyes.” Happy commanded. “Right now.”

“I am.” Peter scoffed as he stared at Happy’s ear.

“Not at my ear. My eyes.”

Peter shut his eyes and turned to face Happy head on.

“Open your eyes.” Happy said through clenched teeth. Peter slowly opened one eye, then the other. Happy was glaring at him with a face redder than the sauce May had made.

“Did you make out with my daughter?”

“Which daughter?”

“The one sitting beside you. The only one I have.”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Let me ask it again then. Did you or did you not make out with my daughter?”

“No.”

“Okay. Good.” Happy nodded in satisfaction.

“She made out with me.” Peter clarified.

“Peter!” You shouted and looked at him.

“You’re a dead man. He’s a dead man.” Happy declared and lunged across the table at Peter.

“Wait! She kissed me! I didn’t kiss her.” Peter defended himself as he scrambled to get out of his chair and run away from Happy.

“You did the second time.” You pointed out.

“Second time? There was a second time?” Happys voice got louder as he chased Peter around the table.

“Daddy, no. Don’t hurt him!” You protested and stood between your dad and Peter.

“Move it, honey. I’m gonna fight him. I’m gonna fight him up real nice.” Happy declared and grabbed the bowl of Italian bread off the table. He started throwing pieces at Peter, but Peter dodged every one.

“Stop dodging my bread!” Happy shouted and threw his last piece.

“Ha! You’re all out of bread.” Peter pointed at the empty bowl before hiding behind you.

“I’ll just have to use my hands.” Happy said and lunged for Peter again.

“Hold on. Step away from my nephew.” May said as she stepped in front of you and held Happy back. Happy stopped trying to attack Peter and caught his breath.

“Happy, you need to calm down.” May told him. “Your daughter isn’t your property. She’s a beautiful young woman. She is allowed to make her own decisions. And that includes deciding who she wants to date.”

“I know that.” Happy sighed. “She just can’t decide on him.”

“Why not, dad?” You asked him.

“For starters, he rented a very inappropriate movie when we were in Germany. No man who respects women would rent a movie called “Grinding Nemo”. I can’t have a guy like that dating my daughter.”

“I was like 15!” Peter whined. “I just bought the first one I found!”

“Grinding Nemo?” You turned and asked Peter.

“It’s like Finding Nemo but instead of fish it was this guy looking for this girls-“

“I don’t even want to know.” You cut him off.

“Happy, you know Peter.” May reminded him. “You know he’ll stop at nothing to protect the people he cares about. She’s in good hands.”

“But why do they have to be his hands?” Happy pointed to Peter and sat back down. You squeezed Peters shoulder before going to sit down beside your dad.

“May is right. You knew I was gonna start dating eventually. And you also know that Peter is a great guy. You should be glad someone like him turned my head. He’s nice, responsible, smart, respectful, and loved by Uncle Tony. So come on, dad. Let me date my cousin.”

“But Tony asked me to look after him. And I don’t always so the best job. I try, but you know he won’t listen if he has his mind set on doing something. God forbid something had ever happened to him….” Happy trailed off and looked down at the ground.

“You’d be letting down the two most important people in your life.” May finished his sentence with a sad smile.

“Its hard for me to remember you’re not a little girl anymore. I thought I would have more time to prepare for this.” Happy admitted. “And I thought Tony would be here to help me. But you’re just growing up so fast. I can’t keep up.”

“We’re both growing up, dad. But we’re doing it together so it’s less scary.” You told him as you put your hands on his shoulders. Happy smiled fondly at you before looking over your shoulder at Peter.

“Do you really like him?” He asked you.

“I do. He listens to me. And he makes me smile.”

“Gross.” Happy gagged.

“Dad.” You whined. “Stop it.”

Happy sighed and looked up at everyone in the apartment. When his eyes landed on Peter, he got up and went over to him. Peter raised his fists in case Happy tried to attack him again, but Happy lowered them.

“Peter, you have my blessing to date my daughter.” Happy said sincerely.

“You have my blessing too.” May spoke up. “But I don’t love the whole cousin aspect.”

“Me either.” You agreed. “Please never get married so we’re never actually cousins.”

“We were never actually talking about marriage. May just said “Aw” during an allergy commercial that showed a wedding.” Happy admitted.

“So we’re good then? We can date without it being incestuous or forbidden?” Peter asked hopefully and wrapped an arm around you.

“I guess so. Just no PDA in front of me, okay? I don’t need to be reminded of this. Ever.” Happy asked and Peter immediately removed his arm.

“No problem, sir.” Peter replied.

“I’m glad that’s settled. Let’s get back to the family dinner.” You smiled and sat back in your seat. Everyone scrunched their face in disgust and you realized your mistake. Calling it a family dinner now that everyone knew you and Peter had kissed and nearly become cousins made everyone a little queasy.

“I, um, I apologize for my choice of words.”

Tag List 🏷️

@awesomebooklover17 @thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101 @peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr @emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie @maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom @pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage e @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @whereismytelephone @leilanixx

@so-very-asleep @veryholland @white-wolf1940 @firwproof-blog

@nowayhomeparker @imobsessedzs @spideyspeaches

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #Peter Parker x hogan!reader #Peter Parker x happys daughter #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker x y/n #peter parker angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker x you #tom holland x y/n

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #kinktober 2023 #steve harrington smut #eddie munson smut #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #peter parker smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #din djarin smut #poe dameron smut #spencer reid smut #remus lupin smut #sirius black smut #james potter smut #bruce wayne smut #joel miller smut #tommy shelby smut #matt murdock smut #billy russo smut #rafe cameron smut #the darkling smut #ben solo smut #jj maybank smut #stiles stilinski smut #pietro maximoff smut #sam wilson smut #sam winchester smut #dean winchester smut

[diejager]

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Previous

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse. 

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs. 

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse. 

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped -  different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved. 

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well. 

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay. 

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades. 

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms? 

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times. 

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater. 

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed. 

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage. 

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh. 

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him. 

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home? 

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father. 

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake. 

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had. 

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat. 

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in. 

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word. 

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt. 

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it. 

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container. 

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed. 

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge. 

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial. 

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes. 

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes. 

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart. 

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you. 

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway. 

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped? 

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier. 

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you. 

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something. 

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you. 

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him. 

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence. 

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him. 

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving. 

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten. 

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon. 

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking. 

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it. 

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man. 

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him. 

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency. 

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there. 

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more. 

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply. 

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything. 

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves. 

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were. 

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic -  he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place. 

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him. 

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive. 

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern. 

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights. 

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you. 

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly. 

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else. 

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making. 

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.” 

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance. 

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed. 

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love. 

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness. 

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara angst #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv #atvs spoilers #spiderman 2099 x reader #accross the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x you #x reader #angst

[lovelettersforthedamned]

ugh I love the way you write frat Peter <3333 am thinking of how he would react when his frat brothers flirt with his girl jus to rile him up - ❄️❄️

A Little Reminder

--genre: fluff, slight smut, MINORS DNI.

--pairing: frat!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

--word count: 1.4k

--warnings: language, kisses, slight smut, mention of hickeys, fluff!!!

love this request! i have something similar (more angsty) if you want more, "Let Me Be There, Let Me Be Yours".

You were drained, to say the least. Your last lecture wiped you out, followed by a tutoring session to bring up your plummeting English Literature grade. Peter’s the one to blame for that one. Sure, you scheduled an early morning class knowing that it would be hard to get there, but Peter keeping you hostage in bed also didn’t help. 

As you walk back to your apartment, you’re mentally cursing him knowing that you’ll realistically not do anything about it. With your headphones blocking out the world around you, your only goal was to get home and to Peter. Your bed calls out for you. 

Switching songs, an arm is suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. Pulling off one side of your headphones, you look towards the person whose arm is around you, finding one of Peter’s frat brothers grinning widely at you. You barely have time to deal with whatever is going on, but still decide to play along not to seem rude, “Bryce, what the fuck is going on?”

“Oh nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, his arm still on your shoulders, “ just walking you home, that’s all.” His tone still holds one of a joke, but now that you’re approaching your apartment he still doesn’t give up.

You can’t help but laugh and scoff, you wonder how long he’ll keep this up. Ducking out of his hold, you stand in front of him, “I didn’t ask you to do that, but thank you so much for your generosity, Bryce. Your heart must be so so big!” You bring a hand up to his shoulder and pat it a few times, “I’ll make sure to tell Pete about this. Just to let him know how caring you are.”

“You do that, (Y/N)! I cannot wait to hear back from him,” his smile is wide still, but sarcasm drips off of his tongue. 

You start to walk up the stairs to your building, waving Bryce goodbye as you giggle to yourself. He’s going to get an earful the next time he sees Peter. 

****

“Hi, Pete! I’m home,” you call out as you close and lock the door behind you. It doesn’t take long before you hear heavy footsteps approach you from the bedroom, Peter’s disheveled state greeting you. He’s shirtless, his boxers the only thing on his body, but you’re not complaining. Peter’s even wearing his glasses, which is a rarity recently. You’ve noticed he only wears them around you. 

As he approaches you, he takes your school bag and your headphones, placing them on the couch before he envelopes you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathe in his scent, the natural musk combined with his body wash makes you melt. Your ear is placed directly on his heart, the rhythmic beat acting as a lullaby. You look up at him again, craving to see him in his glasses again to see that he’s already looking at you. You stand on your toes to reach his lips, catching him off guard in a kiss that he quickly gets accustomed to. His lips are slightly chapped. 

Pulling away he sighs, giving your lips one more quick peck, “How was class, bug?” Brushing a piece of hair that fell into your eyes away, he holds the side of your face. 

“It was long and boring,” you close your eyes, the mere thought of it reeling in another wave of exhaustion, “but guess who I ran into on the way home?” You pull away from his hold to walk over to the kitchen, Peter following loosely behind you. There are a few beats of silence as he goes through the list of who it could be, but he soon gives up with a sigh. “Bryce fucking Quinn,” you reveal.

He leans against the cabinet as you reach into the fridge for a bottle of water, his eyes widening, “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?” 

“He’s good,” you open the cap and take a sip, before dropping the bomb on him, “he’s very nice.”

This sparks Peter’s interest, his head cocking to the side as his brows furrowed in confusion, “Oh really?” Your impression of him shocks him. He knows Bryce Quinn to be a jokester, he’s never taken anything seriously, and if he did, it was always because it was part of a running bit that he carried. 

You smirk as you take another sip, trying not to reveal how amused you are, “Yeah, he even walked me home! He even threw his arm over me to make sure I got here safe.” You leave Peter to go into the bathroom, the sudden urge to pee coming over you.

Peter’s once relaxed demeanor was now one of rigid shock, he once again followed you. “What do you mean ‘threw his arm over you’?” You’re sitting on the toilet when Peter opens the door and stands directly in front of you, looking for answers. 

“You need me to answer that right now?”

“Well,” he doesn’t see anything wrong with asking right now, “when else am I gonna ask you?” He’s dead serious too. 

Reaching for the toilet paper, you gather a few pieces, “Maybe when I’m not actively on the toilet?” 

He finally comes to his senses as he turns around, facing the wall, and leaving you to do your business. “It’s not like I haven’t seen every part of you before,” he adds, before turning back around when he hears the toilet flush and the sink run as you wash your hands. 

Washing your hands, you look into the mirror only to see Peter behind you, giving you a scare. “If you’re really worried about this babe, you know you shouldn’t,” you dry your hands off on the towel next to the sink. Turning around to face your worried and slightly angry boyfriend, you reach up to hold his face, his head slightly flinching away from your cold hands, you giggle, “Shit, sorry!” 

Pulling down his face, you kiss his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find their home on your waist. The kiss slowly gets needier, causing Peter’s hands to lower down to under your thighs, hoisting you onto the counter, his arms caging you in as he places both of his hands on either side of your head. Your fingers are weaving themselves in his hair, slightly tugging on it, causing a soft moan to escape his lips. You pull away, his lips chasing yours as you back away. “Peter,” you whine. 

He’s not listening, his only objective was connecting your lips again. He’s panting as he responds, his voice breathy, “Yeah, baby?” You can’t help but smirk at his current state. It seems like he forgot all about your previous conversation. 

As you tilt your head back and forth to look into his eyes, he follows. His lips are desperate for your touch, and it shows. You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes, “Don’t be too hard on Bryce when you see him next.” 

Peter groans as he tilts his head back away from your touch, a breathy chuckle leaving him, “Why are we still talking about Bryce when I’m so close to taking you back to bed?” 

You blush at his response, “I’m just saying…I don’t need to be the damsel in distress when it comes to you, Petey.” Peter brings his hands down to scoop under your thighs once again, pulling you up to his chest, making you wrap both your arms and legs around him to not fall, a big smile on your face.

“Oh, bug,” he starts to walk to your bedroom, “you’re never the damsel in distress. But sometimes they need a little reminder that you aren’t theirs to play with, are you?” You shake your head in response, the heat in your cheeks starting to pool lower on your body. “And sometimes they forget that,” he places you gently on the bed. 

Peter can’t help but admire you as you lay in front of him. Pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the side, he kneels on the bed to kiss you again, leaving a few marks on your neck to serve as a physical reminder to those around you. Bryce is so fucked. 

--author's note: I LOVE FRAT!PETER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU LOVE HIM TOO ❄️ ANON!!!!!! this got a little spicy at the end and i'm so sorry i have no idea what happened LMAOO. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog. my 300 follower celebration is happening now, so don't forget to send things in!! rules are pinned to my blog!!! ok, ily bye <333

#tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #fluff #marvel #andrew garfield peter parker #tasm!peter parker #spiderman #college au #frat!peter parker x f!reader #frat!peter parker #frat!peter #tasm!peter parker smut #frat!peter smut

[corroded-hellfire]

Pixie Dust and Dates - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Trying to get over your crush on your boss Eddie, you’re going on a date after you finish babysitting tonight. So, why do things seem to get tense between the two of you when he finds out?

Note: Needed a little jealous Eddie in my life. This takes place before part one so I guess it’s a bit of prequel. I hope you enjoy! 🩵

Warnings: older!eddie, babysitter!reader

Words: 2.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Luke, are you not going to let me leave?”

The little boy hangs onto your waist, his little feet on each of yours. A devious giggle leaves his lips as he buries his face into your stomach. 

“Never!” the little boy cries. “You’re my prisoner!”

“Oh no!” you feign gasp. “Whatever shall I do?”

Ryan jumps up on the couch and does his best superhero pose with his hands on his hips. “I’ll save you!”

“No, she’s stuck with me forever!” Luke says, tightening his hold on you. It’s sweet, but he’s also getting pretty heavy on your feet. 

“She’s got school, ya know,” Ryan says as he jumps down from the couch. 

“She can come to school with me,” Luke reasons.

Ryan rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Can you believe this guy? you can practically hear him say.

“She’s in college, Luke. She could teach your kindergarten class.”

“All right, you two, that’s enough squabbling.”

“But do you have school?” Luke asks, looking up at you. 

“It’s Friday,” you say, poking the tip of his nose with your pinky. “It’s just like you, I don’t have to go until Monday. But I do have plans for tonight and tomorrow. So you can’t hold me prisoner forever!”

“Whatcha doin’ tonight?” Luke asks, grip loosening on you only slightly. 

“Well,” you say as you feel your face getting warm. There’s no harm in telling them the truth, right? It’s nothing bad and you don’t want to lie to them. So, why is there a sinking feeling in your stomach about the Munson’s knowing you’re going on a date? Just because you’re head over heels for your boss doesn’t mean you’re cheating on him by going on a date. But that’s what it feels like for some reason. All of your emotions are so consumed by one man who is married and has beautiful children and now it’s so bad you feel guilty over going on a date with a guy from your history class. The boys are still looking at you expectantly as your mind wanders off. “Oh, um, I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” Ryan asks with the most adorable grin. 

“Yes, a date,” you reply, face getting hotter by the second. 

“Oooooh!” Luke coos, smirking up at you and looking identical to his father. His wonderful, beautiful father. “Where ya going?”

“Dinner and a movie.”

“What’s his name?” Ryan asks.

“Peter.”

Luke gasps and gives your aching feet some relief as he jumps off of you. “Like Peter Pan?”

“Or Peter Parker,” you say.

“Who?” Luke asks, scrunching up his nose. 

“Spider-Man!” Ryan informs his little brother.

Luke shrugs, not caring about the web-slinging superhero. “Peter Pan is better.” 

Ryan gasps and begins to excitedly jump up and down in front of you. “Ooh! Ooh! Can we play Peter Pan?”

“How do we play that?” you ask.

“I mean like, play pretend,” Ryan explains. “I can be John, Luke is Michael, and you’re Wendy!”

“Who’s Peter then?” Luke asks with a huff, obviously wanting to be the main character.

“Daddy,” Ryan says, turning to him. “When he gets home and comes in the door it’ll be like when Peter comes in the window!”

Luke crosses his arms over his tiny chest, not sold on the idea. “Who’s Mom? Tinker Bell? They got the same hair color.”

“Mom is Captain Hook.” Ryan answers so quickly and with such conviction that it’s a struggle for you to hold in a bark of laughter. The kid is right, their mom is definitely the one most suited to play a villain. “She’s Hook because when she comes home, she’ll make us stop playing the game. The bad guy!” The words break your heart. You’re not sure which is worse: the fact that the words are true or the fact that Ryan has learned how cold and uncaring his mother is at such a young age. 

The younger Munson brother looks more convinced of the game now, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders relaxing. 

“Where’s Tinker Bell? And Nana?” Luke asks, apparently looking for plot holes in his big brother’s imaginary scenario.

“Well,” you say, “Tinker Bell is a pixie. So she’s so tiny that it’s hard to see her. She could be anywhere!”

Mollified by that answer, Luke nods his head. “And Nana?”

“Nana didn’t go to Wonderland,” you say.

“Neverland!” Ryan corrects, his face full of offense at the fact that you would mix those two up. 

“Right, right, Neverland, sorry. Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning!” 

Ryan looks around the room and gasps, pointing to a spot about three feet above your head. “There’s Tinker Bell! We need some pixie dust so we can fly!”

You stand on your tippy toes, game to play along, and reach your arm up as far as it can go. Concentrating, as if you’re almost reaching something, you close your fist over the empty air and stand back down on flat feet.

“I got her!” you say. “Come here and I’ll sprinkle the dust on you!”

Luke hops over and stands underneath your cupped hands. You pretend to sprinkle some pixie magic on him before doing the same to Ryan. The older boy holds his arms out to the sides like an airplane and runs around to the other side of the couch.

“We can fly!” he shouts. “Come on, Michael, Wendy!”

“We’re coming,” you tell him, ushering Luke to go in front of you. The three of you run around the house with your arms out, pretending to be soaring through the sky on your way to the mystical home of Peter Pan. 

Ryan stops for a moment and purses his lips. He looks deep in thought before he bolts down the hallway and into his room. There’s a handful of action figures in his arms when he re-emerges. It’s an assorted bunch containing The Hulk, a Ghostbuster, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, and a GI Joe. You’re even more curious as to what he’s doing when he walks into the bathroom with them.

“Uh, Ryan?” you ask, heading down the hall towards him.

“It’s John,” he reminds you. 

“Right, John. What are you doing, John?”

Ryan sets his action fingers up so they’re sitting on the rim of the bathtub.

“It’s Mermaid Lagoon!” he announces proudly. 

“They’re boys,” Luke says.

“Mermen are a thing,” you say, ruffling his curls. 

“Okay, where’s Skull Rock?” Luke asks. Ryan thinks for a moment before darting out of the bathroom and down the hall again. Luke chases after him but you take your time with a leisurely walk. 

“It’s here! But it shrunk!” Ryan pretends to be baffled as he picks up a chunky silver skull ring of Eddie’s. It was sitting in a bowl that was on the table near the front door. Your only guess is that on days where his hands weren’t covered in dirt and grime, he had the rings in the perfect position to slip them on when he walked through the door. 

“Maybe Tinker Bell shrunk it with her magic! Revenge for when Hook tried to kill Peter!” Luke adds. 

If your logic is right—which you know it isn’t in this case of make believe—Ryan and Luke are talking in terms of the events of the Peter Pan movie already happening. Which means Hook would’ve been eaten (or maybe just chased) by the crocodile. The mental image of a cartoon crocodile chasing Brittany down the street is enough to make you giggle out loud. 

“Wha’s so funny?” Luke asks, turning to you. 

“Hmm?” you ask as you shake the fantasy from your head. “Oh. Just, um… Well, look!” you point up at the ceiling and drag your finger around as if you’re following something that’s moving. “It’s Peter’s shadow! It looks like he lost it again!”

“We have to get it for him!” Luke says.

“How do we do that?” Ryan asks, putting the ring back in the bowl. 

“I think only Peter can catch it,” you say with a sigh. 

“But you can sew it back on him again, right Wendy?” Ryan slash John asks. 

“I will certainly do my best,” you tell him. 

The front door opens and Luke races over. Eddie is prepared for the ambush and hoists his youngest son up over his shoulder. 

“Hey, munchkin,” Eddie says.

“Hi, Peter.”

A confused frown grows on Eddie’s face, and he maneuvers the little boy so he’s holding him out in front of him and can look him in the eye. Luke giggles as he dangles from his father’s grip.

“Whatcha call me?” Eddie asks.

“Peter! You’re Peter Pan!”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow and looks over at you. “Is this some joke about me never growing up?”

You giggle and shake your head. “No, we’re playing pretend. You were unanimously elected to be Peter.”

“Uh huh,” Eddie muses and settles Luke on his hip, even though he really is too old to be held like that. “So, who are you, little dude? The dog?”

Luke huffs and rolls his eyes overdramatically. The apple clearly did not fall far from the tree. “I’m Michael.”

“And we’re John and Wendy!” Ryan tells him, proudly taking your hand in his. 

“Well, why aren’t you flying then?” Eddie asks. Before either boy can ask him what he means, he lifts Luke over his head as the five-year-old giggles and holds his hands out in front of him. Eddie brings him over to the couch where he plops the boy down on the couch. Luke instantly scrambles up and tries to jump on his dad’s back. Eddie lets him and holds his son’s small legs as he wraps them around his waist. 

“How ya doing, Wendy?” Eddie asks as he walks past you into the kitchen. “These lost boys aren’t driving you too crazy, huh?”

“Never,” you say, trying desperately not to ogle your boss. You clear your throat and rest your hands on Ryan’s shoulders, jostling him gently. “They make my days fun. How was work?”

“Eh, loud and greasy,” Eddie replies, pulling a beer out of the fridge. “Glad to be home.”

The smile he gives you has your knees feeling weak. Mentally, you berate yourself. This is exactly why you’re going on a date tonight. Peter is a nice enough guy but doesn’t really do anything for you. But when he asked if you’d like to get dinner as the two of you were leaving your shared history class, you agreed. The way you feel about Eddie quickly evolved from just thinking he was attractive as soon as you got to know him. His kindness, humor, gentleness, and wit quickly had you falling down the slippery slope of feelings. Hopefully, Peter could catch you with his own charm before you fell even further down the rabbit hole for Eddie. 

“You gotta catch your shadow!” Luke’s words break you out of your small daze. The little boy is bouncing in his dad’s grip, gesturing towards the tall shadow on the kitchen floor. “Wendy has to sew it back on for you! Then you kiss!”

Both you and Eddie blanch at the five-year-old’s statement. 

“Huh?” Eddie manages.

“After Wendy sews Peter’s shadow back on, she tries to kiss him!” Luke clarifies.

Dear God, I wish, you think. 

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head, avoiding your eyes. He opens his mouth and you’re almost afraid of what he’s going to say. Luke beats him to the punch though, annoyed that the game has stalled.

“Daddy! Shadow!”

“Hurry, before she has to go!” Ryan adds. 

“Yeah! She’ll be late! Late, for a very important date!” Luke laughs against his dad’s neck, finding it hilarious that he was able to quote another Disney movie.

“Date?” Eddie lets the refrigerator door slip from his grip, and it slowly slides closed. You think you’re imagining his hand tightening around his beer bottle but can’t help but hope that your boss doesn’t like the idea of you going out with someone.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, suddenly feeling nervous. That is ridiculous, you tell yourself. Eddie has never made you feel nervous–okay, that’s a lie. But a good, giddy kind of nervous.

“A boy from school?” Eddie asks, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a sip. 

“Yep. From my history class.” 

“He’s taking her to dinner and a movie,” Luke informs his father. Eddie’s head turns over his shoulder to look at his son, as if he’d just remembered he was there. 

“Oh. T-That’s nice.” Eddie’s words have an edge to them, despite how casual he tries to make them sound. Luke releases his grip from his dad’s neck as Eddie crouches down to let the little boy down. He scampers out of the room, officially bored now, and Ryan looks between you and Eddie once before following behind his little brother. 

“You, um,” Eddie says as he leans against the counter behind him, setting the bottle down. “You have to get going now? Get ready?”

Truthfully, you do. But leaving Eddie is always easier said than done. 

“I guess I should,” you say with a shrug. As you move to leave the kitchen, Eddie steps forward and extends his arm as if he’s going to grab your arm but thinks better of it. Awkwardly, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his coveralls and clears his throat when you turn back to him.

“If, uh, you need anything…like, if he’s an asshole and you want to bail or um, anything else,” Eddie says, looking at you from underneath his impossibly long eyelashes, “just give me a call. I’ll come get you. Whenever and wherever.”

The offer has your heart swimming in your chest. Even if he doesn’t have feelings for you, Eddie definitely does care. Being so kind and thoughtful are two of the reasons you were already so crazy about the man, so this offer is doing nothing to dampen your feelings. It’s so touching though, that it gives you goosebumps. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a small smile. “I really appreciate that.”

“Of course,” Eddie says before he clears his throat again. “As long as you’re safe.”

Unable to come up with anything else to say, you nod your head. A goodbye with Eddie has never felt this way before. Uncomfortable, yet you don’t want to escape it. How could you ever want to escape Eddie? You blame your own awkwardness and mentally scold yourself for projecting how you want Eddie to feel onto him. 

“I’ll, uh, see you on Monday?” you finally ask.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Eddie’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes, but neither does yours as you turn to walk out of the kitchen.

“Your homework better be done,” Brittany says as she thunks down a bowl full of microwaved macaroni and cheese. Eddie moves around her in the kitchen, his jaw squared and tense as he pulls the pork chops from the oven. Brittany and both boys keep glancing at him every time he slams something around on the counter. 

“It is,” Ryan says of his homework as he takes his place at the dinner table. 

“Luke?” Brittany basically snaps.

“Did it when I got home,” Luke says, reaching for the cheesy side dish. “Before we played Peter Pan.”

“Who did–oh, the babysitter?”

Luke frowns, not liking his mother’s tone or how she doesn’t refer to you by your name. Neither does Eddie, judging by the way he practically tosses the pork chops onto a platter.

“Yeah,” Luke answers his mother. “We played Peter Pan and then she had to go ‘cause she had a date.”

Eddie yanks his chair out from the table, the legs squealing against the floor at the ferocity with which he pulled it, so he can take a seat. He doles out a piece of pork to everyone’s plate, his knuckles white from holding the fork so tightly. Brittany just arches a recently-shaped eyebrow at her husband before returning to the conversation. 

“A date, huh? Wow.” Her snark is clear, and Eddie has to bite his lip from barking out something he’ll regret.

“What’s wow?” Ryan asks as he jabs his fork into the mac and cheese on his plate.

“Oh, nothing,” Brittany says with a shake of her head. “Nothing at all.”

The table is quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from knives and forks working on the food. Ryan keeps sneaking peeks at his dad, wondering why he’s so unusually quiet. Normally, Eddie would be asking about their days at school and telling them about anything funny that happened at work today. His silence is making Ryan fidget in his seat. Brittany is the one to break the silence, though the three men silently wished she wasn’t.

“My sister is going to come over tomorrow. Eddie, did you hear me? Eddie?” Brittany glares daggers at her husband when he doesn’t answer, or even acknowledge her. But Eddie isn’t looking her way. Of course, this only irritates Brittany further.

“Eddie! Why in the hell are you staring at the phone like that?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #AYW #AYWS

[ichorai]

spiderling ; peter parker.

sequel to particles!

pairing ; peter parker x stark!reader

synopsis ; peter was supposed to find you after strange wiped everyone's memory of him away. instead, you found him.

words ; 2.0k

themes ; angst, mild fluff and comedy

warnings / includes ; lots of feels crammed into this, peter is a flustered mess, reader is an insanely smart kid of tony’s, mentions of may and the rest of the spidey gang :(

main masterlist.

Ever since Peter had asked Strange to wipe the entire world’s memory of him, things had been… uneventful to say the least. He studied, he worked two boring jobs for a low minimum wage, and he visited May’s grave every afternoon. 

There wasn’t much else to do when nobody knew him as Peter Parker. 

Sometimes, he’d go out in his itchy, make-shift spider suit that he’d fashioned with bright fabrics from a corner store that also sold his most favorite orange-flavored popsicles, stopping common crime as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Other than that… he slept. He played Crossy Road on his phone—or he’d rewatch the Star Wars movies for the billionth time. 

He thought of his best friends, Ned and MJ. He thought of his brothers, Peter 2 and 3. He thought of his Aunt May, and Happy, who visited her grave almost as frequently as he did. He thought of the closest thing he had to a father figure, Tony Stark. He thought of Mr. Stark’s oldest kid—which he used to refer to as his significant other. 

The love of his life. 

Y/N Stark.

Peter missed you. He missed you more than anything in the entire world. He missed your wide smile and the specific way you’d throw your head back and laugh so hard you’d be grabbing onto his arm, gasping for breath. He missed how you’d press your chest into his back and kiss along his neck while he did his physics homework, quietly mumbling corrections to his calculations when he’d distractedly scribbled down the wrong formula. He missed how Mr. Stark would pull him to the side to give him the ‘Responsible Dad Talk’ just about every time the two of you hung out together, and how you’d have to tell your dad that you could make your own decisions and you didn’t need him to hover over the two of you.

Besides, you used to say with a soft smile, it’s Peter. You know Peter. He’s… he’s Peter. He’d never hurt me, pops.

But he did hurt you. He erased all the memories you had together—he completely wiped himself out of your life.

You loved him—and he had taken that away from you. 

“I love you,” you had whispered into him as you hugged him tight, a tear slipping down the corner of your misty eyes. Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and held you all the closer. “Come back to me, Peter. Or… or I swear to fucking God—I’ll find you myself and—” 

Your words died on your tongue as he surged forward and kissed you, hard and desperate. The kiss tasted of salt from your tears, of coppery blood from his throbbing, split lip. Neither of you cared.

You hiccupped a sob when he reluctantly pulled away, pressing one last kiss to your grimy forehead, before letting you go entirely. He turned before he could see you crumpling into MJ and Ned, who had roped you into a pained embrace, your shoulders trembling with wracking cries. 

That was five months ago. Five months after Strange wiped everybody’s memories of him.

He’d wanted to find you again—he really did. Obviously, you were an extremely busy person, not only being the oldest kid of Tony Stark, but also a genius student, a researcher, the heir of an entire company, and an older sibling to Morgan. But, if he was completely honest, he didn’t really know what to say.

Hey, I’m Peter Parker and I’m in love with you, but I never got the chance to tell you because this wizard that’s sort of a friend of your dad’s erased everyone’s memory of me because the multiverse broke and a bunch of bad guys from other universes slipped into ours because I ruined my friend’s chances of getting into their dream college—

Yeah. That wouldn’t really work out, would it?

So he put it off. 

Put it off for a week, which rolled into two, which became three, which became three months.

All of a sudden, it was summer, and he still hadn’t seen you. 

He made sure to go to the coffee shop MJ worked at, just to see how she and Ned were faring. From what he heard while he eavesdropped—they were doing great at MIT. 

Peter tried his best to keep up with you through those news articles that kept flashing him ads like You Wouldn’t Believe What This Celebrity Looks Like Without Makeup! or Learn All About Steve Rogers’ Exercise Routine! 

There wasn’t much that he could find about you, other than a couple pictures of you with your little sister, Morgan, chowing down on cheeseburgers at McDonald’s. After all, you’d always been a rather private person, which was the one jarring difference between you and your infamously public father. 

Your social medias were, expectedly, all privated. Peter doubted you’d accept his follow request, anyway.

It was an ordinary Tuesday—Peter had a shift at a car garage in a couple hours, which left him quite a bit of time to burn. He had ACDC softly playing in the background—a band that both you and your dad had been completely infatuated with—half a dozen books spread out around him as he multi-tasked studying new chemical compounds for his web fluid, and rotational mechanics for an upcoming exam. 

Then, much to his surprise, the doorbell rang. 

It’s probably the landlord, Peter thought with a grimace, thinking of the old woman who always had a cigarette between her coarse fingers, despite her own strict policy of no smoking in the building. He turned the music down to a low thrum, before swinging the door open.

And… there you were.

Peter could feel his heart drop to the floor.

You were… God, you were beautiful. There wasn’t much about you that changed—you got a new pair of glasses, he could see, and you’d cut your hair shorter. There was a tattoo peeking slightly out of your loose-hanging t-shirt etched over your skin, depicting a sketch of an arc reactor, in memory of your late father. 

Besides that, you were the very same. The same bright, intelligent eyes, the same lips that puckered ever so slightly to the side in thought, and the same brows that knitted together whenever you were concentrating. 

Your hands were shoved into your jeans as you cocked your head, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“Erm,” Peter started, mouth opening and closing as his brain struggled to comprehend that you were here. In the flesh. Fuck, you were gorgeous. “Wh… Y/N?”

Your eyebrow arched high up, closer to your hairline. “First name basis already, huh?”

“I’m—”

“You’re the Spiderling, aren’t you?” you asked abruptly, nearly giving him whiplash. Before he could say anything else, you were swiping your phone open, a hologram of a Youtube video playing right in front of his face. The video displayed Spider-Man swinging from building to building, stopping a car from ramming into an elderly woman crossing the street with nothing but brute strength. Peter didn’t even remember that happening. To him, that was just an ordinary day. “That must’ve been, what—like, thirty-five hundred pounds, about fifty miles an hour? Impressive.”

“Wh—”

You brushed past him into his tiny apartment. Peter cursed himself for not throwing away the pizza boxes stacked on his kitchen counter, and for leaving his sketches of web shooters out on his desk. 

A small smile graced your lips as you spotted the blue and red scrap fabrics discarded into the trash can. “Hm. You make your own suit? My dad did, too. God—are those goggles?” You picked up his vision goggles from his unmade bed, peering through them as you snorted in amusement. “How on earth do you see anything though these?”

“I—”

You turned to him with an intrigued grin. “I’m sure you already know who I am, seeing as you knew my dad. It’s nice to finally meet you, Spiderling.”

Peter blinked. The overwhelming sense of deja vu washed over him like a tidal wave—you were behaving eerily similar to when Mr. Stark had approached him to go to Germany back in 2016.

“I… how…”

“What’s your name?” you asked, gingerly stepping over his textbooks to stare at his pinboard, where his calendar hung. 

“Peter,” he finally mumbled in reply, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “And it’s Spider-Man, not Spiderling. What are you doing here? I mean, not that I don’t want you here, but, uhm—how did you find me?”

You looked over your shoulder with a knowing glint to your eyes. “I keep tabs on everybody my dad used to work with. Honestly, it wasn't too difficult to track you down—given the radius of where Spider-Man usually frequents and his response times to local crimes, it was easy to pinpoint where you lived. After my AI ran a couple voice recognition tests and estimated bodily proportions, that led me right to you.” You leaned against his rickety wooden desk with a curious grin. “Thought you’d be a bit older, though. Looks like you’re around my age.”

“I… that’s… wow.”

Wrinkling your nose in amusement, you turned back to his full calendar. 

Peter prayed you wouldn’t flip over to your birthday month—he’d circled your birthday with bright red sharpie and drew loopy hearts all over the little square. Thankfully, you stopped skimming through, pausing at the relatively empty weeks where he had nothing planned other than a few work shifts.

“Looks like you’re free from school in a couple weeks,” you said. “I know this is really sudden and very abrupt of me, but—I’d love to offer you a job at Stark Labs. You must be crazy smart to design synthetic webs with a Young’s modulus that’s off the charts. Could really use that brain of yours at my company. Plus, you’ve got a lot of work experience in the bag.” 

There was a beat of silence. Peter stared at you with parted lips. 

A bit more timidly, you added on, “And… it’d be nice to work with someone that knew my dad.”

Well, Peter didn’t want to brag, but he’d definitely say that he didn’t only just know Tony Stark. But you didn’t need to know that right at this moment. 

“Yes,” he blurted out, a bit louder than necessary. “Are you kidding me? That’s… that’s amazing! Yeah, oh my God, I’d love to! Thank you!”

Before he could stop himself, his body moved out of pure muscle memory and excitement, stepping forward to wind his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. Your familiar perfume made his eyes well with tears—fuck, he missed you so fucking much.

“Oh—” you began to say, muscles tensing. “Okay, then. You’re welcome, pal.”

Rouge flushed hotly over his cheeks as he realized that you weren’t his significant other anymore—in your mind, this was the first time the two of you were meeting. Quickly, he let you go, backing away with a grimace. 

“Sorry,” he winced. “Sorry, I just—”

“Have we met before?” you asked, cutting him off. “I don’t know… it just feels like… nevermind. I’d probably remember a cute face like yours.” 

Peter’s face burned an even brighter shade of red. 

“Here’s my contact information. I’ll send you any contracts, NDAs, legality issues, dates for any research projects you might be interested in joining, payment negotiations, all that jazz,” you told him, placing a card onto his desk. “I look forward to working with you, Patrick.”

“Peter,” he corrected.

A smile played with the corner of your lips. “Right. Peter. Nice music taste, by the way. I love ACDC—I can see why my dad liked you so much.” 

With that, you ambled over his scattered belongings on the floor, flashing him one last beam, before striding straight out the door. 

Peter stared at the open doorway for a minute—or was it an hour? He really couldn’t tell. 

He collapsed into his bed, the goggles you’d dangled digging into his back. He arched up just enough to pull it away, clutching it to his chest with a goofy smile.

You found him. 

Against all odds, you’d found him.

Fuck, Peter loved you so much.

Telling you though—now that was a different story entirely. One that Peter knew was going to take time. 

But for you… 

He’d wait centuries.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x you #marvel fanfiction #peter parker angst #marvel angst #mcu!peter x reader #peter parker fluff #mcu!peter parker #mcu!peter parker fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #peter parker x stark!reader