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#tasm
indouloureux · a day ago
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scratching : countertops¡ (stargirl interlude)
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"I had a vision A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat, my position couldn't stop you were hitting it And I shouldn't cry, but I love it, Starboy..."
༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧
summary: peter's been your roommate for years, and you know that the rooms are filled with thrifted furniture and unsolved tension. when you find yourself eating pineapples beside him one night, you don't expect to be bent over the counter with his (sticky, dexterous) hands.
word count: 6,482
warnings: graphic writings of smut (MINORS DNI), mentions of blood, fluff, maybe a little angst (extended warnings below the cut)
a/n: hi. hope you all like this unholy smut. hope we're all forgiven. here's you being peter's pretzel with three holes lol
MASTERLIST
༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧
extended warnings: face-fucking, oral (m and fem receiving), ass/anal play. degradation and praise kink. unprotected sex, (don't be silly, wrap your willy), creampie. toy usage (vibrator wand), rough sex, man handling, biting, body-guard/doggy position, cum-dumpster!reader, and poorly written smut :)
༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺
This was all Harry’s fault.
I hope Oscorp burns to the ground and you lose all your money so you’re forced to live with me, you bastard.
Rationally, Harry had offered to help Peter pay for the apartment (without malice; he knows Peter’s not that poor). But ever the independent, he refused. So he couldn’t possibly understand why he was so upset that his friend was leaving to get his own apartment that he found was better than the one they used to live in.
Guaranteed, it wasn’t the type Osborn had grown into – waking up right to ruckus outside the building, bird shit sometimes reeking from the fire escape, a slim shower rather than a tub – and Peter was forever thankful Harry never complained and had adjusted to the type of lifestyle Peter grew up into.
But he wanted to move out. Move into an apartment near Oscorp and campus. Because he’s not the one swinging there within three minutes.
(Peter had offered swinging together with Harry. He refused. Says he’s afraid of heights and makes him…question. Peter doesn’t know what he means. Unless-)
So now here he was, on the internet lately advertising on some dodgy website that he's seeking for a new roommate. He doesn’t mind, though. If he ends up with a murderer, they’ll most likely be in jail the second they step in.
But he’s set up some rules. Peter liked boundaries, and he most certainly liked people who knows how to properly clean the bathroom, remembers their keys, doesn’t bring random people in without permission, doesn’t put marijuana in brownies when baking, and doesn’t produce the nastiest smell around the apartment.
He hesitates on the brownies portion. While he certainly relishes eating chocolate-flavored cannabis, Harry is the only one he knows how to prepare the baked confection. So Peter wouldn’t mind if his new roommate knew how to make them, as well.
Behind him, Harry grunts as he places the last box on the coffee table. It’s labeled ‘The Den equipment’ in a deep red marker written on top of masking tape. He frowns because it’s not the cardboard type, but rather a black box with stripes of metal on its corners. It rattles when Harry places the box on the table, like something heavy fills the chest.
“What’s that?” Peter points at the black chest, his arm resting on the wooden back of his chair. His other hand taps on the keys of his keyboard, but never pressing out to type a letter. “That’s new.”
“It’s not,” Harry chuckles, running a hand through his thin hair. Peter thinks his hairline’s receding due to the lack of thickness in Harry’s hair, other than the fact that Norman Osborn’s on the verge of balding. “I’ve had this since freshman year.”
“High school?”
“College,” snorting, he unlatches the black chest, the soft clicking reverberating in Peter’s ears. “Can you imagine high school me with these things? I’d be an absolute klutz with these things.”
Peter pushes his chair out, sauntering his way towards his friend. He curiously peeks over Harry’s head, seeing folded silk at the upper left corner, followed by a cluster of pink, purple, and black items in weird shapes and curves that hits familiarity in the deep depths of his risqué mind.
That’s when he realizes that they’re “Vibrators,” Peter says out loud, blushing. Though, given the few women he's been with, he can ensure that he's no stranger to such titillating forms of intimacy. His expertise is kept entombed; locked away not out of shame, but the key’s saved for someone he desires to show the doors to.
“Not just vibrators,” Harry’s tongue makes an amused click, his finger tracing the lid. “I’ve got a whole lot of shit here. Bought it all when I turned twenty-one, remember?”
“I don’t think I do,”
“Of course you didn’t. We were drunk out of our minds,” he pats Peter’s back, looking up at him. His smile is proud, like he’s feeling triumphant about the fact he’s being all Christian Grey at the age of twenty-one. “Explored so much with this, I’m proud to say I orgasmed at the fuckin’ Bermuda Triangle.”
Peter shakes his head, a boyish laugh leaving him. “That’s a lie.”
“Obviously,” he turns to look back at the hedonistic pursuits that fills the chest. Harry’s hand digs deep between the vibrant toys, and Peter wonders how unsanitary that must be, regardless if Harry’s ever cleaned them. He pulls out something Peter’s familiar on:
The wand’s body was a rich shade of crimson, similar to the one on his suit. However, its bulbous head dons itself in black rather than blue that matches his renowned attire. The colors match, nonetheless, and he does see that the buttons are round in baby blue.
“Tell you what,” Harry places the wand in Peter’s palm, and god does he hope it’s cleaned. “Take this as an apology. For leaving you. And a gift, because you deserve it.”
With burning cheeks, Peter scratches the back of his ear with his vacant hand. “I always thought this stuff happens in older women’s birthdays.”
“Vibrators are for all!” He roars, pleased with his erotic manifesto.. “Nothing wrong with wanting something to make you squirt, am I right?”
“Now that I think about it, I think I’m pretty glad you’re moving out,”
“Now now, brother. It’s time you face independency,” Harry smacks the chest shut, securing the latch before carrying it in his enormous palm, followed by the quiet jingle of his keys from his pockets.. “I’ll miss you, my best friend.”
He walks Harry out with an arm around his friend’s shoulders, opening the door for him. Peter rolls his eyes at the dramatic pout he gives him. “You’re only ten minutes away.”
Peter hears a small ping in his laptop when Harry leaves. With his receding footsteps, Peter sits back at the chair in front of his old laptop, seeing a message had popped up out of the corner of the screen. The circular icon is accompanied with a red dot on the side, and a blurry picture of a girl with their dog.
Hi! Heard you were looking for a new flat mate?
This was all Harry’s fault.
Peter can feel his heartbeat in every part of his body: his legs, his ears, his eyes, his hands, and his fucking dick. It's making him feel unsettled, perhaps moreso than Harry's expedition yesterday. Overstimulation is something he was never grateful for when he got bitten, and it had picked out the worst times to throw a tantrum.
You’re expected to be arriving in a few minutes, and he looks like a wreck. His jeans now have a damp spot on his thighs from constantly wiping his sweaty palms. Neophyte limbs forgetting their decorum, Peter walks around his apartment like a lost child, tugging on his unruly hair. His nerves are forming a connivance against its paladin, spasmodic nervousness ticking him off every minute that passes by.
Anamnesis, you weren’t the first to text Peter about the vacant room adjacent to his. Between your icon were two other guys – a man, seemingly in his 40’s with a beard like Seneca Crane’s with a fashion style like a hiker’s, and a guy his age with a badly bleached blonde hair and the mustiest mustache he’s ever seen. It was obvious his choice was you: not because of the ambiance he’s felt from the two other guys, or the fact that you’re a girl, but because…well…
He’s just about to find out.
Think of the stars. Count them in the darkness from the back of your eyes. There’s Alpha caeli, zeta arae, gamma camelopardalis –
The stars are far from their constellations. Peter panics at the fragmented dulcification, clenches and unclenches his trembling fists. Forsooth he blames the sudden overstimulation. And for the third time that week, he curses the radioactive spider.
Peter jumps when he hears the doorbell ring, louder than it should have. He shakes his head to push the erratic beating away from his eyes, walking careful steps to the door that further awaits being opened.
The door opens, and you look at him with an innocent smile.
Like a beautiful, tragic calamity, the star in his heart bursts into a supernova. Galactical seas of purple, blue, and yellow mercurially imbue him before it’s overtaken by the destructive inferno of the ultraviolet star. It swells his throbbing organ, embers withering off into the galaxy.
“Hi,” your voice blows the supernova away, and he returns back to earth where he’s physically in. Peter blinks, patting his hands on the back of his thighs before he remembers he looks like absolute shit. But you don’t seem to mind.
“Um.”
“I’m (y/n),” you don’t give him your hand to shake, but the nervous smile on your face indicates you’ve got the same sweaty hands as he does. “I’m here for-…for the interview?”
Peter nods, too rapid that he shakes his brain. He steps aside with a smile that mimics yours as you gladly step in after you wipe your shoes on the rug.
You take in the apartment well. It’s cleaned – the lack of dust shows he might have cleaned before you arrived. The three-seater couch fits well in the living room, the TV large enough to not strain your eyes. The décor contrasts well to the alabaster walls, and the fact that Peter had decorated this himself seemed surprising because you should definitely see his room back at Aunt May’s.
The whole apartment smells nice. Like freshly baked cookies that makes your mouth water. You don’t realize Peter’s still got his eyes on you until you sit down on the chair placed randomly in front of the couch.
“So,” he speaks out, a waver in his voice as he sits on the couch. He forgets to tell you he’s supposed to be the one on the chair, but all his thoughts dissipate into a blubbering mess. You don’t mind the chair, anyway. “Why are you looking for an apartment?”
That was not the first question.
You answer him, either way. “I wanted to move out of the dorm I stay in at campus,” he can hear the sound your nail makes when you chip them. “I guess, out of some sudden urge to move deeper into independence?”
“Okay,” he drags out his ‘y’, remembering the next question. “How are you with bathrooms?”
It’s obvious his question confuses you, because it confuses him too. “Hm?”
“I’ve never done a good job cleaning the bathroom. So I was wondering if you’re…any good…at cleaning them?” he feels stupid, like he’d asked a sexist question. Peter’s unsure if he did, because your expression is unreadable.
(“Is this guy serious?”)
“I do good, I guess. I’ve never been a fan of dirty bathrooms so I’m very fastidious when it comes to cleaning them.”
He nods. “And smoking?”
“I smoke.” You smile a little. “A lot. Like, my friends had to make an intervention for me with a big poster that had two versions of lungs, the other was what my lungs were going to look like if I didn’t stop smoking. I- sorry. I talk too much.”
“’s all right,” he chuckles. “I smoke a lot too.”
Your shirt exemplifies the contours of your breasts while emphasizing their size. He attempts to pull his gaze away, but instead finds himself tracking his gaze down to the button of your jeans to your thighs, calves swinging and almost brushing his. Peter swallows deeply.
“Do you, uh, not mind living with a guy?”
Incredulous, you let out an angelic laugh. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? Look…Peter-” you remember his name from the ad; remember how you repeat his name in your head like a mantra. “- I don’t mind if you take home girls, or guys. I just need a place to stay. I can’t promise I’ll pick up dirty laundry all the time, and I can’t cook for shit nor can I make this place squeaky clean. But I can give you a hell of a good time—God, that sounded prostitute-y.”
Your nervousness sedates him tremendously, and he laughs heartily at your ramble. Peter shakes his head, sitting back to sink into the couch with crossed arms and an endearing smile that makes your heart skip a beat.
“Not prostitute-y, just...a twinge of an innuendo,” he reassures. “Well. I’ve got a few flaws myself. Like, I can’t explain why I have sudden bruises in my face.”
“What? Are you like, in a mob or something?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not,” Peter blushes when you laugh. “I can’t promise you I’ll be clean. This apartment you’re seeing? This is only to persuade you. And you don’t need to worry, I know how to cook, and I don’t bring home random people at night.”
“Just random people’s blood?”
A violent question that he founds oh-so-funny. “Yes. Not dead people’s blood. So you don’t have to worry about that.” Peter watches you sink onto the wooden chair. You pick at the lpse thread of your jeans, twirling it around your fingers before you pull it off.
“As long as I don’t hear loud moaning, I’m fine.”
Your smile is teasing, curved like the Eastern Veil Nebula that’s vibrant and pretty. Dimples apodictic like Peter’s deep laugh that bequeaths you happily silly.
Peter’s unbridled with scrawny handsomeness. His half-lidded gaze has your cheeks burning like the sun, hot enough to render you queasy and yet again nervous. But when he wipes his hands on his thighs and stands up with his hand raised for you to shake, your nervousness ebbs away.
“Feel free to move in whenever you like.”
899 days pass.
This was all Harry’s fault.
Peter stands outside your open, desolated bedroom. Your bed is made, the LED's on your vanity are switched off, and your make-up is adroitly piled on the edge. It's sanguinely clean, in contrast to his bedroom, which has his filthy clothing placed on top of a chair that has yet to be cleaned.
He likes that even if you’re gone, your room still smells like you – tobacco, vanilla, and the faint scent of wet leaves from the plants by your window. Peter did you a favor and watered them, after being dry for almost three days because you were in too deep into your school works.
He takes one final glance, particularly at the frame mounted beside the window: it was you and Peter at some Halloween party around a year ago. And while you were clad in a skin-tight black outfit with cat ears, he came as Spider-Man (oh, the irony). He donned a store-bought suit, but had pondered wearing his authentic suit since everyone would be too drunk to notice.
With Harry at the far left in a police costume and a fake mustache (and his chest sweaty and exposed), Peter has his arm around your shoulders, hugging you tightly to his chest with his mask in his hand, smiling drunkenly. You held a cup in your hand, nails long and lithe, head on his shoulder with a scrunched nose and an inebriated, slanted grin.
Pallid at the longing for you, he finally descends your bedroom and closes the door behind him. Peter sighs, scratching the spot behind his ear, half-expecting for his phone to ping at any sign of you.
He's bored out of his mind and decides to have a look about. The flat has altered; it no longer exhibits Harry's bachelor nature, but rather an amalgamation of things you both adore that fit together like a constellation, with furnishings thrifted and adapted to meet the selected ethos.
It's pretty and optimistic, much like you. Peter enjoys being immersed by you, yet he still can't get enough and craves more.
Living with you was easier. You never brought home people, and if you were with one, you’d be gone ‘till the next day, respecting Peter. He’d do the same, however his dates had become a once in a blue moon; something felt missing and it just wasn’t it.
He likes how caring and pristine you are, how you’re comfortable with being a mess around him. And he likes how he feels around you, too. Peter doesn’t need to worry about going home late at night because, tl;dr, you already knew, and you didn’t mind patching him up ever-so often with all your dexterity.
You don’t mind his nightly throes, you don’t mind his blood between your fingers that he washes away, you don’t mind his cheeky smile, or his flirty jokes, or his past, or who he is.
And Peter likes that.
(He also likes the fact that you’re so fucking hot he feels like he’s floating happily in space when you wear those tight mid-riffs and above the knee skirts. Even when your shirt is stained with your agitated tears and your loose sweatpants.)
Startling him, his phone pings loudly in his pockets. Peter groans when he reaches for it, fingers still trembling from the tremendous ache he still feels from the previous night. Clumsily, he pulls his battered phone out, seeing a text from you.
(y/n): coming home in ten xx
Peter smiles in excitement, maybe even almost jumping in his place like a giddy little child. He takes on the liberty to fix the place a bit, and patiently waits for you on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.
You arrive in less than 10 minutes. The rush in your footfall, which he could hear from distance, gave the impression that you were eager to see him, and your quick heartbeat indicated your excitement. You open the door with a tired smile, your outfit a little askew and your purse half-zipped.
Then he remembers you just came from a date and he probably wasn’t the reason behind your smile.
“Hey doll,” your heartbeat quickens at the sobriquet. “How was your date?”
Peter ignores the ache in his heart that his words gave; tries to hide the jealousy his question bore as you answer him. “Fucking sucked. He’s like Harry, but with little to no respect.”
“Harry’s not that bad,” he chuckles, standing up abruptly. His wounds open a little, and Peter tries to hide the discomfort through his smile, not wanting to worry you.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. He just really sucked,” you throw your purse on the couch with a sigh. “Bet you heard how fast my footsteps were, though. Couldn’t wait to get home.”
Smiling, he teases you. “I’m flattered, (y/n).”
“Yeah yeah,” you smack his chest lightly with the back of your hand. He follows you to the kitchen, watching you remove your shoes as you walk through, throwing it aside and decided to clean it later, maybe the next day.
The floor is cold beneath your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. Your dress shines beneath the dim luminescence of the kitchen light, a star desolated in the middle of the galaxy that Peter’s got his eye on. The white glow of the refrigerator light reflects on your face, bending over to take out a bowl of pineapples.
Even still, Peter follows you as you take a seat on the countertop, swinging your feet as you take the cling wrap off the glass bowl and take the fruit between your fingers, taking a bite.
Peter takes one too, standing in front of you with his back resting against the wall adjacent to you. “Tell me about the date,”
You look at Peter. There’s a side of you that hopes he can show just how jealous he is through his curious gaze, and the other aching for you to just call him out. “Like I said, it was bad,” you shrug, chewing on the fruit. “First, he was ten minutes late.”
He makes a hiss out of judgement. “One point taken.”
“Then he wore the most absurd thing ever. Well, not absurd, but he made me look like I was too overdressed. He wore short khakis, Peter,” your eyes widen. “Short khakis. And, I don’t know, a nyan cat shirt.”
“A nyan cat?”
Peter reaches out for another pineapple, and you hand him the bowl. “A fucking nyan cat. Who wears that to a date?”
He chuckles at your agitation despite the fact that he shouldn't. When Peter says he's thrilled about how poorly your date went, it sounds awful. He doesn't love the sadness, but he does appreciate the fact that you're still open.
He hopes you know what he means.
“I’m sorry your date went bad, (y/n),” his heel kicks him off the wall, his vacant hand reaching out to rub the tense muscle on your right shoulder. Peter smiles when he sees you visibly relax beneath his touch.
“No you’re not,” you smirk, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re not sorry.”
“You’re right,” he pulls his hand back. “I’m not.”
A meteor of unforeseen confidence, Peter steps closer and stands between your legs. Your dress rides up, set halfway on your thigh. He still chews on his pineapple, his eyes on yours as you gradually peel your eyes open.
Irises like Ara, his knees weaken at your unsanctified eyes. You know the place is filled with thrifted furniture and unresolved, salacious tension that fills your head with ribald imaginations you think will Peter never let you go for. It’s wrong to imagine him take you anywhere in your shared apartment, bending you over and take you from behind, spitting out such unholy things that get you wetter and sweeter at each dulcet word he releases in your ear.
“Why’d you go on that date, anyway?” he murmurs, lips wet from his tongue that licks the delectable taste of pineapple.
You pop the last piece in your mouth. “Thought I could find a good fuck,” Peter’s unsurprised by your bawdy confession, getting used to conversations like these. “It’s been a month and I need to release my stress.”
The bowl is behind you. Peter reaches for the dish, his chest meeting yours and his nose just by your eyes. You smell him – cigarettes, faint blood, cinnamon; it brings a hot pool between your legs, and you clench your thighs together.
You shouldn’t be that horny. It’s just cinnamon. And cigarettes. And blood.
He pulls back with a pineapple between his lips. Peter bites, chews and swallows, and says, “Couldn’t you have approached me?”
Well, cat’s out of the bag. No take backs.
Peter perceives you fluster beneath his gaze from the Freudian slip, an abdication between bravado and modesty. Your body tries to acclimate at his raunchy reply, uncertain of how to react. When you opt to unwind and shrug, drawing closer, the tension crescendos into a pinnacle.
“Wouldn’t have been appropriate,”
“How so?”
“Well, we’re flat mates,” you take a bite. “We live together. We’re practically like siblings.”
He deflates, a wave of un-comfort and humor. “Please don’t say that. It’s gross.”
“I’m sorry,” you chuckle, placing a hand on his bicep. You feel his scar through the thin fabric of his shirt, puzzling in just right on your palm. “I’m saying, flat mates don’t fuck.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “Says who?”
“The principles of sex and love,”
“And who made that?”
“I did,” you smile up at him, cheeky. “I made it ever since I hooked up with my roommate back at campus.”
“Is that why you moved out?”
Hesitance halters your words, but you give in a second later. “Yes. Because I wanted to be with her and she didn’t. And I made it awkward and I couldn’t handle it so I moved out.”
Your finger traces the crevices of his biceps, dipping in the curves of his scars of heroism. Peter’s eyes never leave your curious face. “Do these principles count to a guy?”
A shrug. “I don’t know,” you murmur.
The boy is enamored by the taunting, tempting glance you give him. You're a sui generis edgier force in your own right. A burgeoning stargirl in the creation. A woman who is eclectically spurred by autonomy and utilizes confidence as your new power. You're valiant, and your origins are vast.
“You want to try it out?”
You take a bite of your pineapple, and release the sweet fruit with the gentle sound of your suckle. Peter's sense of sight dials up even higher, watching the visual that makes him lick his lips unconsciously.
(And to you, the sight of the thick muscle escaping his unholy mouth sends heat to the altar between your legs, kneeling before you with a mouth that begs atonement; a mouth that aches to taste you.)
Peter wipes the juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb, then raises it to his mouth and sucks the exquisite ambrosia from his skin, and he swears he can taste you. You all but moan, biting your lip. “You fucking drive me insane," he murmurs as he traces your wet lips with his thumb. Your mouth ajar, following his movements before he presses his thumb onto the pad of your tongue.
You suddenly forget the stupid principle in your head, too driven by the arousal that agitates your skin. Peter pushes his thumb deeper until you gag around him, and he pulls his thumb out when you look up at him lustfully.
Leaning in to graze your lips on the lobe of his right ear, you card your fingers through his thick hair, tugging slightly. You smirk when he moans quietly. “Fuck me good then maybe I’ll change my mind.”
The mood switches. Like the warm light turns scarlet red, darkening the dusk in your physiques, Peter plants a hard kiss on your lips. The flavor of pineapple exchanged through heavy breaths and explored tongues, probing his muscle in your mouth. His hands wander up to hold you small face in his large palms, yours pulling on his neck.
His lips are soft in juxtaposition to his rough handling, pulling you closer to his chest. Peter’s hands pull on the zipper at the back of your dress, almost ripping it off out of eagerness. You gasp when he does so, calloused skin caressing your soft back.
“Taste so fucking good,” he growls against your lips. “Had to wait two years for this. Why’d you make me wait, princess?”
Your clothed crotch grinds on the prominent bulge aching to pop out, smirking when he moans again. “Mm, but you liked it, right? Thought you liked waiting? The tension?”
“Fucking tease,” he chuckles, biting your bottom lip. “You feel that baby? Feel how hard you made me? Got me feelin’ like a fuckin’ virgin; like I’ve got a goddamn rock inside my sweats. I’m aching for you."
Hungry hands palm him, pumping him through his sweatpanrs. “I can fucking feel it,” you purr. You feel it go slightly damp, and when he feels it, too, Peter tugs your hand away. His other hand pulls on your hair, a moan escaping your lips when he does so. “Looks like you’re not the only one who’s wet.”
Peter’s eyes darken, his supernova turns into a black hole of lust and starvation. His hands roughly palm your right breast, rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple through your dress. Finally, he pulls the strap down your shoulder, leaning in to bite on your collarbone.
“You want a taste?” he taunts you as you pull on the strings of his sweats. “Get on your knees, then.”
It’s amusing how quick you obliged, letting your dress fall down to the ground. Peter’s eyes land on your exposed chest, lips wanting to wrap themselves on your pebbled buds, but unable to because you sink to the ground, your knees holding you up.
Peter pulls his sweats down, followed by his shirt, smelling the arousal that ruins your underwear. You gasp quietly at the lack of briefs he’s wearing, cock springing up to slap on his stomach.
He is achingly hard, with the tip swell and red, leaking of pre cum. You lick your lips, nails scraping against his thighs before you boldly lick a stripe from his shaft to the tip, sucking on the head.
Effervescently, Peter lets out a sound between a groan and a whimper, the sound ricocheting between the kitchen walls and the marble countertop. You sink your mouth deeper, tongue beneath his cock and his tip hitting the back of your throat when your nose hits his pelvis.
“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re taking me so good.”
His girth is almost unbearable in your mouth when you drag up, enclosing your cheeks around his cock before you sink down in a swift motion. You gag around him, tears swelling your eyes.
Peter thinks the mascara down your cheeks is a masterpiece, beautiful like Andromeda in the sky. You look up at him, eyes wide, wild, sultry yet innocent at the same time. Like the fucking tease you were, your lips wrap around his tip before sinking down halfway, pumping the bottom with your right hand, the left fondling with his balls beneath.
You pull out, pumping him still. “Want to fuck my face, Pete?”
He groans, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You don’t need his confirmation, because soon his hips are thrusting in your mouth, rougher than you expected but you don’t care. Peter’s cock disappears in your mouth, whimpering when you gag around him.
“That’s it,” a hearty groan. “Fuck. Bet you love this, don’t you? On your knees?” you hum around his shaft, pulling out to kitten-lick his tip before sinking back in. Both his hands are on the back of your head, fucking your face like he’s always wanted to do. Your mouth is full of him, your scent is full of him, and your eyesight is full of him; nonetheless you don’t complain, because being on your knees for him gets you cock drunk enough.
He goes deeper, his cock almost right at your throat. You breathe through your nose, exhaling heavily. “That’s it. Take it like a good fucking girl. Ah – fuck.”
Merciless. His muscles retract at every thrust, and your eyes water at every gag. Peter cries out when your hands squeeze a little around his cock, feeling him get closer on edge at every push. You squeeze at his balls before you twist your hands around his shaft, following his thrusts.
You moan around him, vibrating his dick that draws out a loud groan from the man above you. You can feel his bulging veins against your tongue, saliva and arousal dripping down your chin to your exposed breasts.
Finally, he cums harder than he ever has before, voice loud and vocally thankful of your service. With a loud, scandalous groan, he releases his seed into the back of your throat. The luscious rye gets you inebriated on the delectable wine that tastes of sweet and salty.
Peter pulls you up to your feet, gathering up the spit you made and pushing it back into your mouth with his thumb, popping it out with a smile. “Fucking amazing, doll. Did so good for me.”
He kisses you like it’s the last time, your hands scraping on his chest, feeling the sweat stick to your palm. Peter moves down to bite your neck, doesn’t stop until he’s sure it’ll leave a mark. He lifts you up until you sit on the counter, bare ass meeting the cold marble.
“Think you can return the favor?” you pant, tugging on the roots of his hair. “My mind’s still isn’t changed, Pete.”
Peter kisses his way down – leaving generous sucks to your breasts and pleasurable bites on your pebbled buds, licking down to your pelvis that he bites petulantly. His fingers trail up to your calves until they trace the lace of your underwear, hooking them around his fingers before ever so slowly pulling them down to your ankles.
You’re leaking onto the countertop, and he wastes no time in pushing you backwards so that he’s got a better view of your exposed cunt. Peter grows hard again, looking up at your begging eyes before he gives you what you want.
From your ass to your clit, his tongue journeys up to your bud, sucking at the engorged clit before he laps up your sweetness through your folds, going down to teasingly prod his tongue at your puckered hole before going up to your clit again.
“Shit, Peter,” you throw your head back, hands on his brown locks. Honey-brown eyes meet yours between your legs, and you can feel his smirk against you when you moan loudly as his fingers sink inside you, clenching around his limbs. “Fuck,”
“That’s it,” he feels the spongey spot inside you, finding out it’s your g-spot when you cry out loud, biting your lip out of embarrassment. “Take it baby.” His other hand goes up to pull your bottom lip off your teeth, tugging it down. "What? Don't go shy on me now. You don't think I hear you? You're pretty loud, especially when you use your toy. Rubbing that thing up your greedy fucking pussy. God, you don't even know how hard I get when I hear you moan my name."
You chuckle at his confession. “These walls aren’t paper thin, Peter. If you think you heard those by accident, you’re so fucking wrong.”
He continues to suck on your clit, continues to fuck you with his fingers, continues teasing both your clenching holes. Because Peter enjoys watching your cunt spasm at his touch. He lets his tongue fuck you, moaning when you clench tightly around his thick muscle.
“I’m close,” you breathe out. “I’m so fucking wet Peter. I’m already close.”
Capriciously, Peter stops. You whimper as he stands up, and he’s unpleased by your reaction as a frown settles between his eyebrows. He slaps the tip of his cock on your clit. “Why’re you whining, (y/n). Greedy girl. Wait here for a bit, will you?”
He’s quick to his feet when he disappears into the bedroom. Waiting for at least ten seconds, he reappears with his webshooter on his left hand, and a toy in his right– scarlet head, black body, blue buttons. The wand makes your mouth water, and he places it beside you as Peter gives you a hungry kiss.
In a swift motion, he turns you around. Peter places the wand in front of where your clit is, webs the toy on the countertop before he bends you over, the head hitting your clit as he calculated. You moan at his handling, his hand on the back of your neck.
“You still on the pill?” Peter whispers in her ear. “You feel too fucking good for me to just wear a condom, doll.”
“Yeah,” you nod, eyes closing when his nose rubs on your cheek. Peter holds his cock in his hand, penetrating your hole with his tip before finally pushing in.
Divine. Like angels had come down and taken you with them, but your soul falls down into the deep depths of hell from the unholy act of his bare cock pushing in your tight walls. His hands grasp tightly at your waist, moaning loudly together the neighbors would file a complaint the next day.
It's not his powers healing him - it's you. It's your touch that mends his soul with the mere act of immorality. Your runes mending his skin as it burns itself on his pearlescent body. “So tight, baby,” he breathes out. “So amazing. Feel so amazing. Gonna let me fuck you hard like the whore you are?”
“Yes,” you moan. “Give it to me.”
Ever the obedient, Peter slams himself onto you. His other hand turns the vibrator on, and you practically scream with the intense pleasure. Peter fucks you into oblivion, slamming at a pace unrecoverable.
A feeling that takes him to Caelum; your eyes as round and beautiful as Callisto, bright like the moon. His skin on yours is euphorically amorous; mind nebulous. “You’re such a good cocksleeve, doll. So fucking amazing. My whore, getting what she wants, making me prove her stupid principles wrong.”
You meretriciously reach behind you to grasp at his forearm, hand choking you from behind. His cock opens you up, stretches you out as Peter continues to pound from behind you. You feel his cold spit dribble down your neglected hole, his thumb tracing before pushing it inside your ass.
It’s painful but bearable, because you like the pain that he gives you. Greedily taking all that he gives as his cock goes deep that his tip bulges out your pelvis. The vibrator never hinders down, abusing your swollen clit while his thumb fucks your ass. And you’re scratching: countertops. Your back arched like a cat as his position lets him keep on hitting it, crying because you love him the feeling of his cock too much.
Peter lets go of your neck, hands caressing your back in an act of care. It’s what alleviates the heavy feeling of abhorrent fornication. His scandalous words are gloriously poisonous, but with mithridatism in your veins, you handle the sweet hemlock. Then he pulls your back to his chest leaving the vibrator buzzing and coated with your arousal, bodies paralleled as he fucks you into another universe by a force unfathomably powerful.
But he pulls the vibrator off the counter, despite the sticky webbing. With his balls slamming on yours from behind, with his thumb leaving your hole, he puts the vibrator against your clit, overstimulating you more.
“That’s it,” he moans when he hits your spot, squeezing him. “I’m close. You close baby?”
Lost of words, you nod. He slams with a couple of more thrusts, before he shoots his warm cum inside you. You follow obediently, cumming on his cock. He doesn’t pull out yet, slowly fucking you still.
Peter is as magnificent as the veil nebula in the constellation Cygnus. You soar in cosmos, admiring Peter's blue and purple glories being as the remnant of the beautiful catastrophe of a supernova. You admire the glacial haze, too infatuated with his splendor.
Peter wipes the drag on the mess between your legs, apologizing when he touches your stinging cunt from the stimulation. He plants a small kiss on your naked collarbone, then a sweet kiss on your tired, puffy lips.
“Are your principles changed?” he murmurs against your lips, looking at you. Peter thinks you’re the most beautiful star in all galaxies, beaming boldly beneath him.
You giggle, finger tracing his jawline. “I guess.”
You hide your face in his chest, Peter plants a soft kiss on your forehead. The fucking wore him out, resting his head on top of yours. And you’re still naked on the countertop.
This was definitely all Harry’s fault.
༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺
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pierreparker · a day ago
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EMMA STONE and ANDREW GARFIELD in The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) dir. Marc Webb
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thebraveprincesspure · 2 days ago
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Has anyone done this yet or am I the first one?
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t-hollanderr · 20 hours ago
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I choose you.
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Prince!peter parker x fem reader
Summary: Being bestfriends with Prince Peter had it's ups and downs. Especially when you were in love with him but he got engaged to another. But what else did you expect you were only a maid at the end of the day, Peter would never want you.
Or did he?
18+ ~ I am not a native English speaker so i'm sorry for any mistakes.
-
"Peter! Stop running and put that ball down!" your voice bounches off the stone walls gently. Six year old Peter's laughter was to be heard as his little legs carry him as fast they could. You hot on his heels.  "Peter stop making haste!" you say once again watching your bestfriend engaging in such dangerous acts. Your legs were carrying yourself as fast as they could, running after the brunnette boy who seemed to have way too much fun. Peter was running at fast speed while bounching this favorite ball up and down at the same time. He was so focused on his ball he did not look infront of him, making the changes of the young boy running into something or someone quite high. "Do not worry, I won't injure myself" he yells your way, feeling on top of the world in the empty halls."Here catch!" Peter giggles throwing the ball towards you unexpectedly.
Before little you could even register what was happening you felt a hit against your face making you fall against the cold stone floor. Knees scraping against the ground, your knees as your face start burning from the impact. Peter looked at you in shock, your big eyes were filled with tears and your lip was wobbeling dangerously. "I'm sorry.. it was a accident" he quickly speaks fidgeting with his hands anxiously. He didn't like it when you cried, especially when it was his fault. Against his will your cries started to fill his ears. Aunt May who had been not far away, ran into the hall alarmed by the sudden sounds of crying.
"Dear child" she murmers kneeling down next to your shivering body. Your cheeks were stained  by your tears, your breath hitching as you remain on the ground. It was the shock that had made you start crying but slowly the pain of the fall and the hit in your face started to register as well. Pure horror was to be seen on Peter's face. "Aunt May it was a accident. I did not mean her any harm" he spoke. Peter walked your way wanting to put his hand on your shoulder but May told him off. "Leave her for now. I'll let someone take her to the village, back home. Go to your chambers Peter i'm sure you'll get to play with her again soon enough".
Peter smiles at the memory, the lines by his eyes crinkling in the act. The ball that had once been in his fingertips was now replaced by the soft fabric of his undershirt. Buttoning it up slowly as he startes at himself in the mirror. He clearly wasn't six years old anymore. His hair line had receded the tiniest bit, there were some deep lines carved in his forhead and the lower side of his face wasn't as smooth as it used to be. A well kept beard showing he was at the ripe age of 26.
It was often memories of you filled his head, which wasn't odd concidering you had been the one he spend time with most of his life. Peter grew up with his Aunt May, his parents passed when he was only four by smallpox and unfortunately had little to no memory of them. The only things keeping them alive being their portrait of when they got married, which since they passed had been a part of Peter's room. May had insisted on it. Concidering Benjamin and Mary only beared one child the kingdom remained kingless for the years to come. May was the head of the country, holding it warm in the palms of her hands to one day hand it over to her nephew. But she was getting older and so she hoped he would take his right full place in soon. Expect that was easier said than done..
"Did you walk the lovely Lady Williams?" May asks nonchalantly sipping on the chicken thigh soup infront of her. "I did not feel the need" Peter responses a bitter smile on his face. "Oh" she sighs, dissapointment clear in her voice. "You know she is a beautiful young lady. She's into dancing, riding her horse and diamonds. You always pick the prettiest necklesses for me so I thought maybe she's be a great match. Lady Williams is 19 years old, perfect condition for baring a ch-" May's words got intterupted by Peter aprupt standing up from the table. A handkercief depping the sides of his mouth before speaking. "You and me both know I am of no intrest. There is only one my heart desires".
Without another word his feet carry him out the dining room, trough the hall and down the stairs making his way to the kitchen. A place he found himself often after supper. His footsteps echoes trough the long empty halls, his boots heavy against the ground. The castle was held in place by stone bricks which had weed trying to get trough the creeks. Giving it the tiniest bit of green detail. The orange glow from outside which was caused by the sun setting fell beautifully against Peter's face. Making his cheeks warm up nicely and his dark brown eyes turn a tiny shade lighter.
Finally Peter arrives at a place he was not allowed by his aunt. The kitchen belonged to the maids and cooks, them only. It was 'no such place for the future king'. In other kingdoms servans were looked down upon, they were used and then cast aside like a rag towel. They didn't have any worth other than cooking cleaning and doing what royals ordered them to do. But there was one.. one that meant so much more to Peter than that. One that he had secretly been around since he was a boy. Before she was even a maid at the castle. One that stole his heart a very long time ago.
"Peter you should not be here!" your voice filling his ears was the most angelic thing he'd heard all week. "I truly do not listen to words other than the ones that are in my heart. If I want to see my bestfriend I will not deprive myself from such pleasure" he grins at you, his cheesy words made you roll your eyes. You quickly walk towards the Prince in front of you and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. His scent immediately hit your nostrils and it makes you relax in his arms, he smelt like home.
"May asked me about another suiter once again" Peter speaks, a frown on his face thinking back on the conversation. You pull away from him slowly and furrow your eyebrows. The last two months Peter had come to you everytime he was expected to marry another proper lady he did not desire. You were like a relieve for him, someone he could talk to and actually listen. You understood him, you always had and you always would. It was something Peter craved and you were the only one who could provide him with that.
"What was wrong with her this time?".
"She wasn't you" he jokes resulting in you spanking him against his hip with your tea towel. "I'm only joking my lady" he laughs hopping on one of the wooden tables you used to chop up your vegetables. Some potatoes and chicken left overs were still lingering around, just like a handful pots and pans that still needed washing. "If I shall speak the truth I do not know if there was anything wrong. I did not go on a walk with her like my Aunt asked. I just felt in my bones she wouldn't be the one", a lie, he wanted you.
"My dear friend you can not simply push away any suiter who shows the tiniets bit of interest. You're 26, you should be married by now and at least have one heir on the way. Do not get scared away by my words but you're proper handsome as well, there be no trouble finding someone. Have you seen the prince of Whales? He looks more rotten than the potatoes we feed the pigs. Any girl should be lucky to marry you, even when you sometimes fax me like no other" you snort.
"If he already looked so poorly on the portrait I do not want to see that man in real life" Peter snickers trying to form the mans face in his imagenation. "All i'm saying is that Lady Farwell, whom you turned away last week was a perfectly beautiful woman with a -as far as I know- very kind heart. Please my friend tell me the real reason you are not yet to be wed ".
You tried getting the truth out of him more times than you could count on both hands but he did not speak up. You cared for him, maybe a little more than you should. You just didn't want to see him end up all bitter and alone. You wanted happiness for him. Love and acceptance, something he never had the chance of getting from his parents.
With a big sigh Peter snatches a apple from the tray behind him. "Like I said, they simply did not tickle my fancy, there isn't any othe reason. I don't want to marry some harlot. I want to actually like and desire her" he shruggs as he quickly jumos off the wooden table. "It was a pleasure seeing you for a little while and the food tonight was amazing. You always work so hard for us, but do get some rest. You look tired" he smiles at you. A quick kiss got pressed on top of your head before he ran to the door, his apple still in hand. You sigh deeply with a smile on your face as he dissapears from your sight, his man would be the absolute end of you.
Years back, days before Peter's 18th birthday his room had been a mess. Different letters scattered around his desk, most already stampeled and approved by him. Though he wasn't yet to be King a lot of deals went trough him first before May had a look at it. Even though his desk was full there were three unopened letters which he reconized out of millions. The way it was sealed, the writing.. it were suiters. Woman whom were unwed and looking for a husband. Peter was a perfect candiate. He was at a good age, handsome, rich and has a stabel country to rule. We was very willed along the princesses. The truth was that the one he wanted was out of reach, his Aunt made that very clear.
"Only two more days and it's your birthday my dear. You're getting so big, I remember the day I turned 18 like it was yesterday" May kissed her nephew's head with a bright smile on her face. "But we do both know that a King isn't in it's full potential without a beautiful bride" she said stepping away from her nephwe to grab a letter she has recieved days prior. "It's a letter from King Saanvi of France. He has a beautiful young daughter whom would find it a pleasure to stand by your side. I could arrange a meeting for the both of you in about two months. That should be enough time to reciece my letter and travel our way". It seemed that she had already planned out Peter's intire future, but he did not agree.
"I apologize for speaking my mind but I do not want to marry the princess of France" Peter's words made May turn her head around in record time. "What do you mean by that my child?".
"Precisely as I stated, I do not wish to marry the princess or France. You are not my father nor my mother so I have all the right to decline this offer" the boy spoke. It was clear on the woman's face that she did not enjoy this contradiction. "I need to spend the rest of my life with the woman I marry, so I wish to chose her myself" Peter stood up for his rights and could feel the pride grow in his chest. He'd never done this before, he never went against his aunt. "Give me a name, and i'll look what I can do" May spoke. Before she could even turn around and leave the room your name fell of Peter's lips, making the woman stop in her steps. The room went quite, as if it was empty.
"Peter", his name sounded harsh to his ears. Something he wasn't used to. His aunt rarely called him by his name in that manner. "You and me both know that is not to happen. She is a maid, not of your status. I know she is your friend and you've known her your whole life but do not let her put the idea in your head that she is good enough for you". Peter felt his blood start to boil, did she think that was the case? That you were brainwashjng him so you could rule the country along him. Get away from your low status and bring yourself up by marriage. He felt disgusted, you would never do such a thing. You never even tried to do so in the slightest way.
"That is not the case" Peter spoke. "I've fallen for her on my own". "Is that what she tries to tell you? I'm so sorry my child but we can find a way to get rid of her I pro-", Peter violantly slapped away the hand she had layed opon his cheek.
"I love her" he says, his voice rougher than normal. Once again the room filled with a deadly silence. "You will not marry her, you cannot speak about this with anyone. A prince with a maid, what would people think.."
"You can truly do it all can you not?" the fimilliar voice behind you makes you jump slightly as the roses you were holding seconds before fall onto the demp ground. "Peter you frightened me!" you laugh, throwing some dirt his way, only missing his body by centimeters. "Thought i'd visit my favorite human being concidering my meetings for today have ended already".
My favorite human being.
You couldn't help but smile at his choice of words, he always showered you in affection so effortlessly. "I'm just getting some fresh flowers Pete, anyone could do that" you shrugg. "Not true! I couldn't, would most likely rip everything out by accident. It's delicate work, you really are talented sweet girl. Just take the compliment" he smiles at you, making your heart flip in your chest.
"Would you like to go on a walk with me?" Peter sticks out his hands your way. You stare up, extremely tempted to let him pull you up and accept the offer but you can't. You wouldn't be free until later in the afternoon. "I'm working" you say with a pout, hoping he'd leave you alone and not tempt you more. Peter on the other hand loved tempting you. "I'm the soon to be king. You work for me and so I can dismess you from work anytime i'd like", you knew he was some what right. The truth was if he did not have a wife he was not officially king. Right this moment you still worked for May and you did not dare to anger her in any way or form.
"You are not wed, that menas you are not yet
king. I would hate to anger your aunt Peter. I'm sorry but I must do my work" you had stood up as you spoke, now standing eye in eye with your friend. Peter crooks his head to the side and gives you puppy eyes, trying to win you over. "No truly no Pete!" you laugh making Peter groan in repsonds. "I have to meet up with the princess of Belgium in an hour and i'd really like to speak with you before that" he admits. You think for a second, he never done that before. Why all of the sudden did he need to speak to you before attending the meeting with his possible new wife? Did he want to discuss with you how he could propose to her? You were sure your heart could not take that. How were you supposed to help him marry someone else when all you wanted was for him to pick you.
"I don't know Pete, I just really need to do my work" you say, feeling like a horribly selfish friend. "Do you not think this is important? She might become my new wife. I just really need to talk to you before meeting her", your heart broke at the tone of his voice. The playfullness was gone, he almost sounded sad. "Of course I do, i'm just of no interest" you knew you were being mean, and you would apologize after but for now this felt like the best thing to do. To prevent your own heartbreak.
I'm just of no interest. Peter never felt like this before. It was as if you grabbed his heart and threw it off the highest tower. You did not want him, not the way he wanted you. He thought that maybe there was the slightest chance of love between the two. All the years you had been at his side were just a friendship to you. It was clear now and he needed to move on.
"Alright" he says bluntly. "I'll leave you to your work then"
Seeing him walk away made you more sad than you could even imagine. Hopefully now without your help he would be too scared to ask her hand, it was selfish but it gave you a little bit more hope for yourself. Maybe one day he would realize how in love he was with you. The thought of Peter had always filled your heart with a sense of home, a sweet taste was left on your tongue as your heart filled itself with adoration. He meant everything to you. You were 11 when you started working as a maid, your dad had fallen ill making him in no state to work. You mothers job was to take care of him so you had no choice but to bring money in. It was a dark saturday afternoon, it was storming outside when you collapsed into Peter's arms. You told him everything that happened and without a second thought he had offered you a job at the castle. He would not let you work on the fields. The thought of angry man demanding you and forcing you into hard labor made his heart clench. He wanted you save and close to him. You weren't expected to do much, cook for the prince and his aunt plus take care if the garden. You were more than happy and grateful for this opportunity and so you had been doing it for fiftheen years now.
The day everything changed was 16, a saturday spring morning. The smell of flowers blooming in the air. It was the first time you felt that little sparkle lit up in your heart. You remember it clear as day, the you realized you were in love with the future king.
Birds were chriping, a light layer of condensation still covering the earth. It was a nice silence, most people in the castle were still asleep but not you. One of the guards had woken you up, telling you it was May's birthday. He ordered you to pick some fresh flowers and put the by her breakfast, a little extra to start her day as splendid as possible. As you arrive in the garden your face fills with horror. Half the the flowers were eaten, little bites taken out of the leaves. "No no no" you whine, kneeling down to look at your ruined work. "What?" he guard asks, his eyes blind to the disaster that had happened to your garden. "The flowers, rabbits must have eaten them. They are ruined!" You said, tears swelling in your eyes. Weeks worth of time was all gone in one simple night. "Well fix it!" the guard yelled at you. "It does not work like that sir. They are eaten, there is no bringing them back".
The irritated man behind you made you feel so small. Not only was he way bigger than you, you were squatting down and he was towering over you. "Find a way than you bitch" his foot hit your ribs slightly. Not enough to hurt but the unwanted touch was enough to make tears fill your sight. "Again, there is nothing I can do", your voice is small you're almost afraid he isn't able to hear you. "I said" you can feel his rough hands on your neck lifting you up, so high your feet lift off the ground slightly. "Fix it!" he spit in your face, the tears now rolling down your cheek.
"Put her down you absolute bugger", the voice came from behind the guard making him drop you and bow towards the man. "Sorry my lord she did not do her work properly. I needed to take action" the guard said making Peter scoff. "She did not do anything wrong. This beautiful human being you just dare to put your hands on is the most hardworking person in this whole castle. She does her work perfectly every single day, does not run her mouth about other people, does not gossip, she is polite funny and kind so god forbid you treat her like that every again cause it will he the last thing you do". You had never seen Peter like this, so truly angry. If it wasn't the Peter you knew for all your life you would have been terrified. "Now leave, and never dare to come close to her ever again".
The guard walked away in record time without saying another word. Peter kneeled down next to you and all anger had dissapeared from his face. Only concern was to be seen, his tumb whipes away your tears softly. Not wanting to hurt you or cross your boundries in any way. "What can I do to make you feel okay?" he asks, his voice soft and kind. "Just hold me please" you whisper. Your knees were dug into the mud but neither of you cared. His strong arms wrap them around yours, your face is smushed into his neck. Something changed in yourself, the love you felt for your friend bloomed into the kind of love you have for your lover. The way he stood up for you was something nobody has ever done for you. He was the one person you could always count on, the one you spend your whole life with.
The one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.
As the afternoon ended you noticed happiness in the castle, people were more alive. Some where running around with letters, and others gossiping. You got curious, curious to this sudden burst of energy all around. "Miss" you tap on another maids shoulder. "Did something happen? Everyone seems so filled with joy" you ask. A basket filled with laundry was set by her feet as her eyes flew over the information on the letter in her hand. "Yes! A major change in the kingdom. Prince Peter proposed to the princess of Belgium!"
A sudden nausea hits you like a brick. You let yourself down, why did you even have the slightest of hope he would want you? He was a prince, a king, a royal and you were you. A maid who had nothing to offer but your love. You weren't a princess and you would never be. You hated yourself for letting yourself believe he could ever love you and the hurt was all your own fault. "Thank you, that is great news" you smile at her before quickly walking away. You needed to leave the castle, even if it was just for a little while. You didn't want to see all the happy people in the castel and especially not Peter. You needed space, your legs carry you as fast as they can. Your skirt waving in the wind, you didn't look where you were going you just needed to get away.
"Where are you going my lady?" a unknown voice speaks to you. You look up and see the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. Her hair was silky brown, the ends falling down elegantly in a curl. Her skin was smooth with big brown eyes popping out, her lips were full and glossy. Her the dress she was wearing hugged her figure like a angel. You felt disgusting in front of her, your clothing was still dirty from serving breakfast this morning and your hair was most likely frizzy.
"I'm just going out ma'am" you say. "Don't you have work to do?" she raises her eyebrow at you. "No, who are you if I may ask? I only take orders from whom I work for" you say getting annoyed by her rudeness. She might be pretty but obviously rotten from the inside. She laughs at your words. "I'm the future queen of this country so you might want to listen to me. I could cast you out in a second" her voice is mean, a sligtht roughness to it. Another hit of nausea hits you.
The princess if Belgium.
"Excuse me, I need to pass by" you say trying to walk away. "Why are you not bowing before leaving?" she says, it was close to being a scream. It made you stop in your tracks. Before you could repsond Peter walked out of the ballroom into the hallway. His eyes widend as he saw the both of you together. "My love i'm not sure who trained this one but she is rather rude" the princess says grabbing Peter's hand pulling him into her side. My love?  Hadn't she only known him for half a day, who did she think that she was. "This maid did not bow to me before leaving my presents" the princess says, letting her eyes rank over you in disgust. "Can we please get a new set of maids? Send this one back to where ever she came from". Peter was silent for a second, opening his mouth and closing it again. As if he was unsure what to say.
"Of course we will remove anyone you dislike" he smiles at her. Numer 1 crack in your heart. "Good, we'll start with her then" she grins at you. "N-now?" you stutter feeling small under her gaze. The princess looks at Peter, waiting for him to speak up first. "I am not king yet, we cannot send her away. We'll talk about it after the wedding" he says not daring to look you in the eyes. You bow quickly before running away as fast as you could, you would rather die than let them see you cry. Without thinking your body takes you to the garden, a place you normally felt at peace. Now it only reminded you of falling in love with Peter, a love that was onsided. And always would be, it didn't just felt like he didn't love you back. It felt as it he hated you, how could he pick her side? He had known her for not more than 4 hours and you? You and him were basically together since birth. You never thought you could hurt like this. It felt as if you lost your friend. The one person you trusted more than life.
Your parents started working again a couple years ago. The money was no issue anymore, you stayed working in the castle for him. But now that was gone... maybe the princess of Belgium was right. Maybe you should leave, you did not want to see them getting married, having children, being happy. You would die inside, you needed to get away. As far as possible. Suddenly anger takes over your body, without a second thought you start ripping out all plants from the ground. Roses, lilly's, dandelions, they were all scattered over the place. The mess gave you some kind of satisfaction, it felt as if your life wasn't the only thing ruined. Your sight was blurry from the tears swimming in your eyes, it felt like you were dying but the burning pain in your chest confirmed you were in fact still alive.
"I'm so happy you finally found someone!" May smiled at her nephew kissing his cheek. "She is absolutely define, I am so proud of you", the smile on her face was the biggest he'd seen in a while. At least someone was happy. He felt empty inside, he was going to marry a woman he did not know. Did not love and did not want. He was just hurt. I'm just of no interest. Your words had stabbed him harder than anything ever before. The woman he loved since he was a kid did not want him, he waited for her, refused anyone who threw themself at him for her. And she did not desire him back. What was the point? He could not love anyone else, his heart had no room. So marrying the first the best on his path was the second option. He wanted to talk with you before seeing the princess, he was planning on telling you how he felt. He wanted to ask you if he you would marry him but you declined. Declined before he could even ask. Seeing the hurt in your eyes as he sided with the princess broke him, but what was he supposed to do? She was his fiance now, he had no choice but do what she wanted. He could not lose two woman in one day, even if one of them meant nothing to him.
"Thank you your grace, I have to say you are absolutely breath taking yourself" the princess complimented May. It made Peter's stomach turn in disgust. His aunt had always spoken poorly of you, the sweetest human being he knew. While she was being absolutely lovely to the woman who made his love cry. How twisted could the world be?
"We will need to send a letter to my father as soon as possible. So he and mother can make haste this way, they will need to attend the wedding" the princess spoke. "Indeed we still need to do a lot before the big day. Especially get a new cook, the maid left her job this afternoon" May words grab Peter's attention. "Did she leave, what do you mean by she left?" Peter asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "She went back to her parents, said she no longer felt the need to work for us. I'm sorry Peter, I knew she was your friend" a friend just a friend.
"That maid I walked into earlier, she was your friend? Well good thing she left, she was very inpropper. We need to work on your choice if friends Peter" the princess spoke, sipping on her cup of tea, pinky up in the sky like she had learned from a very young age. "How long ago did she leave?" Peter asks, ignoring the princesses comment. "Not sure, an hour or two ago" May said pouring herself a second cup, offering the princess some as well but she declined. Peter jumped up from his place.
"Peter you do not need to go see her. She is from your past, focus on your fiance now. Let that minx be she was never good enough for you anyway. You're the prince, she's a maid" May spoke, she was afraid. In her eyes Peter had finally sound someone proper, she loved her nephew and wanted the best for him. It was a pity she was so blinded to see that he wouldn't find true happiness if it wasn't with you. May knew how powerful the love that Peter held for you was, she was praying to the God's he wouldn't ruin this chance with the princess of Belgium. Not for someone like you.
"Call her a minx once more and i'll not come back, ever. I know you think to know what's best for me but you do not." Peter hissed. His chest that had been filled with emotions these past hours finally exploaded. "You and me both know I do not desire to marry the princess of Belgium", the girl looked at Peter with pure horror, her face growing pale. "I am in love with someone else, I might have been blind before but I can not let her leave this easily. Even if she does not love me back I will fill fight for her, excuse me now. I need to get back what I so stupidly lost".
Your mother was soothing you as you cried in her shoulder. "I'm so sorry my child" she whispered. "I know you love him, I can't even imagine how much this must hurt". Your dad was busy in the kitchen making you a nice bowl of soup. You had showed up at their door step an hour ago, face red from your tears and a small bag in hand. It was something they expected, there would come a time Peter had to get married. They had just hoped that against all odds it would be you. "I truly loved him mama, so much" your voice is shaky and you were wondering how there were still tears left to fall after hourd of crying. "Look at me" your mother said, grabbing your face in both hand. "You are a wonderful girl, so full with life. You will find someone who will love you, I know you wanted it to be Peter but life takes weird turns sometimes. It hurts now, I know that but you will heal. You will heal and flower up again like you always do. You're the strongest person I know".
It felt weird sleeping in your old room again, you hadn't been here in ages. The room was small, a wooden bed against the wall and a tub with fresh water to wash up in the other corner. You were drowing yourself in a bunch of linen duvets, trying to keep warm. Your body was too tired to cry, you just felt numb and tired. You wanted to sleep and never wake up. Oh you so hope you wouldn't wake up....
As you feel yourself drift off to sleep a harsh knock is to be heared on the front door. You didn't want your parents to wake up from it, they deserved their sleep so you quickly stand up and walked towards the door. A wave of cold wind wraps around your bare legs, making shivers break out over your skin. You eyes need to ajust to the darkness outside but as soon as they do you are met by a set of all to fimillary brown ones. A big black horse was drinking from the river infront of your house, there were no guards around him making you realize he came alone. Peter's hair was messy by the ride and his eyes looked red, as if he had cried the whole way here. You had taken Peter to your home a handful of times when you were younger. It was a suprise to you he still knew the way.
"Oh" you say, feeling your throat close up at his presents. "You didn't say goodbye" he says abruptly. "Well, I thought you wouldn't mind me leaving. You looked very happy with the idea when the princess proposed it" you bite back. "God I didn't want you to actually leave!" he groans, his voice desperate. "Then why did you say it?" you ask. "Because she is my fiance I couldn't hurt her feelings by disagreeing with her" he knows it sounds ridicilous but the right words are hard for him to fine in this moment. He was never good at apologies. "But you could hurt mine?" your voice is small. You look deep into his eyes, hurt swimming in them. "I have been your friend for your whole life and you chose someone you knew for only hours over me" you voice sounds bitter, your sadness now taken over by anger.
"I'm sorry dove it-"
"Do not call me such names" you spit "you chose her over me. Even though I love you and I thought for the slightest second that you loved me back but as we can both see I was wrong. Goodbye Peter, please let me be" you wanted to shove the door shut but it got stopped by Peter's foot. "Wait please wait" he begged, your first instinct was to ignore him, shut the door and forget all about this interaction. But there was something in his voice which made you open the door back up. In the end he had always been your weakness.
"What do you mean by love, you've always loved me what did you mean by that?" he's stuttering over his words, he wasn't expecting this sudden love confession from you. His eyes were wild, his hand closed around your wrist so that you had no chance to close the door on him again. You felt hot all over, you spoke those words outloud in a wave of anger but now all you felt was shame. You just admitted your biggest secret right infront of him.
"I'm in love with you" your voice was a whisper. It suprised you he even heard.
All of the sudden the world made a spin, as if these past hours were all a fever dream. Peter's lips were on yours and the second blow of nausea that day hit you like a brick. But this time it was a walm of butterflies instead of a cold grip around your heart. Peter's firm hands held your waist scared you'd run away, he didn't want you to do that ever again. You arms wrapped around his neck like you had done millions of times but this time it was different. It wasn't a embrace out of friendship, it was one out of love. His lips felt slightly cold against yours but it didn't matter, it felt nice even. Your body was so hot from all the emotions that day the coolness made you calm down. After minutes which felt like seconds you pulled away, needing to suck some fresh air into your lungs.
"You kissed me" you whisper against Peter's lips before he sets a step back. "I did indeed. Was it alright?" he felt a little bad about not asking your permission before hand. "It was more than alright" quickly you pull Peter back and smash your lips on his once again. Not giving him the time to progress or form any words. His hands dissapear into your hair pushing your face even closer against his own, if that was even possible. "I want you all over me" you sigh, feeling your whole body heat up. Peter looked at you with big eyes. "Are you sure?" he asks, he knew you never submitted in such acts before. "Only if you promise to never leave me after" you say looking deep into his eyes.
Peter felt a overwhelming urgue to protect you, you looked so small and hurt. He felt afwul that he made you feel this way, he wanted to cuddle you up and shower you in love for the rest of his life. "Never, I will never leave you" he says. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, was this a fever dream? Hours ago you felt like you lost the love of your life and now he was right in your arms promising to never let go. "My parents are home, shall we move this to the stabels?" you ask a grin on your face. Peter laughed at the tone in your voice "let's go silly girl".
"ohh" your moans were the prettiest thing Peter ever heard, his face was smothered in your core his new favorite place to be. His tongue touching every single inch he could reach, enjoying every second. "You taste define" he groaned, the vibrations rolling a new sensation of pleasure all over your body. "Your tongue work is define" you giggle looking down at Peter a grin on his face. "Is it alright if I use my fingers?" he asks, you nod your head excited for the new sensation. Peter started teasing your opening with his middle finger, poking inside inch for inch. He looks at your face for any sign of discomfort, when he doesn't see any he starts pushing his whole diget in and out. You furrow your eyebrows slightly so Peter starts giving kitten licks to your clit to calm you down. "More" you sigh before Peter adds a second finger. After a little while he starts speeding up his movements making your eyes roll back.
"This feels amazing oh my" your back arches off the ground making Peter tighten his grip on your thighs. "You're doing perfectly for me sweetheart" Peter murmers against your core. "Faster" you plead, feeling a sweet release creep up on you. Peter notices your breaths become heavier and decides to search your g-spot. Plunging his fingers deeper inside and curling them in a way that made you see stars. "Oh my lord Peter keep doing that please" you are suprised you could even form sentences still. Loud moans were filling the stables making pride swell in his chest. "Pete... my love" you say out of breath, warning him for the knot that was about to snap.
"My sweet girl, let go for me. You're doing so good, want you to scream" his words were the last drip. You mouth opened wide as your eyes shut tightly. A long groan fills Peter's ears before he feels your cunt tighten around his fingers. After you came down from your high he puts your underwear back on while pressing soft kisses against your thigh. "Come up here" you ask softly, Peter didn't hesitate for a second and immediately cuddled up next to you. You were a little sweaty but he didn't mind one bit, he just wanted to be close to you. It was silent for a couple of minutes, you were playing with his hear as we drew figures on you bare arm. Not a care in the world. "You want to know the moment when I fell in love with you?" Peter suddenly spoke up. You pressed your forhead against his and nodded. "Please tell".
"Without knowing I fell for you over the years but when I truly realized it was christmas eve when we were about 15. I remember I was just wondering around the castle when I came across the prettiest girl in the world, I swear you looked extremely pretty setting up a christmas tree in the ballroom. I walked up to you and we had a little chat, I believe I was so busy that week I had no time speaking with you at all. I missed you like crazy. It wasn't long before you asked me which ornaments I wanted in the tree. Nobody had ever asked what I wanted before, decisions were always made for me and you made me feel so special. You listenend to my needs and opinions and it was wonderful. It's then I realized there were so many more pleasent things about you. The way you smile, your eyes, the kindness you always spread. How good you are with children let alone how hilarious you are. You're the only one who understands my silly remarks. Everytime I look at you I feel like I might expload. I am so sorry for hurting your feelings today, I chose you okay? You will be my queen and the one i'll love for the rest of my life".
Without realizing you had started crying during his little speech, Peter quickly wiped away the tears before kissing your head gently. "I love you too Peter, more than you can imagine" you kiss his lips softly and full love. The happiness radiating off the both of you.
"Also Pete, thank you for tonight. You were amazing" you giggle hiding your face in his chest.
"I have a lot more under my sleeve little girl, but i'll keep those a surpise for our wedding night my dear".
-
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blooming-violets · 11 hours ago
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I’ve read the trope of Peter sketching out his naked lady as she’s draped over the couch or whatever but I wanna read the trope of sexy lady sketching out naked Peter as he’s draped over the couch? 
Anyone got anything like that for me? Can I put in any formal requests to someone? 
Someone draw him like one of their french girls. He’d love it. 
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odins-sonofmischief · a day ago
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Peter.
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armageddon-generation · 19 hours ago
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What The Amazing Spider-Man 2 Could Have Been
(All the deleted scenes, cut concepts and studio notes that could've saved this movie)
(Sequel to this post on TASM deleted scenes)
COMPILED FROM:
deleted scene compilation 
Comparison to a rough cut
An analysis of an earlier draft, from the International Business Times
Badass Digest’s look at the earlier script
Kevin Feige’s notes on the movie for Sony
BTS footage of Mary Jane scenes
OPENING
“There are too many story lines and we need to choose which ones we are focusing on and lift out the other ones, ie; could reduce father arc to just Roosevelt?
 "Could cut out plane crash and Richard destroying spiders”
Young Peter and Harry play chess at the Parkers’ Wake, mentioned in the director’s commentary:
“Peter was this lonely child in this room of adults, and he snuck off to his Dad’s study, and in walked Harry … They started playing chess, it was kind of a metaphor and I can’t remember the exact dialogue, but it was this lovely moment of these boys connecting and finding each-other. [Before this] Their relationship had been all about going to their fathers’ labs … In the doorway … They turn and there’s this silhouetted man in the beginning of his degenerative disease holding onto his cane.”
Starting the movie in Richard Parker’s study (just like hide and seek in TASM) creates a thematic through-line with the first film
Much stronger setup of Harry and Peter’s friendship
Better setup of the disease and Norman’s shadow over Harry and Peter
Ties into Fiege’s recommendation:
“If you cut Richard from the opening and the plane crash maybe you could instead do Harry coming home and seeing Norman at the top of the movie as a cold open.”
TRUCK CHASE
MJ is waitressing at a café during the opening truck chase
“Don’t start with Spider-Man….let the danger/stakes to NYC build first and then have Spider-Man enter the scene heroically.”
“Tone down Paul Giamatti performance, so he seems a bit more menacing and less cartoonish.”
“There could be a better way to reveal that Peter is missing graduation – maybe when you cut Gwen you cut to the wide shot?” 
“Tiny note – don’t think Peter would lie to Gwen about sirens --- maybe he just downplays it…”
“Stan Lee Cameo – maybe need a little more emphasis on Peter here trying to get out of his costume and not be in seen…set up a little more the pressure of the principal getting closer and closer to calling his name.” 
“Instead of seeing the ghost of Captain Stacy, can just here the voice in Peter’s head and maybe flash back to the last movie?  Don’t think we should add Cap Stacy back into car chase.”
Flash at Graduation
Just a cute little character moment, and more continuity from TASM. Webb does these so well 
“There is too much back and forth with Peter and Gwen – can we recut the Dim Sum scene so that it doesn’t feel so repetitive of their break-up in the last movie – Can Peter be more honorable and definitive and less wishy-washy?”
TIME JUMP
“There’s an entire year gap between the high school graduation and most of the rest of the film. This year gap makes Peter’s forlorn attitude towards Gwen cute instead of creepy, and it establishes that they’re college students. Gwen’s application to Oxford make more sense – in the finished film it’s like she decided to go to college at the last minute.”
Max’s Mother
Max is looking after his bed-bound mother, who is emotionally abusive - she doesn’t remember or care about her own son’s birthday
Stronger setup of Max’s isolation, more personal than just his rejection by Spider-Man
His freakout here plays better than the one at Oscorp for ‘disrespecting’ Spider-Man
Links to an important deleted scene later on 
Gwen and Max in the elevator
“It must be pretty cool, to have the whole world see you like that. I wish I was like him.”
J Jonah Jameson
Peter, now a student at Empire State University, brings his first Spider-Man pictures to JJJ, who gives him a tour of the Daily Bugle offices in Times Square. 
We meet Robbie Robertson and JJJ complains that the internet is killing print media
Electro in the Subway / wandering New York
Electro returns home
He finds his supposedly bedridden mother walking, and cashing in on his death
Much stronger, personal reason for Max’s psychotic break as he heads to Times Square
Extended Times Square Battle
“Spidey and Electro’s first fight send them crashing through the Daily Bugle offices and the printing presses-” 
JJJ gets his scoop
This could’ve fed into the city treating Max like a freak 
Peter Meets MJ while working on his Electro-proof webbing
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MJ and her drunkard father have just moved in next door. She builds motorcycles as a hobby and has a spider tattoo on her wrist; she’s a Spidey fan and has a crush on Peter
Peter and Gwen angst in their rooms after Times Square
Harry tells Peter Oscorp is watching him
Cool introduction of the Goblin suit, and we establish the power plant for the finale
More Felicia. Another moment showing Harry’s disease
“He spent more time watching you than me.”
The boys are united in their quest for answers about their dads
“Surveillance scene should be about following Harry not Peter…no one should be following Peter.”
“Harry story feels like the main plot of the movie – Peter should look into the past b/c of Harry – maybe find some photos of them together as kids…use obsession wall more to set up this part of his past not just what happened to parents.”
Feige seems to want the order to go:
Gwen and Peter angst in their rooms
Surveillance scene (focusing on Harry)
Obsession Wall (focusing on Harry)
Spidey vs Copycat
Just a cute Friendly Neighbourhood scene, this movie did them so well
Spidey Confronts MJ's Father
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Something we never got from the Raimi version, fitting for this version of Peter. Another cool Neighbourhood moment
DR RATHA
“[In TASM] Dr. Ratha seems to have been killed in deleted scenes, but the actual movie leaves him alive … He shows up in the script for TASM2, filling the same role as Donald Menken... the Oscorp stooge who engineers Harry’s dismissal from the company.
Nice continuity [from TASM]. All of the basic elements of Ratha’s role are in the finished movie, there’s just a different name attached.”
ALTERNATE GOBLIN SUIT BACKSTORY
“In the original script the Goblin suit isn’t for military use but was specifically built in secret to heal/help Norman Osborn [After] Richard Parker wouldn’t give his blood to Osborn (the Parker DNA still being the key to it all). The suit went into Norman’s boathouse where Harry finds it.”
Harry finding the Boathouse parallels Peter finding Roosevelt 
Norman making the Goblin suit emphasizes how Harry is being manipulated by his father from beyond the grave 
“Don’t like the idea that May tells Peter his parents were spies b/c two seconds later he finds out they are not.” 
Gwen is accepted into Oxford
This is such a brief moment, why didn’t we actually see it?
Gwen Writes a Letter to Peter
Replacing the voicemail she leaves him in the Theatrical cut
After escaping Ravencroft, Max meets Harry at his father’s grave
Max considers killing Harry as revenge for his accident
They consolidate their partnership. Doing this at Norman’s grave foregrounds his influence on Harry
Spreading Max and Harry’s union across two scenes is just better pacing, considering they’ve never met before Max’s escape
Gwen visits Aunt May as she’s leaving for Oxford 
Gwen meets MJ: 
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MJ asks how she can find someone like Peter, all the guys she attracts are “dickheads”. Gwen replies “date a nerd”
Aunt May encourages Peter to go after Gwen
MAY: Peter, what is the matter with you? You love this girl with all your heart and soul. Does she know that? Have you told her?PETER: No.MAY: Then give her that. The rest of it’s up to her. And you don’t have forever, none of us ever do.
Great character beat alluding to the loss of Ben, foreshadowing Gwen’s death, and setting up “I love you” on the bridge
Another mirror to TASM, where May encourages Peter to pursue his relationship with Gwen (“If there’s one thing you are, Peter Parker, it’s good.”)
Extended birth of the Goblin/ Harry attacks Oscorp
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Love the body-horror here 
Pumpkin bomb!
Menken's [or Ratha’s] death. Plus it just gives Harry more to do 
Alternate final Electro battle
Spidey cocoons Max in his new webbing. 
Instead of blowing up,  Max is drained and ends up in the river- I prefer Spider-Man not outright murdering his villains
“Spider-Man needs to feel more directly responsible for preventing the planes from crashing.”
“Don’t show New Yorkers looting.”
Peter nearly kills Harry
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Harry is still conscious and laughing after Gwen’s death. Peter beats him and nearly impales him with his own Glider
we hear Uncle Ben's words from the first film. He doesn't kill him and tells Harry the serum did it to him.
“Need to underscore capture of goblin…more sirens as you linger on the clock 1;21, 1:22 am (nice touch)”
Peter asks for forgiveness at Captain Stacy’s grave
Much better expression of Peter’s guilt than the ghost
“Like the idea that May finds out he’s Spider-Man – finds his costume instead of just the rosemary harris wink-wink all the time.”
“Maybe intercut the ending montage and hearing Gwen’s speech with someone going into special projects and revealing more easter eggs and see that the rhino case has been broke into and the suit is missing…great way to transition to rhino ending.”
Other stuff that isn’t better:
Peter gives Harry his blood
Although this makes Peter a better friend, it also makes him directly responsible for the creation of the Goblin
Extended Goblin Fight
Harry keeps chasing Peter as Gwen falls and breaks her neck with his own hands 
Gwen’s last words encouraging Peter
I prefer her instantaneous death, also Peter quitting for months immediately after she says this makes him a huge dick
Richard Parker approaches Peter in the graveyard: 
I’m torn on this one. On one hand it finally gives closure to the ‘Untold Story’ subplot Webb allegedly originally envisioned finishing in Film 1
“With great power comes great responsibility”
Andrew acts the shit out of this scene
However you’d need to keep the opening plane crash to properly pay this off and the Parker Blood Destiny gimmick is bad
Post-credit scene: Norman’s Head
An extension of the 'Special Projects' Easter-Egg vault, Michael Massee's Gustav Fiers visits Oscorp Vault #3. There we see Norman Osborn's disembodied, frozen head. Fiers ends the scene with "wake up, old friend"
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Norman actor Chris Cooper said:
“We shot the scene -- it's so weird -- but it didn't make it into 'Spider-Man 2.' I’m sure it would probably have been one of the opening scenes in 'Spider-Man 3' if they had gone ahead. But he was coming back. It's very bizarre, what they came up with.”
TLDR; We could've got a more cohesive, character-focused film driven by Peter's relationship with Harry. A better-developed Electro, more continuity from TASM to stop the film feeling like a reboot, expansion on Harry's illness and Norman's manipulation. MJ could've been our representation of Spider-Man's 'Friendly Neighbourhood' impact, and the worst of the Super Spy Parents would be gone.
It's just a massive, massive shame, man.
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the-amazing-simp · a day ago
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The Way Our Horizons Meet | TASM!Peter Parker
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📝 Title: The Way Our Horizons Meet (TFIOS!AU)
📚 Requested: Yes/No
✍ Summary: You met your greatest love at a support group. But, star-crossed lovers really do exist. | 8.1k
🧧 Warnings: cancer (this is a The Fault in our Stars au, so it's a given), death, spoilers for TFIOS
💌 This is officially the longest fic I've ever written in my life. I tried my best to follow the original timeline - I altered some scenes as well as adding in some new ones. And yes, I did copy both eulogies from the book so don't come at me for that.
Love often comes when you least expect it but need it the most. 
Having cancer was hard enough in itself especially when the expression “life is short” could quite literally apply to you.
You were currently sitting in your mom’s car while she drove you to the support group you had always hated attending.
“You don’t have to wait in the parking lot you know,” You said as the car turned a corner, “you’ll have nothing to do and it’s hot.”
Your mum shrugged, peering at you through the dashboard mirror, “I can read a book, but I think I’ll stay at the mall a block away then I’ll come pick you up afterwards.” 
“Okay.” You said, fiddling with the wire of the oxygen tank as she pulled up to the entrance.
“Do you need help with that?” She asked.
You shook your head, giving her a small smile as you got out of the car, “No thanks, I’m fine.” 
“Sure honey,” Your mom answered, “just text me if you want anything from the mall.” 
You nodded in confirmation before you headed past the church and took the stairs down to the basement where the meetings were held, as they called it, “right in the center of Jesus’ heart”.
There was an elevator, but you were fine with the stairs, because in the support group - taking the elevator meant you were close to the finish line. 
“Hey!” Your best friend from the support group, Harry, greeted you with a smile, eyes gleaming behind the shades he wore, “How’re your lungs holding up?” 
You laughed, tapping your oxygen tank, “So, far pretty well. How about you? How’re you and Monica?” 
“As usual, we still love each other till the end of forever.” Harry smiled to which you rolled your eyes at his remark.
“Hey!” He protested, making a face at you.
“It’s cheesy.” You deadpanned.
“It’s not cheesy. It’s love.” Harry said, “And you won’t understand that since you haven’t been in love yet.” 
“Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” You said sarcastically.
Harry stuck his tongue out at you, “Whatever. But don’t go gushing to me when you’re finally in love. Anyway, stay put, I’m going to get some cookies.” 
“You’re the reason why I even tolerate being here!” You called out, causing him to laugh.
Scrolling on your phone to pass the time until the session started, you looked up only for your eyes to meet the honey-colored one of a boy around your age who seemed to be staring at you intently.
The staring wasn’t anything in a creepy way, neither did it make it seem like the boy had ulterior motives. It was like he was vaguely interested in you, like he had seen you before but couldn’t quite recall where or how.
You looked back down at your phone, you just had to hope that the heat you felt on your cheeks was being reflected on your face for the boy to see.
A couple of minutes later, the session group started. With Henry, basically the mastermind behind the support group, leading the opening prayer and the supposedly inspirational talk of how he’s still alive despite his balls being taken by cancer which started the routine of you and Harry communicating via exasperated sighs. 
“Now,” Henry said, “let’s give the floor to Harry who has some news to share with us.” 
Raising a brow at him, he just shrugged in response before standing up.
“I am having eye surgery this weekend.” He started, “Which would make me totally blind. And I also brought my friend, Peter, along here for some moral support.” 
“We pray for you then, Harry, that your operation may be successful.” Henry said before adding, “Why don’t you introduce yourself to us, Peter.” 
Peter, who happened to be the one staring at you earlier, made eye contact with you, shooting you a small smile as he slowly stood up, “My name is Peter Parker. And I had a slight touch with osteosarcoma a year ago. Now, I have no evidence of cancer.” 
As he said that, he rolled up the left pants leg to reveal the metal prosthetic hidden under there.
“I also fear oblivion.” 
“Oblivion?” Henry asked with a puzzled look, “Isn’t that a rather peculiar fear?” 
“I think he fears the unknown.” You spoke up, “Especially since it's unpredictable and what happens next would, most often than not, catch us by surprise.” 
Peter smiled at you, “Exactly, What’s your name?”
“It’s Y/N.” 
“Your full name.”
“Y/N Y/M/N L/N”
You were currently in the parking lot, waiting for your mom to pick you up while Harry had his girlfriend pinned to the wall of the church while they made out.
The two pulled back for a moment, whispering “always” to each other before diving back in.
“At this point, I don’t know if he’s trying to arouse her to perform breast surgery.” Peter mused, suddenly appearing by your side. 
You laughed, turning to face him, “I guess he’s trying to make the most of it. Since he won’t be having any sense of sight this weekend.” 
Peter shrugged, taking out a pack from his pocket and popping a cigarette into his mouth, “Makes sense.” 
Slightly glaring at him, you deadpanned, “Are you serious? That’s absolutely disgusting. You just ruined this whole thing.”
“What’s disgusting?” 
“You’re literally standing next to someone with lung cancer and you decide to get a cigarette and smoke. Let me tell you, not being able to breathe normally sucks.” 
Peter grinned, the cigarette sitting by the corner of his mouth, “I don’t smoke.” 
You looked at him, puzzled, “If you don’t smoke, then why do you-” 
“It’s a metaphor.” He interrupted, “You put the killing thing in your mouth but you don’t give it the power to kill.” 
“That actually makes sense.” You agreed.
“See?” He chuckled, causing you to laugh. 
“Why are you staring at me like that?” You asked.
“Because you’re beautiful and I like looking at beautiful things.” He answered with a confident smile.
“Also,” Peter added, “you look like y/f/c from the movie, y/f/m - have you seen that movie?” 
You nodded, “I did, it’s actually one of my favorites. But, I don’t really think that I look like y/f/c.”
“If you want,” He said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and fiddling with it, “you can come around to my house and we can watch the movie together so I can prove to you that you do look like y/f/c.” 
You pretended to think about it for a moment, “Sure, let me just call my mom and let her know.” 
Once you had done that, you climbed into the passenger’s seat of Peter’s car as he started driving.
“Woah.” You said, grasping your seatbelt tightly as you hit another bump, “Are you sure you have a license?” 
Peter laughed, making a u-turn, “Of course I do. Though, I did kinda fail the test twice.”
“Uh huh,” You nodded, “and no one has died while you’re the one behind the steering wheel?” 
“Very funny.” He answered sarcastically with a small smile, “So far, no one.” 
“I really don’t intend on being the first then.” 
“I still don’t see how I look like y/f/c.” You said once the ending credits of the movie rolled in.
“Seriously? Are you blind? You could easily pull off being her twin.” Peter protested.
After having a debate over it for the next ten minutes, your attention turned to the stack of books by his bedside table.
“You like reading?” You asked, examining the pile. 
Peter smiled, hands tucked away in the pockets of jeans, “I do. I know that I don’t look like I do though.” 
You rolled your eyes, scanning the spines, “What’s your favorite?” 
“Prince of Dawn.” Peter immediately answered, “You?” 
“An Imperial Affliction.” You said.
His eyes immediately lightened up as an idea popped into his head, “Why don’t we do a book swap? You read Prince of Dawn, and I will read An Imperial Affliction.” 
You smiled, “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
You closed the door of Peter’s car as you reached your house, “Thanks for the ride.” 
He smiled, running a hand through his hair, “No problem. Also, aren’t you going to ask for my number?” 
You giggled, gesturing to the Prince of Dawn in your hand, “I have a feeling that you already wrote it in the book.” 
Peter laughed, “We just met, Y/N, but it seems like you know so much about me.” 
“Who knows?” You shrugged with a grin, “Maybe I’ve known you my whole life and you just didn’t know.” 
“That would’ve been cool.”
You nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Well, thanks. I better get inside now.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“You know, maybe okay can be our always.” 
Golden-painted pieces of metal laid on the floor, remnants of the trophy smashing incident that happened mere moments ago that helped Harry feel a little better over the fact that Monica had broken up with him.
“Was it worth it?” You asked Peter as you helped him pick up what used to be his basketball trophies on display.
He just shrugged, “Kinda. I mean, it did help Harry feel a lot better. Besides, I never liked playing basketball anyway, I only did it because it made my dad happy.” 
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” You mused, running a finger through the faux velvet base, “The things we do to make the ones we love most happy.” 
“I think it’s a metaphor for humanity.” He smiled, “The instinct, the need to please others which in turn somehow pleases ourselves too.” 
“Peter Parker, do you ever run out of metaphors?” You laughed.
His smile grew even wider, “For you, m’lady, never.” 
Silence grew between the two of you before he spoke up again, 
“Okay?” 
“Okay.” 
You looked over at Harry, who had now resumed playing the game, “Do you think he’ll be fine?”
Peter shrugged, “All I know is the thing about pain is it demands to be felt.”
“But you have to admit it, the cliffhanger was great but it was also damn cruel.” Peter argued as the two of you walked to the park.
“Fine it is. But it just goes to show how unexpected life is that sometimes it just ends in the middle of a sentence.” You said, lugging your oxygen tank behind you, “Also, you’re steering away from my question - what’s with the basketball jersey and the orange tulips?” 
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” He shrugged, before taking the tank from your grasp and holding on to it for you as you walked. 
As soon as he said that, you suddenly saw a checkered blanket laid upon the grass, a picnic basket on top of it. 
“Surprise!” Peter said with a small smile. 
You took another bite of the sandwich, “Shame on you. You already nailed the German theme - the jersey and the tulips but, out of all things, you don’t put German tomatoes in the sandwich.” 
Peter laughed, “I’m sorry, okay, I couldn’t find any.” 
“What’s with all the German stuff anyway?” You asked, taking another bite, “Is this another metaphor?” 
He shook his head, “Nope. All the German stuff is a hint.” 
Furrowing your brows, you recalled a conversation you had with Peter two nights ago about The Imperial Affliction and the rumors that the author, Van Houten, was now living in Amsterdam. 
“Peter…” You said slowly, a slight warning tone in your voice as realization struck.
A light pink tint painted his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, “Well, Y/N, the thing is…”
You took a gulp of oxygen, adjusting the tubes that connected you to the tank before saying, “Peter Benjamin Parker, we talked about this, don’t tell me that you use your one and only wish for Amsterdam.” 
The guilty grin that appeared on his lips was enough reason for you to smack his arm.
“Ow!” He complained, rubbing the spot where you hit him, “You sure hit really hard. Besides, at least I’m not someone who wished for something as cliche as Disneyland and Epcot. Unlike you.” 
You assaulted his arm with another hit as you felt the temperature rise up to your cheeks, “Still, you only get one wish and I don’t want you wasting that on me.” 
“Hey,” Peter cooed softly, caressing your cheek, “I’m not wasting it, okay. It’s for us and I know that I couldn’t ask for anything better.” 
Silence grew in between the two of you for a moment with Peter slowly leaning forward towards you.
When his lips were just an inch away from yours, you pulled away, muttering a small “sorry”.
Peter gave you a smile, opting instead to place his hand on top of yours, “It’s fine. We can take it as slow as you want.” 
“I still can’t believe that we managed to sell that swing.” You laughed before taking a sip of coffee.
Peter smiled, cigarette dangling from the edge of his mouth, “But you have to admit that pedophilic swing set seeking the butts of children had a nice ring to it.”
It’s been a week since the doctors had deemed you ineligible to fly to Amsterdam and a couple days since you and Peter managed to sell your childhood swing set.
You laughed, “Yeah, maybe.” before reaching forward and plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and placing it inside yours.
Peter chuckled, tongue pressed to his cheek as he brought out his camera and waved it in front of you, “Looks like this is a perfect opportunity for a photo.”
You groaned as a throbbing pain appeared in your head. Eyes having to adjust to the bright light above you.
“Honey,” Your mother cooed, a hand gently running through your hair as relief laced her voice, “thank goodness you’re awake.” 
“How’re you feeling?” Your dad asked, appearing by your mother’s side.
Slowly sitting up, you answered, “A bit like my insides have been microwaved but otherwise I feel fine.” 
This was when you noticed the tube connecting you to a plastic bag filled with dark water, most likely sucked out of your lungs.
You flinched, “Not again.” 
“That’s why you passed out. When we brought you here, they immediately admitted you here, the ICU” Your mother gently explained, squeezing your hand as she spoke.
“Also,” your dad said, “Peter’s waiting outside, do you want to see him?” 
Staying quiet for a moment, you thought about it before nodding.
Your father went out of the room while your mom waited with you, asking if you were okay.
The door opened again, this time revealing both your father and Peter.
“Hi.” He said softly, walking to your side, shyly handing you the bouquet of your favorite flowers.
You returned the smile as you placed the flowers he brought in a vase on the table next to you, “Hi, and thanks for the flowers.”
“No problem.” Peter smiled, nervously running a hand through his hair, “How’re you feeling?” 
“I’m feeling okay.” You said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be up and running in time for our trip to Amsterdam.” 
Peter playfully rolled his eyes, “Amsterdam is the least of my worries. What’s important is that you keep on fighting.” 
“Of course I will. I’m going to stick around and annoy you for as long as I can. There’s no getting rid of me that easily, Parker.” You laughed.
Little did either of you know that your parents had been watching you and Peter the whole time, no words were said between them as they watched the young love grow. They exchanged one look and that was enough to say everything.
You had never been more nervous for anything in your entire life. 
You were sitting in the corner of one of the conference rooms at the hospital, while a team of doctors debated over whether you were eligible to travel to Amsterdam with Peter or not.
Hearing a small ding, you looked down at your phone to see a text from Peter.
Pete🛹: How’s it going? Are you cleared?
Y/N✨: Nope, they’re still debating.
Pete🛹: Hypothetically, in case they still don’t think you’re eligible to travel, how bad would it be if we just hopped on the plane?
Y/N✨: Well, hypothetically, you could be arrested the minute you step foot back in America for kidnapping.
Y/N✨: Murder too if I died on the flight.
Pete🛹: We better not risk it then 😂
“We have come to our decision.” The head doctor announced, causing you to look up from your phone.
Your doctor looked at you with a smile, “We have decided that we’re giving you the go signal to travel to Amsterdam. As long as your mom or someone who knows your condition well enough comes along with you.” 
You gave her a grateful smile, glancing over to your parents in excitement, “That would be great.” 
Y/N✨: I don’t think you would have to resort to kidnapping then.
– “Was the line at McDonald’s really that long?” You asked as Peter made it just in time for you to board the plane.
Peter shrugged as he gave you a small smile, “A lot of people seemed to be craving McDonald’s.” 
“Are you excited?” You asked, settling into the middle seat between your mom and Peter. 
He chuckled as he nodded, looking out of the window, “Yeah. It’s actually my first time on a plane so this is really cool.” 
Once the pilot had announced that seat belts would be fastened as the plane started to take off, Peter gripped the arm rests, looking like a little kid on Christmas day.
He glanced at the window, looking at the clouds that were seemingly shrouding the vehicle.
“Are you okay?” You giggled, seeing the look of marvel on his face.
“I couldn’t be better.” Peter laughed gleefully, glancing back out at the clouds, “Nothing has ever looked like that in all of human history!” 
“Okay,” you breathed out, walking out of your room to have your mom be the judge, “how do I look?” 
Your mother looked up from the brochure that she was flipping through, giving you a smile, “You look amazing.” 
Looking at the full-length mirror, you ran a hand over the creases of the baby blue dress, “You sure?” 
“I am.” She answered.
At that moment, a knock came on the door. Upon opening it, you saw Peter standing there in a suit and tie. 
Van Houten’s secretary had let you two know that you would be meeting the author the next day, but he has reserved a dinner for the two of you at a restaurant called Oranjee.
“Wow.” Peter said, jaw dropping as he drank the sight of you in, “You look beautiful.” 
“Thanks.” You muttered, smiling as you looked down at your feet, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks, “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Shall we go mi’lady?” Peter grinned, offering an arm to you.
“We shall, my kind sir.” You giggled, taking his arm while you waved good-bye to your mother.
Once the two of you had arrived at the restaurant, Peter cleared his throat and said, “Uh, we have a reservation from Mr. Van Houten.” 
“Ah,” The waitress smiled, “The one for Mr. and Mrs. Parker. Right, come this way.” 
You and Peter exchanged a look, trying to hide a smile before following the waitress to your table.
“So, Mr. and Mrs. Parker huh?” Peter mused with a smile once your orders had been taken, causing you to laugh.
“Kinda has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” You teased.
“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “It actually does.”  
“Would you like some champagne?” A waiter suddenly appeared next to you, “It’s like tasting the stars.” 
“Sure.” You grinned, “Why not.” 
The light gold liquid filled both of your glasses, the small bubbles slowly popping upon reaching the surface. 
“Cheers.” Peter grinned, clinking glasses with you before taking a sip.
“Wow.” You said, “I didn’t know the stars tasted as good as this.”
“I know right. We need to bring this home, someone tell me how to bottle up the stars.” Peter said.
“Mhm.” You hummed, taking another sip.
“Gosh, if the champagne already tastes this good, what more does the food taste like?” He said.
“I know right.” You agreed. 
“I am so in love with you.” He suddenly admitted, smiling at you with pure sincerity and lovestruckness.
You giggled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Same here.” 
You breathed a sigh of contentment, leaning against Peter’s arm as the two of you walked out of the restaurant, “The first thing I’m doing when we get back to Queens is to search up if there are any franchises of Oranjee in America.” 
He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “Sounds like a terrific idea.” 
You looked up at him, saying in a whisper, “Peter, you know that this doesn’t change the fact that I’m practically a grenade right? Like, my whole existence could blow up at any minute and I could leave you heartbroken.”
He stopped walking, turning you to face him - a look of pure adoration and affection on his features as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.”
You sniffed, “Really?”
He nodded, “Really.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” 
“What do you mean you don’t know?” You asked from the seat across the author you have been admiring since the very first time you picked up An Imperial Affliction.
Van Houten, drank the brandy in his hand while he gave a shrug, “I just don’t.” 
“You’re the author.” You deadpanned, trying to keep your composure, “How on earth do you not know?”
“Look kid,” The man said, leaning back into his chair, “I did not think about it because I had no plans of writing a sequel.” 
He then sighed, “Teenagers these days. I knew this was a bad idea.” 
“With all due respect,” Peter suddenly piped up, “don’t you see that your book has made a great impact on her and we didn’t come all the way here for nothing. So, the least you could do is give an answer to her questions.” 
The author grew silent for a moment, taking his time in pouring the brandy into his glass after his assistant walked out on him.
“Anna’s dead.” He said, quietly, “There’s no story to tell.” 
With a scoff, Peter stood up - pulling you up with him as the two of you walked out the door without so much of a glance back at the man the both of you had used to admire.
“Don’t mind about him.” Peter said, rubbing your shoulders comfortingly, “I’ll write you a sequel. I’ll write you a better sequel than that dumb idiot could ever write.” 
You laughed despite the disappointment, feeling lucky that Peter was there with you, “I’m sure of it.” 
 –
“Lean here for a moment.” Lidewij said, stopping for a bit as the three of you reached the last step of the stairs.
You were leaning against the wall, trying to catch your breath as Peter rubbed his hand up and down your back.
Lidewij, Van Houten’s former assistant, decided it would be a great idea to accompany the two of you to an Anne Frank museum nearby to make up for her boss’ rudeness.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked, concern lacing his voice as you sat down on the floor, taking a gulp of oxygen, “We can take a break here if you want to.” 
You shook your head, waving him off as you stood up, “No. It’s fine. I can handle it.”  
He gave you a look, silently insisting on asking you whether you were really fine or not. 
Nodding in response, you gave him a small smile, “Don’t worry about me.” 
A shrill ring suddenly echoed through the quiet walls of the museum. Lidewij gave an apologetic smile to the people who glanced in your direction before answering the call. 
“Sorry.” She whispered, turning to you and Peter, “I have to go right now, is it okay if I leave you two here?” 
The two of you nodded, “Yeah. We’ll be alright.”
With a smile,  she dashed off, leaving the two of you in the exhibit.
Peter laced his hands into yours, the two of you walking at your own pace through the exhibit until you reached the video where Anne Frank’s father told about his daughter’s bravery and the grief from the loss of his family.
Looking at the boy next to you, you couldn’t imagine how you got so lucky. You couldn’t imagine a day wherein he wasn’t there for you. 
“Hey.” He said softly, pulling you out of your train of thought, “whatcha thinking?” 
You gave no response, instead,  you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.
You could feel him smile into the kiss, his hands making their way to your hips as he pulled you closer to him.
When you pulled away, silence echoed through the exhibit. You half-expected the crowd around you to start a monologue on how disgusting and inconsiderate teenagers were nowadays. But, instead, they all started cheering at the young love that blossomed right in front of them.
Making it back to the hotel, Peter was about to press the button that led to your floor when you suddenly said, “Do you want to go to your room?” 
A grin made its way to his lips as his finger moved up to press the number of his floor.
A ding told you that you had arrived at the floor, interlocking your hand in his, the two of you ran out the elevator.
Peter stopped in his tracks, leaning against the wall as he clutched his side.
“Are you okay?” You asked, immediately regretting what you suggested in the first place.
He took a deep breath, “It’s above my knee, it’s just a bit of skin then it tapers a bit.” 
Furrowing your brows, you asked, “What?” 
“My leg, or what’s left of it.” He answered, “Just wanted to prepare you before you see it.”
You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, pressing another kiss to his lips as you rolled your eyes, “You’re so full of yourself.” 
“Touche.” He laughed, grabbing your hand as you ran to his room.
You were almost in tears from laughing too much.
Peter was currently doing an impression of Van Houten as you recounted the story to your mum, making the author seem like a more idiotic, old man who had a hearing problem, an alcohol addiction and kept on insisting that there were Nazis at his door.
“Goodness,” your mother breathed out, “That old man is lucky I didn’t tag along or else I would’ve screamed at him.”
You smiled, “Yeah, but we were fine. Looking back, it is quite funny.”
“Yeah.” Peter agreed, placing his hand on top of yours above the table.
“What did you do afterwards?” Your mum asked.
Both of you exchanged a look, the previous night’s events circling back into your mind, “We went to a museum.”
“Then Y/N humored me with some venn diagram humor.” He continued the inside joke causing you to roll your eyes. 
Peter told you that he had wanted to tell you something, so while your mother was out sightseeing, the two of you were currently in his room. 
“I took a PET scan a week before you were admitted into the ICU.” 
You sat down on one of the vintage chairs, staring at the rug, heart beating in fear of what would come next.
“And?” 
He took a deep breath, trying to reassure you with a small smile, “I lit up like a Christmas tree, Y/N.” 
You gulped, trying to keep the incoming tears at bay, “No.” 
He nodded, “I did.” 
You sniffed, standing up to wrap your arms around him, “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. You already defeated it once, you can do it again.” 
“Yeah.” He agreed, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he pulled you closer, “Of course.” 
“Remember how I said that I feared oblivion when we first met?” He said as he stroked your hair.
You looked up at him, “Yeah, why?” 
“I feared the uncertainty that each day brought. But the day that I met you, I realized that life being a mystery, may not be so bad after all.”
“Hm,” Peter hummed, smacking his lip as he looked at you making you laugh, “Not up to the standards of Oranjee.” 
“Very true.” You smiled, taking a sip from your own red plastic cup of champagne, “The airport can afford the dimmer stars.” 
He laughed, taking a cigarette from the box and popped it into his mouth as you scrolled through the movies available.
“Excuse me sir.” A flight attendant approached, “But you’re not allowed to smoke inside the plane.” 
“Oh, he doesn’t smoke.” You said, “It’s just a metaphor.” 
“Well,” She said, “metaphor or not, let’s just put the cigarette away to be safe.” 
He nodded, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it back in the box.
“So, what’s the movie?” Peter asked once the flight attendant left.
“Titanic.” 
You gently knocked on the Parker’s doorstep, fiddling with the wire of your oxygen tank as you waited.
“Hello dear.” Aunt May smiled as she greeted you with a hug.
“Hi Aunt May.” You returned the smile, “How is he doing?” 
It’s been a week since the trip to Amsterdam with Peter. Once he had gotten back, the doctors had put him up for a clinical trial for something that should supposedly help in lessening the places that cancer had infected. 
“He’s okay. Peter’s over there by the couch, Harry’s also here too.” She said, letting you in.
“Hi Pete.” You greeted, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He smiled, running a hand through his hair, “Hi.” 
“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t just hear that.” Harry said, from where he was seated across from Peter.
You jokingly rolled your eyes, “Hello to you too.” 
“Hey!” Harry stuck his tongue out at you, “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can't sense that eye roll in your voice.” 
You laughed, plopping down in the seat just next to the couch.
“Anyway,” Harry changed the subject, turning to Peter, “how’s the clinical trials going?” 
Peter groaned as he shifted to sit up, “I’m on a rollercoaster that only goes up, my friend.” 
“He always never gives a specific answer.” Harry teased
You shrugged, “And somehow we don’t mind.” 
“How’s Monica by the way?” You asked, turning to Harry.
The atmosphere in the room tensed up a bit as you and Peter awaited an answer.
“She, uh, we haven't really had any contact since the operation.” Harry said.
“She didn’t even visit you at the hospital?” Peter asked, to which Harry just shook his head.
After a moment of silence, Peter stood up, taking his car keys from the table and a carton of eggs from the fridge
.
“C’mon.” He nodded towards the door.
You helped Isaac up, “Where’re we going?” 
“Monica’s house.” Peter said casually.
“Here.” Peter handed the carton of eggs to Harry when the car had been parked right across from Monica's house.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Harry asked.
“Throw them at her car.” Peter smiled.
A grin made its way to Harry’s face as he felt around the carton for an egg and got ready to throw it.
“A little bit to your right.” You guided.
Following your direction, Harry launched the egg.
“What did I hit?” He asked excitedly as its contents started to drip on the car’s bumper.
“The bumper.” Peter had his own grin as he encouraged Harry to throw some more.
While the boys were having fun, you took out your phone and discreetly took a picture of the scene in front of you - the smiles of both being preserved in the moment.
Little did you know that that would be the last picture you would take of him.
“Peter,” you said, looking up at Peter, “can I ask you a question?” 
He nodded, combing a hand through his hair as the two of you waited for Harry to be finished with his eye check-up, “Sure.” 
“Who’s Gwen Stacy?” You licked your lips, “I remember you mentioning her before and when I looked her up on instagram, it looked like she was your girlfriend.” 
Peter nodded again, “Yeah, Gwen actually was my girlfriend.”
“What happened to her? If you don’t mind me asking.” 
“Well, she is no longer suffering from personhood.” 
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” 
He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear before continuing, “She had brain cancer. Towards the end, there was actually no filter between her thoughts and her speech. Once she joked about how she’s sorry that she accidentally dropped a book on my ‘leg’.”
You cringed at the thought causing him to laugh.
“It wasn’t like I had a choice. It would just be cruel to break up with someone in that state.” 
You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as your ringtone continued to cut through the air.
Peeking at the caller id, you immediately picked up the phone. After all, Peter wouldn’t just randomly call you at 3 am for no important reason.
“Pete? Is everything okay?” 
You could hear him taking deep, labored breaths.
“Y/N, I’m at the gas station and I need your help.” 
You climbed out of bed, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder as you unhooked yourself from the BIPAP and to the oxygen tank, fear coursing through your body, “Pete, what happened?” 
“I just wanted to buy some cigarettes. I lost the pack a few days ago and they said they’d get some for me but I wanted to do it myself. So, I drove to the gas station and the tube that is attached to my stomach just got tangled and I tried to fix it and it may have just gotten worse.”
“Oh my gosh,” You gasped, leaving the note you hurriedly scribbled down on the dining room table as you ran to your car, “okay, just don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way. Do I need to call an ambulance?” 
“No!” He immediately said, “Please, don’t call an ambulance.”
“Okay.” You breathed out, placing your phone on the dashboard, “Just stay on the line, I’m on my way there.” 
You ran through every green light at the speed limit, praying with every inch of you that it wasn’t as worse as you imagined. 
Arriving at your destination, you ran to where Peter’s car was parked. 
“Peter.” You cooed upon opening his car door, seeing the blood soaking his shirt.
“Y/N.” He smiled, reaching for your hand.
“Peter,” You repeated, your brain now triggering your ultra-panic mode, “I can’t fix this we have to call an ambulance.” 
Peter stubbornly shook his head, grasping your hand harder, “No. Please no. I don’t want to be useless.” 
You kneeled down in front of him, pushing a few brown locks out of his eyes, “Listen to me Pete, you’re not useless okay. You’re going to be alright.” 
Holding his hand, you pulled out your phone, dialing 911 as you muttered, “I’m sorry Pete, I have to. I promise, I’ll buy you a pack, okay?” 
He sniffed, voice cracking, “Damn it! I can’t even get a pack of cigarettes anymore without asking for help.” 
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello?” You said, trying to keep your voice calm, “My boyfriend has a tube in his stomach and it's tangled, he’s also bleeding. Uh, I need an ambulance right now. We are at the gas station near the Empire State and he needs to get to the hospital immediately.”
“Okay,” the lady said, the clacking of keyboard keys could be heard, “an ambulance is already on its way.” 
“Thank you.” You said as the line cut off.
Turning your attention back to Peter, you pressed a kiss to his hairline, interlocking your hands together. 
“Okay?”
“Okay.” 
“You know,” Peter mused as you wheeled him out on his wheelchair to the backyard, “I never really saw how sunsets are really connected to romance until today.”
“And,” You smiled, encouraging him to continue, “what is your conclusion?” 
He looked at you, raising your hand up to his lips to press a small kiss to it, “Sunsets can be romantic. But, only if they’re with the right person.”
“Real charmer aren’t you, Parker.” You giggled.  
“Always am.” He smiled.
“Peter’s a nice kid and all.” Aunt May suddenly said, appearing behind the two of you, “But sometimes I wonder how he managed to get someone sweet like you.”
Peter feigned a gasp of offense before laughing, “I gotta agree with you Aunt May. There’s not a day where I don’t wonder how I managed to woo her.” 
You rolled your eyes despite the smile you had, “Cheesy.”
“You love my cheesiness.” He retorted, “Right, Uncle Ben?” 
“I don’t know about you, but that how I got your Aunt May.” Uncle Ben chuckled causing Aunt May to roll her eyes.
Uncle Ben placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a smile while Peter and Aunt May were busy talking.
“I thank God everyday for you kid.” 
You sighed, staring blankly at the paper in your hands with typewritten words. 
Peter called you earlier that night, telling you that he would be having a pre-funeral so that he would be able to hear the eulogies and he wanted you to be there.
You promised that you would be there, a small part of you wishing that he was the one eulogizing you instead. 
“Mom, Dad, I’m going out for a bit. I’ll be back before 10.” You called out, taking your car keys from the table.
“Where’re you going this time?” Your mom asked.
“Just to the church where we hold the support group sessions. Peter is having a pre-funeral and he wanted me to be there.” You shrugged.
“But sweetheart you’re barely home anymore.” Your dad said.
You nodded, “I know. But Peter needs me. Who knows how much more time I have left with him? Who knows if this is the last time I’ll be seeing him? All I know is that once he’s gone, I’ll be here all the time.” 
Your parents nodded in understanding, pulling you into a short hug as their hearts softened at the sight of you trying to keep your tears in as the thought of Peter dying crossed you.
“Give Peter our regards then.” 
You stepped on the platform after helping Harry back to his seat after finishing eulogy.
Giving Peter a small smile from where he sat in his wheelchair, you glanced down at the paper in your hands and started,
“My name is Y/N. Peter Benjamin Parker was the great star-crossed love of my life. Ours was an epic love story, and I won't be able to get more than a sentence into it without disappearing into a puddle of tears. Pete knew. Pete knows. I will not tell you our love story, because like all real love stories, it will die with us. As it should. I'd hoped that he'd be eulogizing me, because there is no one I'd rather have. I can't talk about our love story, so I will talk about math. I am not a mathematician, but I know this. There is an infinite set of numbers between 0 and 1. There's 0.1 and 0.12 and 0.112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million.”
You could feel the tears streaming down your cheeks, giving a sniff and a small chuckle, you continued.
“Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many days of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Peter Parker than he got. But, Pete, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful. I love you so much."
Peter nodded, his own tears mirroring yours as he mouthed, I love you too.
It’s been eight days since Peter’s pre funeral.
Things have just gotten progressively worse. It was 11 pm when you received a call from Aunt May.
“Y/N, dear, I’m so sorry to call at this hour but can you drop by the hospital? Peter wants to see you. I told him that you’d be coming to visit him again tomorrow but he wants to see you now.” 
You licked your lips, momentarily closing your eyes to prevent you from thinking about the inevitable, “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” 
You didn’t have to ask the front desk what room Peter was in. You had been coming in for the past 8 days, you knew where to find him.
Slowly pushing the door open, you gave a small smile as you were met with the sight of Aunt May and Uncle Ben - both who were trying hard not to burst into tears and stay strong, and the boy you loved looking weaker than when you had come to see him hours ago.
“You wanted to see me?” You asked quietly, sitting on the chair that was placed next to his bed.
“I missed you.” Peter said, pecking your cheek as he reached for your hand.
“How’re you feeling?” You asked, evne if you knew that it was dumb question considering his state.
“Like my ass has been kicked and my insides deep fried.” He smiled, making you laugh.
The two of you sat in silence, comfortable silence, no words needed to be exchanged because this was what both of you needed.
Peter licked his lips before he disrupted the silence, “There’s a red box underneath my bed back at home. When I pass, I want you to have everything inside of that box. I left it specifically for you.”
You shook your head, not even trying to hold the tears back, “Peter…”
He held a finger to your lips to shush you, giving one of his award winning smiles, “I feared oblivion. But, I guess it won’t be that bad, if I have the hope of seeing you again there.” 
You sniffed, throat tightening and voice cracking as you joked, “You better wait for me Parker.” 
“I don’t care how long it takes.” 
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” 
An hour later, a nurse came in, telling you that visitation hours were over and that only the family can stay.
You stood up, pressing a brief kiss to Peter’s soft lip before giving Aunt May and Uncle Ben a hug.
“Hey Y/N.” Peter called out once you’ve reached the door.
“Yeah?” 
“You know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me right?” He looked at you similar to the way he did when you first met.
You smiled, “Happening, Pete. Don’t use past tense yet. You’re the best thing that is still happening to me.”
You wanted to scream, to cry, to just have the earth swallow you up whole,  it felt like the whole world just stopped on its axis, gravity was gone and everything everywhere is just absolute chaos.
The only thing that could be heard on the other line was Aunt May’s sobs as she told you the news. 
Once Aunt May had hung up, you called Harry who was able to do the thing you couldn’t do - scream. He cursed the world, questioning where the damn trophies were when you needed them.
You were vaguely aware of your parents standing by your bedroom door, they already knew what happened.
You took a deep breath, which was a mistake as you inhaled the scent of him since you were wearing his shirt after all. The scent that you would probably never be able to breathe in again.
Burying your face in your pillow, you screamed until your throat was hoarse and cried until you couldn’t breathe. Your parents were on either side of you, trying to console you in the best way they can.
You knew this was inevitable, you knew that this was bound to happen on any day. But that didn’t prepare you for the fact that Peter Parker’s heart had stopped beating.
That the star-crossed love of your life was dead.
“I am so glad he met you.” Aunt May sighed as she hugged you when you arrived at the funeral, “I’ve never seen him that happy before.” 
“I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the world when I was with him.” You smiled.
“Also,” Uncle Ben said, “If you’re okay with it, can you drop by our house after the service so you can get the box he left for you? I would’ve brought it here, but I don’t think I have the strength to go down there yet.”
You nodded, “Sure.” 
You walked up to his coffin while Aunt May was preoccupied with your parents. Looking around to see if anyone was watching you, you took the pack of cigarettes from your dress pocket and placed it next to his resting figure, hidden from view.
“You can light these.” You whispered, “I won’t mind.”
After the service, you sat in your room - the red box that Peter mentioned laid beside you while the four pieces of paper (along with the various polaroids of you and him) were cradled in your lap.
You ran a finger through his penmanship, the various colors of ink and sizes of the words showed the state of his consciousness during the last few days. You had found them in an envelope with a return letter from Van Houten’s address.
It wasn’t the sequel he promised you, but it was something better. You couldn’t help but slightly smile through the tears as you read,
Mr. Van Houten. I'm a good person, but a shitty writer. You're a shitty person, but a good writer. I think we'd make a good team. I don't wanna ask you for any favors, but if you have the time - and from what I saw you had plenty - please fix this for me: It's a eulogy for Y/N. She asked me to write one, and I'm trying, but I just... I could use a little flair. See, the thing is... we all wanna be remembered. But Y/N's different. Y/N knows the truth. She didn't want a million admirers, she just wanted one. And she got it. Maybe she wasn't loved widely, but she was loved deeply. And isn't that more than most of us get? When Y/N was sick, I knew I was dying, but I didn't wanna say so. She was in the ICU when I snuck in for ten minutes and I just sat with her before I got caught. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale, but her hands were still her hands, still warm, and her nails were painted this dark blue black color, and... I just held them. And I willed myself to imagine a world without us and what a worthless world that would be. She's so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she's smarter than you, 'cause you know she is. She's funny without ever being mean. I love her. God, I love her, I'm so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have a say in who hurts you. And I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.
Holding the letters close to your chest, you closed your eyes and tried to imagine his smile, his voice, his laugh.
“I do, Peter, I do.”
It’s been a long and terrible year.
You laid down on the grass at the park where you and Peter happened to have your first date. 
Over the course of the year, your condition worsened, you could feel yourself getting weaker with every passing day.
You held the letter Peter had left you a little over your head, eyes scanning the words that were practically engraved in your heart from reading them everyday.
Once you had finished, you held them close to your heart, looking up at the twinkling night sky and the stars that shone with them.
“Okay Y/N?” His voice echoed clear as day in your mind as you looked up at his almost transparent silhouette as he smiled down at you, just like it was the very first time.
You took a deep, labored breath. A smile gracing your lips as you closed your eyes.
You could vaguely hear your parents calling out for you, screaming your name, telling you to hold on that they’re bringing you to the hospital. But this was it, there was no turning back.
Memories flashed through your mind: your first birthday, first day of school, the day you got diagnosed with cancer, the day you met Peter along with every single memory that had Peter attached to it.
You could feel your heartbeat slowing down with every minute and air getting harder to hold on to. You could see a flash of light, Peter holding his hand out to you, an unlit cigarette nestled in his mouth- keeping his promise. 
Gathering up all your remaining strength, you managed to use your last gulp of air to utter the word you couldn’t bring yourself  to say for a year before everything went dark.
“Okay.” 
Peter Parker and Andrew Garfield Taglist:
@beloved-bucky, @hunnybunimdun, @andrewgarfield2022, @jasmin7813, @andrewgarfieldsbae, @spxiiee, @shaded-echoes-recs, @holy-macncheese-balls, @mcugeekposts
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sleuthgueth · a day ago
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[ID: three multicolored panels of Peter Parker from Spiderman No Way Home. the first one features Toby Maguires Spiderman with a giant number 2 above his head, his hands are outstretched as he smiles. the second panel features Tom Hollands Spiderman looking shocked with a giant number 1 above his head, he's wearing yellow shoes and a backpack with his Spidey suit. the third and final panel features Andrew Garfield's spider man with his hands on his hips smiling. he is wearing glasses. below each panel is a closeup of each Spiderman's face in alternate colors. / END ID]
Thinking about them
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sunny-reys · 18 hours ago
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Like A Daydream (Part Two)
Based on this request: “A Peter Parker oneshot where the reader can put people to sleep with her touch, but she’s got something against the Avengers. As per usual, Spider-Man isn’t really that involved himself with the Avengers, but still helps them out, so they’re enemies. Yet she and Peter are friends in their normal lives, not knowing each other’s secrets”
ok someone asked for a second part and i literally could not resist. enjoy babes
part one / masterlist
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You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t let your dual identities be a problem. It wouldn’t come in between you and your regular life, not when you first started, and certainly not now. The fact that you just found out that Spider-Man is your best friend Peter Parker doesn’t have to change anything. 
It’s a foolish hope, and you know it. For one thing, Peter’s getting closer to figuring out your own secret identity by the day. You thought you’d been able to convince him you were just a normal teenager that night you’d come home late from a run-in with the Avengers and his own superhero persona, but it looks like your luck won’t last forever. 
In truth, you’d always assumed that something like this was bound to happen. There’s no way that you’d be able to keep your identity as Nightmare a secret forever, even though you’d like nothing more than for that to happen. There are simply too many eyes in S.H.I.E.L.D. bent on tracking you down. 
After all, who are you to stop them? You’re just some kid trying to find her friend. You don’t know what you thought you were getting yourself into when you first tried to track down your missing inhuman friend, Alyna, but it has quickly spiraled out of control. 
The only hope you now have of actually tracking her down lies in the information you were able to recover on the day of your break-in. You haven’t gotten a chance to look at it yet, but you intend to do so today. It could all be totally useless, but at least it’s something you didn’t have before. 
You’re feeling quite paranoid about the whole thing, so you decide to open the files at school. If S.H.I.E.L.D. is somehow able to trace the signal when you open the files, they’ll only track you here, and they might assume that they’re finding Peter and not you. It’s the best you can do for a cover. 
You wait until school is out, then pull out your laptop and find a corner of the building with no security cameras overseeing your every movement. You plug the flash drive into your computer with trembling hands. What are you going to find on this thing?
As it turns out, you find a whole lot of nothing. The files you were able to access are just entry level nonsense, stuff they probably allocate to interns who need to feel important but don’t have the clearance for anything else. You can guess at a few locations that might prove useful in the future, but other than that, you’ve hit yet another dead end. 
You sigh, frustrated, and slam the lid of your laptop closed, revealing a figure standing right in front of you, their arms crossed in disapproval. You freeze— you hadn’t heard Peter come in, but it’s too late to try and hide. 
By the looks of his expression, he knows exactly what you’ve been doing. You still try to weasel your way out of it, though. 
“Say, Peter, I didn’t realize you were still here. Were you studying for the chem quiz? Believe me, I couldn’t be more stressed about—”
Peter cuts you off coolly. “Why are you looking at S.H.I.E.L.D. files? Don’t try to deny it, I saw the logo on your screen.”
Your wary smile drops like a stone. “I was just, uh, googling the logo. Art reference image, you know?”
Peter scoffs. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right? Why do you have those files?”
You can see Peter straining to say something. He knows that Nightmare was in the Avengers facility and that she managed to steal some S.H.I.E.L.D. files. He can’t reveal that he knows this, however, because only Spider-Man would have heard about that, and Peter doesn’t think that anyone who isn’t an Avengers affiliate is aware of his secret identity. 
You’ve been afraid of this reveal ever since you found out that Peter is Spider-Man. It was inevitably going to happen some point, although you’d hoped to have at least a little more time with your best friend before he started to hate you. It’s a shame that everything you’ve ever built with him, every inside joke and long lasting memory, is about to be torn down to mere shreds of a once perfect life. 
You jerk your head towards the doors. “Can we continue this conversation outside? I’d imagine we both have secrets that we don’t want overheard.”
Peter blanches, realizing what you’re hinting at, and starts to walk mechanically away. He seems as if he’s headed to the gallows; in a way, he is. Peter’s secrecy, his normal life, all of it dies today along with your friendship. There is no way that he would ever forgive you for this, and you’ve known it all along. You wish you could have avoided this fate, but it has been tied to you ever since you accidentally saw his face that day on the rooftop. 
Peter’s steps are brisk, utterly devoid of the usual rhythm that typically sweetens his movements. It’s as if all individuality has been drained from him, leaving behind only this betrayed boy. You did this, you think. Even before he knows for sure, he knows, and it’s killed him.
The two of you stop in an alley not far from the school, just out of view of anyone else. Peter checks one last time to see if anyone is watching. Upon seeing that no one is there, he turns back to you, arms folded across his chest.
“So?” He asks, voice cutting to the bone, “What was that about? What do you know?”
You sigh. “Yes, those were S.H.I.E.L.D. files. And yes, I know you’re worried about them because you were there when I stole them from the Avengers facility. You were Spider-Man, and I was–”
Your voice cuts off, but Peter picks up just where your tone drops. “You were Nightmare. God, I hoped I was wrong about that.”
Your mind flashes with a hurt like nothing you’ve ever known before, even when your friend Alyna vanished without a trace. “How long have you guessed that I was Nightmare?”
Peter grimaces. “Since the first day I met you. We were both suited up, and I had no reason to suspect it was you, but your voice sounded the same. It wasn’t until I was going home after the day you broke into the Avengers complex that I realized something was up. You were laughing over my guess that you were an Avenger because it was absurd to you. You were never an Avenger, you were trying to kill them. You were Nightmare.”
You scoff. “I wasn’t trying to kill them, Peter, I thought I made that obvious even before I found out you were Spider-Man. I could have knocked you out and dropped you off of a building any time, but I didn’t.”
Peter spreads his hands. “Oh, and what a great display of kindness that was. You didn’t kill me when I was asleep.”
Your eyes narrow. “At least try to work with me here. I’m not some kind of supervillain, Peter, I just kept my other identity hidden. In case you missed it, that’s exactly what you do, too.”
Peter holds up a warning finger. “Actually, there’s a pretty big difference between the two of us. I’m a good guy. I stop robberies, I keep this city safe from people like you. I mean, what were you doing, trying to steal S.H.I.E.L.D. files? That seems like supervillain behavior to me!”
You laugh bitterly. “Always drawing the worst conclusions, aren’t you? I wasn’t doing any of that for me, I was doing it for my friend. There was a girl about my age, someone who might only come second to you in terms of people who mattered the most to me. She was an inhuman, and S.H.I.E.L.D. kidnapped her to join their ranks of gifted soldiers. I’ve been doing all this so I could find her, not because I’m a monster.”
Peter’s face twists; with what, you can’t tell. “You were fighting all of us just for one inhuman? How do you know S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t take her in because she was causing problems?”
You shake your head slowly. “I know her, Peter. I know she was a good person. Did all of your empathy leave the second you realized I was Nightmare? Believe what you want about me, but some part of you must know that I wouldn’t do any of this if I didn’t have to. I’m trying to save my friend. Tell me that doesn’t match everything you know about me.”
Peter’s eyes harden, and then he all but rips his backpack from his shoulders. You watch confusedly as he rustles through the pockets for a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles something on the note, perhaps a name, and thrusts it at you, snatching his hand back the second he can.
“Take it. That’s the man in charge of Avengers recruitment. If you want to know where your friend is, that’s the person who can help you.”
You keep staring at him. “Why do I feel like there’s a cost?”
Peter almost flinches, then spits the rest of the words out in a hurry. “I gave you what you want, now you’re going to do the same for me. Find the man or don’t, I don’t care. Just leave me alone from now on, alright? I can’t be around you, not if you’re attacking the people who protect this city.”
You draw back from him, even as you want nothing more than to rush to his side and beg him to reconsider. “Peter, what are you talking about? We’ve been friends for years. You can’t seriously be doing this. I told you I only ever fought the Avengers to get information on my friend.”
Peter, however, remains firm, even if it seems to be tearing him apart before your eyes. “I know. You’re choosing your friend. You just chose the wrong one.”
Before you can say anything, he turns and leaves, walking briskly back out of the side street and into the clear light of the afternoon. You watch him go until he is a trace of silhouette, then nothing at all. The paper crunches in your curled fist, but you can’t convince yourself to care. You’ve just lost Peter, the one person you can’t bear to live without. It has been awful without Alyna, certainly, but life lacking Peter is an entirely different sort of hell.
Things doesn’t change as the days pass, either. You were hoping that this could be nothing more than a shocked reaction to a surprising truth. Peter has never fared well against earthshaking revelations, and although it’s certainly momentous to find out that your best friend is an inhuman currently fighting on the opposite side as you, you were hoping that he’d still stick by you. At the least, he could try and separate his friendship from his work, just like you have.
However, when you go back to school the next day and find Peter doing his best to never so much as look at you, you realize that this isn’t going to be the case. He’s switched his seat in the classes you share so the two of you are no longer side by side, he no longer walks with you between classes, and he avoids you like you’re a deadly parasite, not someone who up until last night had been his best friend in the entire world.
It cuts like a blade. You don’t know that you’ve ever felt this empty, this lacking in purpose. You can’t help but wonder if Peter feels this same kind of hurt, or if he’s utterly numb to the agony currently threatening to tear your heart from your chest. You miss him with everything you have, and he’s just down the hall, across the room, or three feet away and always studiously avoiding your gaze.
Who do you have to blame except yourself? You have been Spider-Man’s enemy the past couple of months, so of course Peter would react strongly. Still, you don’t know how you’re supposed to fill the gaping hole in your chest, even with the possibility of learning more about Alyna’s disappearance.
You still haven’t even followed Peter’s tip and tracked down the man meant to lead you to your vanished friend. Perhaps some part of you thinks that it still represents the deal, that if you refuse to chase down this man, Peter will have to come back to you. After the second week of Peter’s abandonment, you realize that nothing you do will convince him to return to you, so you push aside your last feelings of grief and decide to start searching again. At least you can have one friend after all of this.
Thus you find yourself alone on a dark afternoon, running across the roofline of the New York city skyline on a quest to find a S.H.I.E.L.D. informant and track him to his workplace. This man, Brett Neal, only travels to a specific facility in the afternoon, and always makes sure he isn’t being followed.
Despite his best attempts at secrecy, though, he can’t shake you. You’re dressed in your Nightmare uniform again, mask pulled snugly over your face. This time, you won’t be distracted. This time, you’ll be getting what you want, because if you walk away from this with nothing yet again, you don’t know that you’ll be able to survive the loneliness of letting down yet another friend.
You promise yourself this, repeating it over and over in your head like a protective mantra, but your thoughts stumble about fifteen minutes into your pursuit. There’s a scuffling sound happening in a street a block or two down, and although it’s none of your business, it’s certainly causing a fair amount of passersby to walk hurriedly in the other direction.
Just before you can convince yourself to ignore the whole matter, the fight shifts down a block and begins again right beneath you. You get a snapshot of the conflict: two figures locked in deadly combat, one with dripping, animal jaws easily large enough to snap a human head in half, and the other wearing a familiar red and blue suit, swinging on ropes of spider web.
You need to keep going. You have no idea how long you have until Brett Neal changes his schedule, and your lead on Alyna’s disappearance is gone yet again. Peter has pushed you aside for the final time. If your roles were reversed and he was the one watching you get into trouble, he would not stop for a second, and neither should you. You tense your legs, and keep running.
Down below, Peter doesn’t manage to dodge a snapping lunge from the beast in time, and its fangs sink into his shoulder. He cries out, a noise that’s mostly lost in the turmoil. Only the barest scrap of the sound makes it up to you, but it’s enough.
Brett Neal carries on unbothered, no shadows lingering on his heels. You dive down from the roofline in one swift movement, smooth as water flowing from high above. You land on the creature’s head, distracting it from Peter long enough for it to charge after you. You fling out a hand, which lands on its hairy back, disappearing in tufts of fur that eerily resemble human hair. 
You’re not sure whether this thing is man or beast at heart, but it responds well enough to your gift. You watch as its hungry black eyes disappear behind strong lids, and just in case, Peter coats the thing’s forelimbs in webs to make sure it stays down.
You can see Peter taking a hesitant step towards you, as if he wants to say something. Just before he can, however, you hear a clatter of heels at the opening of the street, and throw yourself around the corner just before someone else appears on the scene. It’s another Avenger, Tony Stark. You can hear the identifying sarcasm even without having to see the man’s face.
“Good to see you got that one. Rogers and I saw a couple more go down towards Central Park. I swear, if one of these furballs gets seen by the news, we’re going to have our heads on pikes by the end of the day. Gotta love the job, right?”
Peter mutters something noncommittal, and you listen as Tony’s voice shifts into a more questioning tone.
“Say, have you seen anyone here? I swear I saw someone else. You don’t suppose there’s another person watching, do you?” Tony asks.
This is Peter’s chance to rat you out. All it takes is a single word, one finger pointed towards the mouth of this alley, and Tony will have you. If Peter wants to reveal you, he can. Judging by his recent behavior towards you, Peter would enjoy that all too much. He sees you as an enemy, even if you’ve just saved him. This fight with the creature changes nothing.
Yet Peter’s voice remains casual. “Nothing except this guy. I’ll catch up with you in a second, I’m a little winded. Maybe dog allergies extend to weird werewolf hybrids.”
Tony chuckles. “Sure thing, take as much time as you need. You’ll probably be able to track us well enough. Just follow the sounds of screaming.”
You hear Tony fire up his repulsor beams and head out of the street in a blur. Seconds later, Peter appears around the bend.
“He’s gone,” Peter offers, and you nod.
“Why didn’t you tell him I was here?” You ask.
Peter lifts a shoulder, looking away. “You just saved my ass, I figure it would be mean to pay you back by setting Iron Man on you.”
You fold your arms across your chest. “Guess I should know better than to expect any kindness, then. Just another deal, right?”
You start to turn away, but Peter hurries to your side. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know what to think when I realized you were Nightmare. I thought that meant you were going to keep fighting me.”
You remain stock-still, unable to allow yourself even a moment of hope. “What made you change your mind?”
Peter reaches up, pulling off first his mask then yours. “That. You’re still my friend, even if we’ve got different goals. I need you more than I thought. Besides, I’m not going to stop trying to save this city, even if it means I still work with the Avengers. I’m not asking you to stop looking for your friend, either. I just need to know that we can coexist like this, and you proved that when you saved me.”
You look up at him, almost afraid to believe what you’re seeing. “So that’s it, then? Friends again?”
Peter smiles. “Friends always.”
He reaches over, tangling his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. You let your eyes shut tight, blocking out the rest of the world except for this moment, just the two of you. You can feel Peter press a kiss to the top of your head, and you lean in to his touch. Some part of you is terrified that you won’t ever find your inhuman friend; another, that you’ll never be truly free from S.H.I.E.L.D. finding you. For now, though, you have Peter, and that’s more than enough for you.
peter parker/marvel tag list: @namoreno, @rogueanschel, @thatfangirl42, @mycosmicparadise,@ellobruv, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes
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andrews-peter · 5 hours ago
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ANDREW GARFIELD as PETER PARKER (4/?)
↳ The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
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fxvixen · 4 months ago
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goddd i just want spider-man's identity to be his own worst but new york city's best kept secret. like i want him unthinkingly taking off his mask and like 20 people see, but if you ask them if they did? no they didn't.
the rule is unwritten, but very enforced. like, there are online communities dedicated to erasing any trace of the spread of his identity. a tourist takes a photo of him and posts it online? it's gone in minutes, and people send DMs to the poster anywhere from "hey, i'm sure you were just excited, but...." to "ill kill u if i evr c you, fuckin bitch".
any information on spider-man is only spread via word of mouth, and only spoken in hushed, awed voices. after several years of spider-man, everyone knows someone who encountered him:
"he saved my cousin. caught a falling billboard from underneath with his bare hands..."
"wow... i've never seen him myself, but he talked to my coworker's daughter for an hour after he stopped a guy from getting a little too handsy. apparently, his smile is 'dreamy'."
these secrets are freely given if you're kind, trustworthy, and show respect for the little guy. but the moment you demand information on him... "i don't know what you're talking about, buddy. he's just an urban legend the news likes to blame the city's problems on so we don't unionize or worse"
so as many times as spider-man ends up with out a mask, or accidentally introduces himself with a name that starts with 'p' and rhymes with 'meter'... on the record, they don't know a thing. because he does his best to help as many people as he can, so it's only fair if they help him a little in return.
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pierreparker · 2 days ago
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𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢…
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imnothawkdevil · 13 days ago
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Here, have some wonderful moon knight comics excerpts:
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tamtamho · 5 months ago
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Andrew's Spider-man would never meet Eddie Brock or Deadpool because all of them would reek sexual tension so much it'll be banned in at least 50 countries
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ta0xu · 6 months ago
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sometimes i think about how in 2012, when andrew garfield was asked which avenger peter would like most he said ‘idk but he’d hate tony stark, too arrogant, ethics are dubious, and peter's a man of the people, peter's the working class hero’
and how andrew got dropped from the franchise bc he refused to shut up and ‘bow down to homophobia’, and said multiple times that peter should be bi
and how in response to those things, marvel changed the contracts so all future incarnations of peter parker had to be caucasian and heterosexual. and then they made mcu spidey very much reliant on tony stark
which is a long winded way of saying that andrew garfield was the realest peter we ever had, and how angry it makes me the way that marvel absolutely shat on him and went out of their way to go against what he tried to fight for... and that there is a huge smugness in me that despite all of that, marvel couldn’t quash people’s love for andrew and they needed him and tobey for NWH, and that in the run up to mcu spidey 3, what i see trending every day on twitter is WHERE IS ANDREW GARFIELD and yk what it’s what he fucking deserves
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gaybuckybarnes · 4 months ago
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ANDREW GARFIELD Behind the scenes of The Amazing Spider-Man 
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estrangedlestrange · 5 months ago
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