these two had like the messiest divorce i’ve ever seen
there are two wolves inside of you. one wants andrewryan spideypool. the other wants andrewtom spideyvenom. you are gay
My contribution to the Andrew Garfield renaissance
right where you left me - p.p. 1/?
summary: when Peter Parker falls into another world, you’re there to welcome him with suspicion and a drawn gun.
pairing: andrew!peter parker x f!reader
word count: 8k
tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, angst, set before, during & after nwh, good ol’ mutual pining, mentions of violence, nwh spoilers
a/n: inspired by “right where you left me” by taylor swift. contains spoilers for nwh !! this is them meeting, next parts get juicier. hope yall like it my loves!! I’m a bit rusty at writing so don’t be afraid to tell me ur opinions on this <3
( NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST)
The sounds of running computers, mouses scrolling and keyboards being tapped overwhelmed the office. Voices of different ranges came from the back, where a small break room was located. The smell of coffee danced around the open office space, making you glance at your half-empty cup of a now cold latte.
“We built this city” by Starship quietly played from someone’s headphones nearby.
You were leaning back in your chair, personal phone by your right ear. On the table in front of you were three monitors – one running a background check on a John Jonah Jameson, another displaying a Teams meeting with the PR department from Los Angeles and the smaller screen of a laptop showing a muted CNN report of Peter Parker being arrested.
“Matt, this is right up your alley.” You spoke into the phone, making sure your computer’s camera was off for the meeting.
“Really difficult cases are right up my alley?” Matt spoke from the other end, a smile evident in his speech. Faint noises of traffic could also be heard on the phone.
“Yeah, don’t you love impossible cases? It’s your Annalise Keating complex.”
You smiled knowing you’d won him over, then spun in your chair. Its backrest squeaked; its wheels whirred against the hard tile of the office floor. The chair only spun once and when you faced your desk again, your eyes landed on the entrance to the office, as there was commotion there. A group of four men wearing dark blue uniforms stood by the doors, talking to your manager.
The office went quiet – no keyboard clanking, no mouse scrolling, no music playing.
Your manager pointed towards you and the men began heading your way with determined steps.
“Matt, I gotta go,” you shut off your laptop, turned off your screens “but help him, please. Peter needs you. You’re the best lawyer I know.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on my way there as we speak.” Matt assured you and it felt as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.
“Y/N Y/L/N.” Looking up, you were met by DODC men staring you down. “Come with us for a second? We need to talk.” Albert Cleary, the guy you knew was in charge of the Spider-Man case, spoke firmly. You knew him from the Academy, before Coulson chose you for S.H.I.E.L.D. and Albert went into Damage Control. He was a pain in the ass then and it seemed as if nothing had really changed – except the age difference between you two.
“Is that the DODC?” Matt was still on the phone. “Do you need a lawyer?”
You held up a finger for Cleary, signaling him to hold on. He raised his eyebrows, let out a loud sigh and cocked his head. And as you calmly grabbed a stack of files from your desk’s drawer, phone held up by your shoulder, you replied to Matt. “No, all good. You just take care of our friend.”
“Call me if you need help.”
“I will. Thank you, Matt.” With that you ended the call, got up, placed your phone in a pocket and smiled to the DODC men. “Shall we?”
The men moved to the side allowing you to exit your cubicle. Cleary walked by your side, while the other men followed behind. Your co-workers stared in silence as you were led out of the office, but you held your head high, more pissed than intimidated by what was happening.
“Was that Matt Murdock on the phone?” Cleary asked as you walked through a long hallway leading into more private, closed off offices. He walked a few steps ahead of you an turned slightly when he spoke.
Your heels clanked against the glistening white floors while the men’s footsteps were silent.
Cleary stopped in front of a door, opening it to reveal an empty conference room. It was large and well lit, as a wall was solely made out of windows. Outside you could see the Avengers Tower in the distance, towering over all the other buildings.
“What’s all this, Cleary?” You ignored the man’s question, instead asking one of your own.
Him and the other agents sat with their backs to the windows, while you reluctantly took a seat across from them. The table separating you was long and light balanced off it with ease.
“We just have to ask you some questions – nothing bad.” Cleary spoke nonchalantly as another guy placed a couple of files on the table. Your own pile of files was by your side. “A friendly chat, from one respected agency to another.”
You kept silent, not looking away from him.
“We’re friends, right? We did the Academy together.” Cleary smiled, trying to put you at ease; to get you to let your guard down.
“We were civil, wouldn’t call us friends.” You replied.
“Come on, remember the Hawaii training when –“
“Can we cut to the chase? I’m on the clock here, I have to get back to work.” You interrupted him, far too impatient to listen to his attempts at establishing a rapport.
“Okay then.” He grabbed a file, opened it and began reading its contents. Peaking at the paper, you immediately realized it was your personal file. “Y/N Y/L/N, you became a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent in 2017, recruited into Coulson’s team – big deal, you knew Quake?” Cleary looked up, eyebrows raised.
You stayed silent, maintaining eye contact.
Cleary puffed. “Says here you were only stationed in the Lighthouse for six months, then you got pulled into the NYC Hub and placed in charge of Spider-Man by – damn, by Fury himself.” He looked at his colleagues, who all whistled. You crossed your arms and leaned back into your chair. “When did you find out Spider-Man’s identity?” Cleary asked.
“When I was assigned to the case, in August of 2017.” Your voice was stoic.
“And yet, you kept that out of your reports.”
“Why would his identity be relevant to the reports? I was keeping track of Spider-Man, not Peter Parker.”
Cleary nodded, pursing his lips. “What is your relationship with Spider-Man?”
“I’m the Agent keeping track of him. It’s a professional relationship – I observe what he does, and once a month we meet and he tells me what he’d been doing. Then I write reports.”
“But there’s no reports on the 2019 fights, or the time he went to space, or the 2023 battle at the Avengers Compound. Why’s that?” His voice was condescending, his head cocked in a questioning manner.
You smiled bitterly. “Yeah, I was a little busy then. You know, being blipped for 5 years and everything. Didn’t really have the chance to draft a Spider-Man case report.”
The men looked down, Cleary coughed awkwardly and flipped through your file. “Sorry, I didn’t see that part in your file.” His voice was suddenly small, and you smirked.
“Still half-assing your homework, I see.”
“What about your relationship with Peter Parker?” Another man, whose name you didn’t know, spoke up. He also had a file in his hands.
You decided a long time ago, not to lie. You knew this moment was coming ever since Mysterio revealed Peter’s identity – so you decided that when an internal investigation would be coming for you, you would not lie. “He’s my friend.” You said proudly.
The man leaned forward and pushed a photo towards you. It glided on the table and landed to your left. In it, you could see May, Peter, your sibling, your mom and yourself. Your mom was sitting at a table filled with food with May by her left, both smiling. Behind them, you stood in the middle, an arm draped around Peter and another around your sibling. You were laughing, Peter was grinning. A softly lit Christmas tree was in the back.
And you felt your chest swell up, then it got heavy. The room felt stuffy all of a sudden, and you wanted to leave and yell at every man in your sights.
Because Peter was just a child who did nothing wrong, who only wanted to help and who was being prosecuted and hated on for nothing at all – for a lie.
“Just a friend?” The man asked and you felt your legs stiffen, your eyes turning harsh.
“No, actually. He’s like a brother to me – I’ve known him long before he became Spider-Man and I can tell you he’s not a murderer. He’s the kid who risked his life countless times to help your sorry asses because I don’t recall seeing any of you out there fighting aliens from Space. The fact that you’d believe a nobody over the person who’s saved all of your lives is fucking outrageous to me.”
“Where were you when Mysterios was killed?” Cleary asked.
“I was in the Academy, taking tests since I had been missing for 5 years and needed re-appointment. That is S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol.”
“During this time, you were still in charge of the Spider-Man case.”
It was a weird situation when you came back because technically, your name was carved on a memorial for Agents fallen in battle, Spider-Man was gone as well and his case went cold. Then the both of you returned along with millions of others, and it was such a chaos everywhere that nobody wanted to deal with more bureaucracy – so you officially remained in charge of him, even though your badge was on hold until you passed training and psychological tests again.
“Was the decision to allow Peter Parker to travel outside of the country, unobserved and suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, a personal one?”
“A kid wanted to go on a school trip with his friends to experience a normal life again. I ran the probability of another attack happening in such a short span from the Battle of Earth, and it was very low – especially in Europe.”
“Yet, it happened. You were in charge of Peter Parker and you allowed him to kill under your watch.” Another man spoke, you felt as if you were on trial.
“No, I am in charge of Spider-Man, who was not in Europe on any superhero business thus, I was not needed. I am not in charge of Peter Parker, I am only his friend, and as his friend and a person with authority who has been observing Spider-Man for almost three years, I can assure you that Peter Parker has never killed anyone.” Your voice never wavered.
“Calm down, Y/N.” Cleary spoke.
“I am calm, and it’s Agent.” You got up from your chair and pushed your stack of files towards Cleary. “In case you forgot Spider-Man’s a hero, not a murderer, here are some refreshments. And I also gave you a background check on the trustworthy Quentin Beck a.k.a Mysterio, and a victimology report as a treat.” You smiled, backing out of the room. “Maybe you’ll learn how to do your job.”
The halls were much more crowded on your walk back to the office.
And everyone stared as you walked past.
Some looked with sympathy, some with disgust – because even though you were surrounded by highly intelligent people and spies, they were all still human, and they all had their own opinions. Many blamed you for letting Peter go to Europe; others allowed slithers of doubt to cloud their judgement, believing maybe Peter was guilty and maybe you were an accomplice; then, some pitied you for the whole thing.
When you reached your desk, piles of files laid on your keyboard. You frowned and looked around questionably.
“Spider-Man sightings in Long Island.” Dean, the guy whose desk was across from yours, spoke up.
That couldn’t be true, since you knew Peter was at home meeting with Matt Murdock. Even more confused, you opened the files to read the contents.
Guy in red T-Shirt, blue mask robbed a store. Guy wearing a Spider-Man dollar store plastic mask stabbing someone. Picture of a guy in an oversized Spider-Man onesie holding a knife in Brooklyn.
“These are all fake. These are impersonators.” You spoke, looking at Dean. He smirked.
“Or maybe he’s on a rampage. Maybe you’re not as good at this job as you thought you’d be.”
“Yeah, Y/L/N. Maybe it’s time to consider other jobs? I saw some babysitting ads in the paper this morning…oh wait.” Another guy spoke, laughing with Dean.
You just grabbed your jacket and stormed out.
And for about two weeks, that became a routine. You ordered Peter to lay off the Spider-Man business for a while, “Just…focus on manifesting college acceptance letters.” You told him one evening, after having dinner with him and May at Happy’s place.
Peter listened to you, but things didn’t get easier. Low-rate criminals operated under the mantle of Spider-Man now, making your job harder and feeding the Daily Bugle with their daily dose of bullshit. You were getting tired of it and after a 3.m. Thursday call to a bodega robbery done by Spider-Man, you swore that the next impersonator you saw was getting shot.
Maybe that way they’d stop pretending to be him to do crime.
On Friday, when you were groggily getting coffee in the break room, you heard commotion in the office. Walking out, everyone was away from their desks and crowding by the TV screen. Coffee in hand, you pushed your way closer to the screen as well.
“Turn up the volume!” Someone said.
“-live footage of what it seems to be Spider-Man fighting an…enhanced individual on the highway.” The news ran helicopter footage of Spider-Man being trashed around by a man with machine-like tentacles, and you felt your stomach drop. “This individual appeared seemingly out of thin air, and began causing explosions. The number of casualties is hard to be determined at this point.”
Absent-mindedly, you handed your coffee cup to the closest person and ran to your desk, grabbing your coat, phone and keys, then dashing out of the door. Once in your car, you frantically began dialing people. Neither May, MJ, Ned nor Happy knew what was going on and by the time you ended the call with Happy, you were stuck in traffic close to the Queens tunnel.
Your fists hit the steering wheel about five times in anger, your bangs flying out of the claw-clip.
On the radio, a live description of the highway fight was being given and you listened with your head resting against the wheel, car not moving.
“It seems things have calmed down now, and Spider-Man is victorious.” The host spoke, the car behind you honked. You straightened up and drove forward a few inches. “Wait, no, no. It seems more explosions are now going off and – what is that?” The host sounded scared, and you frowned at the radio as if he could see you. “A … green suited man is flying above the bridge on a… hoverboard? He’s charging at Spider-Man and,” the host paused.
You held your breath.
Another honk from behind you, but you didn’t press the gas pedal.
“Spider-Man just disappeared. And the guy flew away, towards Manhattan.”
For a brief moment, everything was silent – the radio, the traffic.
You had never been more confused in your life.
Then, more cars from the back honked, the radio host spoke again and you quickly turned onto the lane heading back towards Manhattan, a lane emptier than the one heading out of the city.
Minutes later when you were passing the Empire State, your phone rang. Without looking at the caller ID, you answered.
“Y/N can you get to the Sanctum? Like right now?” Peter spoke from the other line, seemingly out of breath.
A rush of adrenaline shot through your veins, a smile crept up on your face. You gripped the steering wheel and pressed the gas pedal. “Peter Parker, I’m going to kill you.”
You were freezing inside the Sanctum.
After going there the first time and being told by Peter and Strange that villains from the multiverse were pooling into your Universe, you quickly came up with a plan to find and catch them all. MJ and Peter organized the basement a little to actually be able to work from there, while you and Ned went to his house to grab his laptop, then drove to the Hub so you could borrow some S.H.I.E.L.D tech.
“This looks like a ghost detector they’d use on Buzzfeed Unsolved.” Ned remarked as he went through your bag while you drove back to the Sanctum.
“If you turn it on and set it to the highest level it should show anomalies in the energetic field. I’m thinking guys popping up from another universe would cause a disruption.” You spoke.
“That’s so cool, did S.H.I.E.L.D. let you take this?” Ned asked, turning the device on. Its screen flashed orange, then displayed a grid.
“No, but they won’t notice it’s missing.” You hoped.
“You have the coolest job ever,” Ned looked at you, smiling with excitement. “Can’t believe I’m friends with a spy.”
You laughed. “Hardly a spy. I’m a glorified government official who stalks Spider-Man every day.”
“Yeah but you know the Avengers.” Ned began, and he didn’t stop talking about it until you reached the Sanctum. “Are you friends with like…The Falcon and Bucky and Hawkeye?”
Your steps echoed through the basement as you walked in, Ned trailing behind. MJ was sat on a table, scrolling through TikTok as Peter tried to get slime off his suit in a dirty sink.
“Is he bothering you?” MJ asked, deadpanned. Ned defended himself and you laughed, completely forgetting about the two villains trapped in magic cells only mere feet away. You sat on a dusty couch, fidgeting with your energy reader and making sure it was set up right. It was hard not to worry, knowing super-villains were showing up in your Universe and Peter would be going in blind into every fight.
“Hey, Peter?” Your voice was croaky.
Peter glanced back at you, his hands wet and covered in green goo, face luminated by a weak lightbulb. “Yeah?”
“I’m gonna come with you.”
“Where?” He asked, frowning.
“To find these guys. You can’t go alone; they seem crazy dangerous.”
He dropped his suit in the sink, then fully turned to you. “I can handle them myself, Y/N/N. I’ve got superpowers, remember?” He smiled softly.
“And I’ve got a gun,” you sing-songed, a smile on your face as well. “I can probably borrow some heavier weapons from S.H.I.E.L.D. too, then I’ll have my own superpowers.”
Peter shook his head. “No.” The smile was off his face and he spoke with more maturity than most adults you’d ever met. “You’re already in trouble because of all this, I don’t want you risking anything – not for me.”
You sat up straighter. “How do you know I’m in trouble?”
“Mr. Murdock told me.”
You pursed your lips, sighed and looked away. You were gonna kill Matt.
“He told me they’re suspicious of you and they’ll probably try to have you fired and charged with aid and abetting, and it’s all because of me. Everyone close to me loses everything and it’s all my fault and I tried to fix it and I’ve made it worse.” Peter continued and by the time he finished, his head hung low.
You got up in a flash. He leaned into you as you wrapped your arms around the boy you had grown to consider family. “It’s not your fault, kiddo.” Your voice was muffled by his hair, but Peter could still understand you. “And you know this job means nothing compared to you. The only thing I couldn’t stand losing is you – my family. I love you and I’m by your side till the end, know that.”
Peter held you tighter.
And then your device beeped loudly from the couch.
“I got one! I got one!” Ned screamed seconds later, and both you and Peter sprung into action. You ran to grab your device, Peter walked to Ned and MJ. “I mean, you can take the guy out of the chair but you can’t take the chair out of the guy.” Ned spoke proudly and matter-of-factly.
“Whatchu find?” Peter asked.
“There’s an anomaly outside of the city.” You joined them, looking at your device’s screen which was still flashing.
“Yeah, near a military research facility.” Ned added. “Witnesses say that they saw a monster flying through the air.”
Peter didn’t let you go with him, so you resorted to staying back with his friends, watching the events through FaceTime. It took about half an hour of worry, pacing around and anxiety after losing any connection to Peter, until two men were teleported into Strange’s magic cells.
You, MJ and Ned watched the four trapped villains interacting like it was part of a movie at the cinema.
“Connors?” One of the latest prisoners spoke. You took a mental note of the name.
“What? You know this creature?” Doctor Octavius asked – you knew his name from earlier.
“No, no, no, no, no, not a creature – a man.”
MJ and Ned shared a look.
“Same Universes.” Ned spoke, in awe.
“Doctor Curt Connors, he was a scientist as Oscorp when I worked there.” The same latest prisoner continued. “Brilliant scientist. Until he turned himself into a lizard – then he tried to turn the whole city into lizards, it was crazy.”
You tried to stifle a laugh.
“It wasn’t crazy, Max. It was the next step in human evolution.” Dr. Connors spoke in a deep British accent and you instinctively covered your mouth – you would’ve laughed otherwise, and that felt inappropriate.
“The dinosaur can talk!” Ned whispered an exclamation.
“Lizard.” MJ corrected him quickly.
You were speechless.
“Speaking of which, what happened to you?” Dr. Connors spoke again, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. “Last I recall, you had bad teeth, glasses and a combover. Did you get a makeover?” He asked the guy who had revealed his identity. “You know I can give you a real makeover.”
“Let me guess, into a lizard?”
At that you turned to walk away, finding everything too funny. You knew that if you stayed there just a minute longer, you’d let out a laugh.
So, you sat on your dusty couch out of sight as MJ and Ned explained to the prisoners how they ended up in their current predicament. You wrote their names in the notes app on your phone so you wouldn’t forget, and you checked S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites to see if anything weird had happened worldwide lately. By the time Peter called, you were about to fall asleep in your spot.
MJ and Ned joined you on the couch as Peter told you, on speaker, that he’d stay back to do some damage control and that you should all just regroup the next day.
You drove MJ and Ned home after that and by the time you found yourself alone in the car, it was past midnight. At a red light somewhere on an empty street of Manhattan, you allowed yourself to lay back and close your eyes.
The city was quiet – no traffic, no crowds of people walking about. Just the hum of occasional cars zooming in the distance. High-rise buildings showed they were still full of life, as lights were on in almost every window.
A piercing wail caused you to jump right when the traffic light turned green.
On your passenger’s seat, the S.H.I.E.L.D. device roared, emitting a bright orange light inside the dark interior of your car. You pulled over and checked it in a hurry.
The screen flashed. Zooming in, you managed to pinpoint it in an alley, close to the Empire State. For a second, you weighted your options.
Peter was busy and probably worn out from the previous fight.
You could technically call Bucky for help, but you didn’t want to get him involved.
You could also call it in, wait for backup – that would’ve been the best thing to do. S.H.I.E.L.D. Ops had gear that could hold an alien – some enhanced dude shouldn’t pose a problem.
It took less than five minutes to reach the spot – you had put on emergency sirens on your car and broke every speed limit. You parked it badly right by the edge of the alley and you walked out of it, gun drawn. The city seemed silent now, and there were no traces, no sounds of back-up agents rushing to the scene – you hadn’t called them.
The spot was quiet.
No bombs, no trashings, no shots fired.
As you walked deeper into the dark alley, you couldn’t even see much. But you moved with determination and a lack of fear. Right by a trashcan, you could see a figure moving. They were tall and had a hoodie on, but you couldn’t make out anything more.
“NYPD!” You shouted as you lit up your flashlight and pointed it at the figure. The person put their hands up immediately. “Hands behind your head and turn around slowly.”
You stepped forward, illuminating them entirely with your flashlight and when your eyes landed on a pair of skin-tight blue and red pants, you sighed. You quickly gazed back up at their hands interlocking behind their head, and at the sight of red gloves with grey web details, you just got angry.
Their head hung low when they turned, the black hood hiding their face entirely.
You took another step closer. “Look up.” You ordered.
It took a second for them to move but slowly, the person raised their head.
At the sight of a Spider-Man mask, you raised and clicked your gun. You were so angry that another person was impersonating Peter, so tired of crimes being blamed on Spider-Man that you remembered your personal promise of shooting the next impersonator you saw.
“Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing?” The person spoke quickly, their hands moving frantically by their head.
“Who are you?” You demanded.
“Spider-Man!” They exclaimed. Their voice was pitched, but you could tell it was normally way deeper.
You laughed bitterly. “Wrong answer. See, I know Spider-Man, and I also happen to know he’s out of town momentarily.”
Spider-Man cocked his head. “You know me? I don’t know you.” He spoke, his voice slightly muffled by the mask.
You frowned. What? “Listen, this is your one chance to take off that mask, tell me your name and what you did – or what you’re planning on doing, and maybe we can avoid you spending the night in a cell.” You held your ground despite feeling slightly confused.
“Normally I’d love giving my name to a beautiful woman but right now, that kind of defeats the concept of a mask.”
“I’m holding a gun to you, and you’re flirting?” You took a step closer.
“Not the first gun pointed at me,” Spider-Man shrugged “but the first gorgeous woman threating me.”
“I will shoot you.”
“Ahh,” His hands were still up, but he moved them around slightly “You would’ve shot me by now.” He said matter-of-factly.
Your aim had been on his shoulder and as the words left his mouth, you pulled the trigger.
Within seconds, a couple of things happened simultaneously.
Spider-Man moved quickly to the side, dodging the bullet with ease. Your gun was yanked out of your hands and pinned to the wall by a strong, dense spider-web. You heard the bullet lodge into a trash can. Then, light blinded you as you realized the man was now in possession of your flashlight.
You couldn’t help but stare at the web on the wall, dumbfounded. “What the fuck?” You spoke.
“You would’ve shot me.” Spider-Man looked at you, one hand on his hips, the other waving the flashlight around you.
“I told you I’d shoot you.” You looked back at him, eyeing him suspiciously. But despite the confusion and the entire situation at hand, you never once felt threatened by him.
“I should report you for police brutality.”
You pursed your lips. “I’m not the police.”
He gasped in fake surprise. “You lied to me. Who are you?” He illuminated his face, holding the flashlight directly underneath his chin. That allowed you to see the silver web-like design on his mask, and how it shone under the light – thing which Peter’s suit never did. You also noticed the eyes were different, reflective.
“Didn’t I ask that first?” You folded your arms to your chest.
“Yeah, and I answered. So it’s your turn.” He stepped closer; you didn’t move.
“You’re not Spider-Man,” you spoke with exasperation in your tone. “I know - “
“You know the real deal, okay,” he repeated your previous words. “If you know him, what’s his real name?” He tested.
“Are you serious?” You deadpanned. When he didn’t reply, you gave up. “Peter Parker.”
He seemed to freeze.
Then, his head leaned to the side. The flashlight shone directly on you, and you placed a hand above your eyes to see him, since the light blinded you.
“How do you know that?” He finally asked, all traces of humor gone from his tone.
He stepped even closer, now beginning to tower over you. In just two large strides, he was within reaching distance of you, and you couldn’t help but feel a little woozy at the sudden proximity.
“I told you I know Spider-Man.” You repeated for the third time that night.
“But I don’t know you.”
“Dude.” Your hands rose by your sides, in frustration. Your eyes widened, your lips remained parted.
“I’m Peter Parker. I’m Spider-Man, but I’ve never met you in my life, swear to God.” His frustration seemed to mirror yours. His hands waved around frantically as he spoke, his knees bent occasionally – he seemed goofy, you thought.
“You’re Peter Parker?”
“Peter Parker is your government name.”
“Show me an ID.”
He sighed, doing a spin, hands on his head. The flashlight illuminated the alley chaotically and it was giving you a headache. So, when he faced you again, you took the flashlight from his hand and pointed it at him once again.
“I don’t have it with me – defeats the purpose of the whole anonymous superhero thing.” He spoke.
“Take off your mask then.”
After a moment of hesitation, he did.
He pulled the mask up, letting it rest on top oh his head like a beanie. Strands of brown hair messily fell over his forehead. Strong eyebrows shot up as he waited for your reaction. Sunken honey-colored eyes watched you with softness. A prominent nose and sharp jaw made you think he was the prettiest guy you’d ever seen.
You took a step back with widened eyes. “Who the fuck are you?” Your voice was loud, yet littered with confusion.
He pursed his lips and his own eyes widened as well – though not in confusion but more in a I told you we don’t know each other way. “I’m Peter Parker.”
“You’re not Peter. I know Peter and he’s this big,” you placed your hand in the air, a few inches above you, but many inches below the guy in front of you, “and he still hasn’t grown out of his baby face.”
“You gotta believe me, okay?” His eyes never left yours. “I don’t know what’s going on, I was just patrolling the city, swinging around the Empire State then I blinked and suddenly I hit a wall that wasn’t there before and I fell right there, behind that trash can.” He pointed behind him over his shoulder, without looking away from you. “It’s like I teleported or something and now this is happening which is very weird and confusing.” The entire time he spoke, his hands moved around chaotically.
And suddenly, you remembered.
The electric device detected an anomaly. You had been so consumed by the anger and frustration caused by Spider-Man impersonators that you forgot about the actual reason you were in the alley.
Peter watched your face relax as your brain connected the dots. Then, you looked back up at him and he felt his ears growing hot. The suspicion in your eyes was replaced by curiosity, you took a step closer and he felt fidgety.
“I’m gonna name some people, you tell me which ones you know.” You spoke before grabbing your phone out of a pocket of your puffer jacket, and pulling up the notes.
“Okay?” Peter was still confused.
“Sandman?” You read out the first name listed down. You had written them in order, based on cell placement.
“Some guy who can shoot electricity? Don’t know his name yet.”
Peter paused, thinking. “Electro?” He asked, then quickly added “Max?”
“He worked at Oscorp, had glasses?” You remembered Dr. Connors’ words.
Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah! That’s Max.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other in confusion and surprise. It was quickly dawning on you that you could actually be standing in front of a Peter from another world. Another Spider-Man.
“Okay, next is Doctor Otto Octavius?” You cleared your throat, looked down at your phone and read the next name.
Peter snickered, you looked up. “Seriously?” He asked.
“Do you know him or not?” You were fed up.
“Doctor Curt Co – “
“Connors?” Peter interrupted you, finishing the name himself. You looked up and nodded. “Yeah, I know him too – lizard guy, right?”
“Yeah,” you put your phone back in your coat. “So you know these two guys.” You stated, more for yourself than him. It was all starting to make sense to you.
“Yeah…” he trailed off, watching your every move. “Sorry, this is so weird. I’m so confused, I don’t – “
“Okay, I’ll try to explain what I think is happening.” You started. Peter nodded. “Basically, I think you kinda… fell into another Universe. My Peter, the uh…high school kid, he made a mistake and caused other Universes to merge into ours, so we’ve had people we’ve never heard of dropping here out of nowhere hunting Peter down.”
“And Connors and Max are here?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, we managed to trap them – “
“Wait so, string theory? Multidimensional reality? Matter displacement? They’re all real?” His voice came out in a hush, looking at you wide eyed.
He fist-pumped into the air and you let out a small laugh. “I knew it!” He exclaimed. “I knew the multiverse had to be real!” He did another spin, taking the surrounding in as if he was seeing everything for the first time. “So I’m in another world right now?” He looked at the sky, almost expecting it to be colored differently.
“Seems like it.”
“Wow,” he drew out, then his eyes landed back on you again. His cheeks suddenly flushed pink. “Sorry, I tend to get over-excited.”
You smiled, looking up at him. “Don’t be, it’s cute.”
“Look who’s flirting now.” Peter teased and you shook your head, walking to the wall to free your gun. You’d be in trouble if S.H.I.E.L.D. thought you’d lost it. “Are you gonna shoot me again?” Peter walked up to you, then leaned against the wall. He watched you struggle with the web with one hand, while the other hand held up the flashlight. His arms crossed over his chest, his right shoulder pushed against the brick wall, holding his entire weight. Peter’s gaze was held by the way your eyebrows scrunched in concentration, by the bags underneath your eyes, by your scrunched nose. Your cheeks were rosy from the coldness of the night, and soft strands of hair framed them as they had fallen out of your messy hairstyle.
“Only if you’re annoying.” You grimaced as your fingers touched part of the web that felt wet. Your hand drew back instinctively, and Peter laughed.
His laugh echoed through the alley.
“It won’t eat you, it’s web.”
He gasped, jokingly. “I pulled long hours making this web, it’s one of my best batches yet.”
“Make the next batch less wet.”
He shook his head, pushing himself off the wall. Moving swiftly to stand behind you, he grabbed the web and pulled with ease. In an instant, your gun dropped to the ground. His bicep was so close to your face that you could feel warmth radiating off his skin, through his suit, through the sleeve of his hoodie.
You stayed silent, opting to just bend down and pick the gun up.
“Thank you.” The ghost of a smile was on your lips as you looked back up at him. He smiled back, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat because damn, this Peter was pretty. His hair was still tousled from the mask, the rest of the suit peaked from underneath the black hoodie. A half-healed scar dented part of his plump lower lip and lines bloomed on his face when he smiled.
“Okay,” you cleared your throat, breaking eye contact. “Let’s go.” Ducking under his arm, you walked towards your car.
“Where we going?” He asked, but still followed you.
“First, where’d you get that hoodie?” You asked as you tucked the gun back into your holster. Peter walked behind you nonchalantly.
“It was on the dumpster. I wanted to be incognito.”
You stopped walking, turned to him and he almost crashed into you. “Dump it.” You spoke. Peter frowned, confused. “I’ll give you another one. Just dump this one, it smells horrible.”
Then, you got into your car.
Peter smelled the hoodie, grimaced then pulled it over his head and discarded it on the corner of the alley. You couldn’t help but look at his suit, now on full display – and at the way fabric hugged his biceps and molded around his torso. He jogged around the car, then got into your passenger’s seat. He had to adjust the seat as his long legs didn’t properly fit and when he was comfortable, he spoke again. “You never told me your name.”
“Y/N.” You replied, fastening your seatbelt. When the car remained silent, you looked up at Peter. He stared at you, eyebrows up, waiting for a continuation. You felt heat creep up your cheeks. “Oh, Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” You completed.
Peter smiled. “Y/N,” he tested the name on his lips, then nodded. “Pretty face, pretty name.”
You bit back a smile.
“So, Y/N, where we going?” Peter asked afterwards.
You started the car and pulled back onto the road with ease. “My apartment, I’m guessing you need to rest.” You glanced at him quickly, before looking back at the road.
Peter looked out the window and at the city with curiosity, trying to find differences between this Manhattan and his own. “You’re Godsent.” He replied, his eyes glued to the Avengers building. “What’s that?”
You followed his gaze and were immediately hit by nostalgia. “The Avengers Tower. Heard it’s under new ownership, though. Don’t know what’ll become.”
“The what tower?” He turned to you inquisitively.
“You know, the Avengers. Earth’s mightiest heroes.”
Since most people were asleep by that hour, there was no traffic and you managed to reach your neighborhood in record time.
“Never heard of them.” Peter shrugged.
“You don’t have the Avengers?” It was your turn to look at him. He shook his head, biting his lip. You began naming the Avengers then, eyes still on the road even though it was empty. Peter only registered the name Iron Man, then your voice became muffled. You spoke with passion and a small smile on your lips, and he forgot to look away from you.
He just thought you were so beautiful.
“What other heroes, besides yourself, do you have?” He straightened his back when you spoke and looked at him inquisitively. By then, you were pulling into an underground parking garage.
“Nobody that I know of. Just me.”
And just like that, you felt bad. He must feel lonely, you thought.
“I don’t have anything interesting in my world, honestly.” Peter continued, filling the sudden silence.
“Just lizard people.” You joked, shooting him another quick glance. The car came to a stop.
He smiled again. “Just lizard people.”
Neither of you got out of the car. Peter waited for you to make the first move while you sat thoughtful, wondering if you should speak your mind or not. In the end, you thought fuck it. “Your world doesn’t need the Avengers or other things to be interesting.” You began, turning your body slightly to the right to face Peter better. His gaze was soft when it reached you. “Your world has you. And I think that already makes it ten times more interesting than my world.”
And it was true.
Because this Peter felt different than any other people you had met before. Despite knowing him for an hour at best he felt trustworthy, safe – good.
You’d never felt that about anyone before.
Peter didn’t have time to reply, because you were out of the car quickly after the words had left your mouth. And in a way Peter felt relieved you didn’t give him a chance to reply, because he didn’t think he could really form a coherent sentence in that moment.
By the time you opened the door to your apartment, you were exhausted. You discarded your shoes by the door which got closed by Peter. He looked around, taking in little elements of your personality being shown through your décor.
A large window overlooking Queens was on the wall opposite to the entrance. By the window, a beige couch with pink and orange accent pillows was nicely placed. A big plant stood between the couch and window, a velvet green armchair sat opposed to the couch, and a TV was placed on the wooden floor right by the armchair. Peter also noticed books piled by the couch and a framed abstract print propped on top of a radiator.
His feet sank into the soft carpet as he stepped further into the apartment, while you hung your jacket.
“Sorry about … how the apartment looks. I didn’t have time to properly unpack and decorate.” You spoke softly.
“No, no. It’s great.” Peter quickly assured you. “You just moved in, then?” His eyes moved around the room, following you as you turned on lamps and grabbed some clothes off the couch. He rocked on his heels awkwardly.
“Eight-ish months ago, after the Blip.” You walked into another room, then quickly reappeared with two towels in your arms. “Here are some towels, if you want to shower. Bathroom’s through that hallway.” You pointed to the right, then handed Peter towels that smelled of lavender.
Peter made a mental note to ask about the Blip later.
“Ahh, you’re a lifesaver.” He leaned his head back in relief. After that night’s particular patrol, he had gotten pretty dirty and sweaty.
“I’ll leave you some spare clothes by the door.” You spoke as he walked towards the bathroom, and he thanked you again. After the bathroom door closed, you collapsed onto the couch. Every single event that had taken place on that day felt surreal, and you were slightly overwhelmed.
The clock read 3 a.m. by the time you walked out of the bathroom, having taken a shower after Peter. You peaked into the living room and saw Peter laying in the bed you set up on the couch. The main light was off, the room being illuminated only by a soft lamp. Peter laid, eyes closed, on top of the duvet, on his back. His legs were propped up, the pajama pants you had given him having rose up past his calves – they were your Peter’s. His arms were crossed, hands tucked under his armpits. The white t-shirt he had on was slightly tight on him. His hair lazily laid flat over his forehead, slightly damp.
Peter felt that he was being watched, so he opened his eyes.
You were stood a few feet away from him, leaning against the wall separating the living room from the hallway to the bathroom.
Your hair was wet, falling slightly past your shoulders. Your hands rested behind your back, holding your weight so that your skin wouldn’t touch the cold wall. An oversized I <3 NY white t-shirt reached the midway point of your thighs, covering the shorts you had on underneath.
Peter stared a second too long at your bare legs.
“Um, can I put your suit in the washing machine?” You asked softly. You had found his suit dirty and disregarded in the bathroom sink. Peter was planning on washing it after you’d gone to bed.
Peter nodded and watched you disappear to the bathroom again, then into another room which he assumed was the kitchen. He heard the clicks of the washing machine, heard it turn on. You walked back into the living room a moment later.
You were about to say good night, when Peter spoke up. “Are you super tired?” His voice was soft and riddled with traces of sleep.
“Why?” You walked closer to him, feet reaching the soft green carpet.
The apartment was silent and the only sounds you could hear were the beats of your heart, which increased dangerously fast. Peter pushed himself up, now watching you from a seating position.
Your eyes traveled to his lips, where a wound had opened up, allowing blood to travel down his chin. You frowned at the sight, and your hand went up to your own lip “Your lip is bleeding.” You spoke before he had the chance to. Peter mirrored your frown, then touched his wound confused.
“It’s fine, dangers of the job.” He joked. You shook your head, then quickly disappeared back into the bathroom. A moment later, you were back with a ball of cotton and a small bottle of unknown medicine.
Joining Peter on the couch, you sat cross legged, facing him. He turned to you, a serious look on his face. You dabbed the cotton in a strong-smelling liquid, speaking softly. “The wound looked healed before, how did you open it again?”
“So you’ve looked at my lips before.” Peter teased and you fought back a smile. It was a lost battle though, because you truly couldn’t keep the corners of your mouth from turning up.
“Shut up.” Was all you could say. Your hand then cupped his jaw tenderly, angling his head right so that you could tend to his wound. Peter felt his heart skip six beats at once. The air felt palpable almost. “So, Peter,” you began, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air, “how old are you?”
Peter gulped. “28, you?”
You wiped the blood off his chin, your thumb absentmindedly caressing his skin. You felt traces of a stubble underneath your fingertips. “I tell people I’m 27 but technically,” you paused, a shadow of sadness crossing your features. “Technically I’m 22.”
He frowned, his eyes looking into yours. Your gaze was on his scar, your right hand gently dabbing at the gash. Peter couldn’t even feel the sting of alcohol on his flesh. “How?” He asked.
His breath fanned over your face when he spoke.
“I blipped five years ago.” You shrugged.
He shook his head, confused. “I don’t know what that means.”
Your hands dropped slowly and you looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Your world wasn’t affected? People over there didn’t disappear?”
Peter just frowned, shaking his head no.
“It’s a long story but basically, a big alien thought the Universe was overpopulated.” Peter watched your shoulders slump, your gaze turning downwards, at your hands. “So, he did something and half of the Universe’s population just … died. Turned to dust.” Your voice was small, and you sighed. “Then five years later we all just,” you looked back up at Peter, who stared at you with interest. “We just came back.”
“What did it feel like?” He whispered.
“Nothing.” You shrugged. “I was trying to find Peter through satellites and then I blinked and lost five years of my life.”
There was a pause, a moment of silence. Peter reluctantly took your hands into his, placed them on his lap. His thumbs caressed your skin gently, in a comforting manner.
It was strange, how connected you felt to each other despite having met mere hours before.
“I’m sorry.” He said, and you smiled.
“It’s okay, I made peace with it.” Your fingers molded in-between his. Your chest rose and fell slowly as your breathing became strained. You couldn’t ignore the tense air anymore. You bit your lower lip, drawing Peter’s gaze to it. “I should go to bed, it’s late.” You broke the silence.
Peter let go of your hands, his eyes moved back up to gaze into yours. He nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah. We’re both tired.”
“Your lip should heal better now, just don’t bite it.” You spoke while getting up.
“Thank you, Y/N. For everything.” Peter looked up at you. Resisting the urge to brush a hair strand away from his face, you took a few steps back instead.
“It’s no problem.” And from the doorframe to your bedroom, you gave him one last smile. “Good night, Peter.”
“Good night” he drew out. Peter watched the door to your bedroom close, then he fell back into the couch with a huff. The pillow you gave him smelled of peaches and after turning off a near-by lamp, he sank into it. With one foot hanging out of the duvet and his head buried in the pillow, he stared at your ceiling through the darkness.
It was strange, how much comfort he felt in that moment.
Despite being in a completely different world away from home and everyone he knew, he felt at peace. With the sounds of the washing machine rumbling in the kitchen, Peter closed his eyes.
And for the first time in years, he fell asleep without thinking about Gwen.
andrew garfield returning to the role of peter parker, russell t davies coming back to doctor who, taylor swift rerecording her albums. i am truly living in the most coveted timeline
Jon Watts having Mj fall and Peter trying to catch her, knowing damn well we still got ptsd from Gwen:
Hi hi hiiiii could you please write andrew! Peter but make it hella spicy? Like i wanna see this man either whimper and beg or dom the hell outta the reader
.ೃ࿐ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧
𝘼𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙬!𝙋𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: Peter is often needy but never really asks his girlfriend for anything, but boy oh boy dose she love to tease him when she finds out.
𝙍𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜: Spice under the cut, I guess. Peter is a sub okey? Okey.
𝘼/𝙉: Go easy on me okay, this is my first spice thing to write. It's maybe not the best but eh, I tried okey!
𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1k
Often times when Peter was over at (y/n's) house and felt in need of more than what he was given, well, he sucked it up. It was often because he didn't like to seem so needy. But what he didn't know was how much (y/n) loved it.
Peter had come over to (y/n's) place to study with her and then watch a movie. Nothing that was new, it was almost weekly they did this now so none of it was new. But today was one of those days where Peter wanted more, more than just her presence.
She was sitting with her computer in her lap at the end of the bed, Peter sitting by the headboard trying to focus on his work. Well, he wasn't even trying, he was just intensely staring at (y/n). He moved around, trying to get comfort even in this state but his mind was racing. Sure the two had sex before but Peter preferred to not throw himself all over her and trying to just get a yes out of her, he wanted them both to be in on it.
(y/n) wrote down the last few sentences on her essay, it was one of her best essays yet and she was for sure going to get a high mark on it. She let out a sigh of content as she wrote in the last word, her sources already in the end of the text, also with when she got the source and when it was published. Everything was prefect.
"Finally done with that," (y/n) closed down her computer and stretched. Her shirt lifted a bit, exposing her back for Peter to see and he gulped.
"G-good." Peter looked down at his work as she turned to see what he was doing.
(y/n's) eyes stayed on Peter and she bit down on her lip. His hair was messy like usual, but as always it suited him. He wore his glasses while studying, something (y/n) found he looked really good in, but she noticed how he looked almost uncomfortable. He seemd tense and it seemd he was trying hard to keep his eyes on his work.
"Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?" (y/n) raised a brow at him and moved to sit next to him.
"Nothing," Peter mumbled as he continued to try and focus.
"Are you sure about that, pretty boy?" Her hand moved some hair out of his face, this action caused him to look up.
Her eyes weren't soft like they usually were. They had become intense and wanted answers, he knew that look well enough to know there was no lying about it.
Peter sighed and didn't answer. (y/n) looked at him expectantly and slowly Peter leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back her head.
"Woah there spidey," She teased, lips only mere centimeters away from his and Peter tried to connect their lips once more.
"Come on, please" Peter whined as she pulled her head back from his. It wasn't that she didn't want to, she just loved to see Peter miserable at times like these.
"You're a bit needy, don't you think Peter?" Her hands reached up and took off his glasses, laying them on her nightstand.
"Just.. please," Peter begged, grabbing her hips. (y/n) didn't say anything and just thew her leg over Peter's, straddling him. Peter took in a sharp breath as she did so, (y/n) knew why and didn't have to ask.
"Just please what?" (y/n) asked with a smirk as she leaned down and placed kisses up Peter's neck.
Her kisses were slow, she worked her way up from the neck of his t-shirt and to the underside of his jaw, saving his sweet spot that was right under his ear. Peter moaned at the feeling of her lightly sucking on his skin. It was sure to leave a mark.
"Come on pretty boy, tell me," She whispered to him, kissing closer to his sweet spot.
"Please just do whatever! I just wanna feel you," Peter quickly told her as she landed a kiss right on his sweet spot causing him to close his eyes and moving his head more to the side.
"Hmm," (y/n) hummed, pulling away. "Whatever, you say? Oh, how fun I'll have with you,"
(y/n) pushed away his books that laid on the bed, they fell with a thud and at that moment Peter was happy they were alone. He could feel her slightly move around on his lap, this made him groan as he was already struggling to hold back.
"Such a pretty boy I have," She hummed and leaned in, placing her lips on his in a kiss. It wasn't sweet like their kisses usally was but this one was passionate and desperate and heated.
Her hips didn't stop moving, Peter moaned into her mouth at the feeling but she swallowed it as she deepen the kiss. There was no fighting for the dominance, she had it all along, Peter had no way to dominate her.
Peter's hands moved from (y/n's) hips to the end of her shirt, slowly moving underneath it. She didn't do anything about it cause she knew what he what gonna do. His hands landed right underneath where her bra started and Peter just keept his hands there. He did it even in soft moments and not only these kinds of moments.
(y/n) let her hands lift the end if his shirt, hands running up his toned chest. His skin soft against hers. Peter pulled away for a second, going to kiss her neck but her hands quickly pushed him back against the headboard.
"No." "Please, I just wanna show you how much I love you."
"No Peter. You said I could do whatever I wanted, so I am," She stared at him deeply, Peter swallowed and nodded. Her hands reached the bottom of his shirt again, this time lifting it over his head.
"There's my pretty and obedient boy," Her hands ran along Peter's chest, he arched his back a bit when her hands came to his V line, but she just leaned forward.
"I'm gonna enjoy this,"
Like You’re Made of Glass
A/N: i am so so happy that Andrew’s Spider-Man is finally getting some recognition since no way home came out. I’ll probably write some more for him now <3
Warnings: smut with a (lot of) plot, fem reader, angsty start, swearing, sexual tension, oral (m recieving), fingering (f recieving), unprotected sex, a little bit of dominance on both sides
Word Count: 3.3k
spotify playlist - songs that inspired this and others i listened to while writing it
Eight months have passed since you and Peter said your goodbyes to each other and even after all this time, the pain still doesn’t seem to be subsiding any time soon. You curl up in your sheets, wrapping yourself in his big T-shirt that had long since stopped smelling like him but which you were unable to let go of. Closing your eyes, you head into a hopefully dreamless sleep.
You wake up the next morning to an empty apartment. The usual noise of the morning is absent: no smoothie blender or crackling pans and you deduce that your roommate and her boyfriend have gone out. Then it hits you. They’ve gone away for the next two weeks and you are entirely and completely alone.
Not only are you not going home for the holidays, you don’t even have your boyfriend to keep you company. Ex-boyfriend.
It was a fight you and Peter had a hundred times before and it seemed like now that this would be the last time you’d fight over this. And not in a good way.
“I love you, Y/N, but we can’t be doing this anymore,” Peter groaned, rubbing his temples. “It’s just gotten way too dangerous for you.”
He’s referring to his most recent adversary who’d taken you from your apartment as a means to hit Spider-Man where it hurt most. Your bruises still hadn’t healed from the encounter and you still struggled to breathe as your broken ribs did their best to mend themselves. You’d tried your hardest to hide the pain you were in but every time he looked at you, he’d wince like he could feel the pain along with you. You see it reflected in his eyes now.
“How many times have I told you to let me make decisions for myself?!” You exclaim as you stride over to him, taking his face in your hands, your earnest eyes meeting his. His doe brown eyes are watery as he takes your hands, cupping them, holding you there, before pulling them away. He can’t bear to look at you as he does what he’s about to do next.
“Peter, please,” you whisper.
“I don’t want to see you anymore.”
“Don’t do this, Peter.”
“I have to!”
“Well, don’t!” Your lip quivers.
You swallow, trying to stop your voice from shaking. “I know what you’re doing, Peter, and it’s not gonna work.” You try to take his hand but he pulls it away, turning away from you.
“I don’t want this anymore.” The finality in his tone makes you stop, freezing in place.
“Peter,” you whisper, voice cracking on the second syllable as tears well in your eyes.
“Please, don’t call me.” And then he’s out the door, shouldering his backpack. And you’re left standing as the cold breeze blows swiftly through the open door, yet you can hardly feel it as the sobs wrack through your body.
You’d tried to call him probably a thousand times after but he ignored every single one. When you finally accepted that he wasn’t coming back, the emptiness you’d felt ever since hadn’t subsided even a little bit. A part of you was angry at how you’ve acted since the breakup, as if you turn on the axis that is Peter Parker, but losing the man you thought you’d love for the rest of your life…it was devastating.
Your phone rings, breaking you from your thoughts. It’s your friend, Alexis, and you answer it with a certain reluctance.
“Hey, Al,” you say into the phone.
“Y/N!” She chimes in her high, chirpy voice. “You are coming with me to a party tonight.”
“I’m not really feeling it, Al,” you sigh.
“I know, but you’ve been moping around long enough,” she replies. “I know you’ve had a really hard time since Peter but you can’t keep being miserable hoping he’ll come back. You need to start living your life.”
You know she’s right but a part of you doesn’t want to move on. No one in your life knew about Peter’s double life and you would always keep his secret no matter what, but it was so incredibly lonely.
Then you shake your head, washing the thoughts from your mind. “Fine.”
“Great!” You can practically hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll pick you up at 8.”
As soon as you walk through the door of this apartment party Al brought you to, you regret it. Because not only are you not in the party mood, you see him across the room, laughing and smiling with a couple guys drinking beer. Your heart stops and your stomach flips uncomfortably and you snatch your friend by the arm, pulling her into the kitchen that’s crowded with people.
“What the hell, Al,” you hiss. “Did you know he was going to be here?”
An innocent expression tries to spread across her face but she sighs, unable to lie to you, and hangs her head.
“I just think if you saw him you could have some closure. Maybe even have a chance to talk.”
Your mouth opens and closes as you wordlessly express your anger, before you whirl around, scanning the room. The countertop is full with alcohol so you quickly grab and down a cup of tequila and lemonade.
“Let’s get this night over with.”
The rest of the night, you carefully avoid him but you know that he knows you’re here, what with his spider senses and all. But you don’t approach each other and you instead opt to hang out and talk to other people, introducing yourself to a few who stand as far from him as possible. You end up talking with a guy named Jace for a while. You aren’t flirting with him because you’re particularly attracted to him, but a part of you deep down is hoping Peter sees you with him. So it doesn’t look like you’ve been as miserable as you’ve been and pining for him these last eight months.
Until this boy places a hand on your leg. Playing it off, you flash him a flirtatious smile before gently pushing it away.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real fast,” you say sweetly, tearing away from him as fast as possible. You had absolutely no interest in allowing the interaction to go further.
As you round the last corner to the bathroom you nearly slam into someone and you quickly look up to apologize to the person before you, but the words die in your mouth. Because standing in front of you is Peter, in all his tall, charming, and handsome Peter-ness.
“Hey Y/N,” he says, flashing you a smile. Even when he’s not trying to be endearing, it oozes from him and it makes your heart skip.
“Peter,” you murmur. “How….how have you been?“
You wince at the stupid and cliché question but you have no idea what else to say. All thoughts have gone out the window as his eyes study your face. He looks a little different but he’s still Peter. Your Peter.
He smiles, rocking on his heels. “Good, good. It’s really good to see you, Y/N,” he replies, his eyes not leaving your face for even a moment. “I…I missed you.”
Your chest clenches at his words but you don’t let your pain rise to the surface.
“I did too,” you say as steadily as you can.
He sighs, running his fingers through his hair as his eyes leave yours for a moment, guilt coloring his expression. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
“Don’t,” you whisper, stepping forward so close that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. Before you give yourself the chance to stop yourself, you stand on your toes and press your lips to his. Peter, initially surprised, automatically drops his hands to your hips but he immediately draws you closer as you both move in familiar tandem.
“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your lips. Hearing him moan your name like that wakes something in you and you tear your mouth from his and drop to his neck, kissing the sensitive skin, which draws a low moan from his desperate mouth. Just like you knew it would.
He molds his body to yours, hands skimming your sides until they come to rest on your rib cage, palms grazing the sides of your breast. You move back up to his lips, kissing him as if you were making up for the months you went without each other.
“I want you, Peter,” you breathe, curling your fingers in his hair.
“I do too, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing down your jawline and to the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting. “I’ve been wanting to see you for so long.”
“Your place?” He questions, uncertainty clouding his eyes.
Without thinking of what doing this may mean, you nod and respond with, “let’s go.”
You both step back out into the hallway, and he weaves his fingers into yours like it’s the most normal thing in the world but you reluctantly have to drop it to tell your friend that you’re leaving.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” you smile reassuringly.
“Al!” You call out, catching sight of her near a group of her friends. Leaning into her ear, you say, “I’m going home.”
“What?! Why-“ Then her gaze drifts to Peter behind you, who’s watching your interaction with fixed eyes. “Have fun.” She smiles knowingly, hugging you, before pushing you back toward Peter.
Peter reaches out his hand to you as you make your way back to him and the familiar way in which he takes it first then pulls you into his side by the waist makes your heart skip a beat. Calm down, Y/N, you chastise yourself.
“I’ll call us an Uber,” you state as you pull out your phone but he laughs and places a hand over the device.
“You’re kidding, right?” He grins mischievously. “We’re going to the roof.”
Oh right. Spider man. How could you forget?
The wind and snow that blows at the top of the high rise isn’t comforting and the realization that you haven’t done this in eight months hits you as you peer over the side of the building.
“Peter Parker, if you drop me, I’ll be haunting you for the rest of your days.” And you’re only half-joking.
He returns your quip with a laugh and a quick kiss before securing one arm around your waist.
And then you’re flying.
You’ll never get used to the sudden feeling of falling, the whiplash of Peter shooting his webs from building to building, or the adrenaline that comes with it, but as you swing together, you notice that you even missed this terrifying aspect of your relationship.
It takes him only minutes to get to the fire escape of your apartment and as he gently sets you down on the cold metal, you sway against him, dizzy from the swinging. And you are so grateful that you’d decided not to drink anymore after that single tequila and lemonade because you’re certain it would have come up a couple buildings ago.
“Jesus, I’d forgotten what that was like,” you laugh, although it comes out as more of an exhale.
“You handled it fine. Only minimal screaming,” he teases. His hand against your back is warm and rather than dwindle on the topic, you remember what you're here for.
You gaze up at him with a hunger in your eyes and you see it mirrored in his own as he draws you tightly against his chest, pressing his lips to yours. He kisses you with such urgency and you realize with a start that your lips are molding to his with the same desperation.
Peter slides the window up behind you without breaking the kiss, before he’s pushing you into your room with such agility that there was no way anyone could mistake him for being human.
“Y/N,” he breathes as you push him on your bed, making him sit down hard. His arms snake around your waist, gripping you tight as you straddle his thighs facing him. “You’re killing me.”
He’s waited so long to feel you like this again but still, that little thought in the back of his head is distracting him even now. So much so that he pulls away from you, fighting to clear his thoughts. But you reach down and take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you.
“Just be here with me, Peter,” you whisper. Peter watches you earnestly before resting his hands on the small of your back and suddenly twirling you back first on the bed, earning a surprised yelp from you.
“I’m with you, don’t worry, sweetheart.”
Reaching down, he pulls the hem of your shirt up over your head, leaving you in just your bra and he groans at the sight of you. “God, I’ve missed you two.”
Your jaw drops. “Oh my god, shut up!” you giggle, smacking him playfully. He flashes you a cheeky smile before leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses from your neck down to the indent between your breasts, sliding his hands under the bra and pushing it up so you’re exposed.
You moan in response and instinctively reach down to pull his shirt over his head but you’re met with another annoying piece of fabric. As you open your eyes, blue and red fill your vision.
Peter is watching you like a hawk as you gently spread your hands over the image of the black spider across his chest, like he’s waiting for your reaction. He’s almost hoping you’ll cast him away but you do the opposite. You push the fabric backwards over his shoulders, freeing him from the suit and entwine your fingers in his soft, chocolate hair.
“Y/N….” He moans as you push him down on his back. “Please, let me-”
“Wait your turn, sweetheart,” you whisper cheekily as you kiss and lick your way down his chest, to the little trail of hair on his stomach and finally to the hem of his underwear, you suck hard on the sensitive skin of his lower stomach which earns a groan of approval from the man above you.
You lick further still.
You pull down his boxers, finally freeing his hard and aching length from the confines of the fabric and swipe your tongue from base to tip.
“Fuck,” Peter’s voice is an octave lower and sends an instant streak of wetness down your thighs. You begin moving your mouth over him, taking as much of him in your mouth as you can and whatever doesn’t fit, you stroke with your hands. “Tell me how it feels, Peter.”
“Fuck! That feels–it feels so fucking–” he grunts as you intensify your movements. “It feels fucking incredible, babe.”
He feels himself getting a little closer than he’d like and he suddenly grabs you by your shoulders and effortlessly swings you into the bed, slamming you on your back. “But it’s your turn.”
The surprise movement takes your breath away; he’s so slim that you often forget he can lift your bodyweight ten times over.
His name falls from your lips like a prayer as he attacks your neck with wet, sloppy kisses, leaving marks as his hand slips down your pants, cupping your pussy. The action makes you moan loud and you’re almost ashamed at how easy it is for him to break you down.
He easily slips one finger inside you, pumping slowly in and out of you, which quickly elicits a breathy moan from your lips.
“Does it feel good, sweetheart?”
You moan his name once more. “It’s so good, Peter, baby don’t stop.”
He continues working his fingers inside you, adding a second which causes you to gasp at the stretch, and you realize how close you are to cumming. “Oh god I'm so close, Peter.”
“That’s it baby, keep going for me.” His hands don’t change pace but he uses his other hand to press circles on your clit as he sucks and bites your nipples. The expert multitasker.
“Cum for me, Y/N.”
The low timbred command instantly sends you over the edge and your orgasm washes over you as he hits that one spot inside you. You’re in bliss as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He eases up slightly as he rides you through your orgasm and he swears that he’s never seen anyone more beautiful as he watches your brow furrow, mouth open as you moan his name over and over again.
Peter presses a quick kiss to your lips when you come down from your high before he climbs on top of you, dragging his length over your still throbbing pussy.
“Is this okay?” Peter asks. He would never take without your permission and even now, after he’s made you cum with his expert hands, he waits for you to give him the okay.
“Please fuck me, Peter,” you say breathlessly.
And with your go ahead, he pushes forth into you, inching slowly in as you fight to take his sizable length. “All good?”
You nod, pulling him in for a kiss as he slowly rocks his hips into yours, each movement drawing soft moans from your lips and low groans from his.
“I’ve missed this pussy so fucking much,” he moans in your ear as he thrusts a little faster. He’s completely enraptured by you, and he can’t believe you’re under him once more.
You don’t respond with words, certain your voice would betray you and instead opt to pull his head down into your neck so you can entwine your fingers into his hair and lightly nip his neck.
“You feel so fucking good, Peter,” you cry out as he hits a spot inside you that brings you dangerously close to another orgasm. As if he can tell, he drives into you harder and faster, desperately trying to stave off his own release while getting you to the point he wants you to be.
“You gonna cum on my cock, baby?” His voice is strained as he maintains his pace and reaches down to rub your clit with his free hand. You gasp as the added friction sends you speeding towards your release and you clench around him, the feeling almost too much for him. Pleasure licks up the base of his spine, signaling his impending orgasm.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Peter moans, breathless as he tries to keep you pleasured while his orgasm overtakes him and he cums deep inside you as you clench down on his throbbing length, your second orgasm hitting you like a train.
Peter stays inside you for a little while after, not wanting to break the moment as you lay in silence together, holding each other so close that there’s virtually no space between you, and as he holds tightly onto you, you want to believe with all your heart that he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him. But you’re not a mind reader and you just don’t want to ask for fear of finding out the answer. When the sensitivity becomes too much, he slips out of you and rolls to the side, but keeps you close.
“C’mere, sweetheart.” He murmurs. He pulls you chest to chest and you hook your leg comfortably around his hips as you curl into him, his arms caging you in against him.
The sense of calm and safety that being around him provides for you allows you to quickly drift into dreamless and comforting sleep. His fingers never stop tracing your skin.
You awaken the next morning, mind still hazy with sleep and reach out beside you, searching for Peter’s familiar warmth, but his side of the bed is cold. It takes you a moment or two for it to sink in but when it does, you sit up, eyes scanning the room but he’s gone. Everything in your room is unchanged and you wouldn’t have believed last night had happened if not for the window which is open just the tiniest crack, blowing cold air that sends shivers down your spine. The cold, along with reality, sets in. And you’re alone once again.
And you don't know what you've got until it's gone
And you don't know who to love until you're lost
And you don't know how to feel until the moment's passed
I wish you'd live like you're made of glass
In Another Universe
NWH SPOILERS NWH SPOILERS NWH SPOILERS
Please don’t read if you haven’t watched NWH! Thank you!
Also, I haven’t written fan fiction in about 3 years, please be gentle with me. I have hyper fixated on Andrew Garfield’s Peter Parker again after years and must write about him LOL.
(Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker x Reader)
Summary: After the events of No Way Home, our reader finds herself in the arms of a villainous green man.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
What I listened to on repeat lol
The city buzzes with excitement, flowing around you like waves. And all you want is to get to your apartment, away from everyone’s energies and into your safe space; especially after this last shift at the bar.
You quickly walked into the back alley, the quietest route to home and the perfect time to decompress from that one patron’s antics tonight.
What a jerk.
A loud crash comes from behind you, causing you to turn around abruptly. Two figures were fighting violently; one throwing punches and flying through the alley way, the other floating through the air attacking his opponent.
Your eyes finally adjusted to the chaos in front of you.
You gasped, starting to back up from the two men fighting. Before you know it, you fall to the ground - hands harshly meeting the alley’s trash clad cement ground, letting out a hiss.
The terrifying floating man’s head whipped towards your hiss, his deep and empty eyes met your gaze - sending chills up your spine. He zoomed towards you. As he did, you realized he was a man you had heard of when you were in late high school.
The Green Goblin.
You screamed as he approached you on his glider, viciously smiling. Too frozen to move, you shut your eyes and let out a faint yell. You felt your body lift off the cement and into the air.
“Harry!” Spider-Man yelled, shooting a web and flying beside the two of you on the glider. The villainous man clung to your body, his nails digging into your ribs. You let out a hushed whimper, looking directly at the stranger you know as Spider-Man. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this, Harry. It’s been 10 years-“
“Shut up!” The Green Goblin screamed, “I don’t care how long it’s been. I will never be done with you.” He snarled and threw a bomb at Spider-man. As it exploded, the man cackled and tossed you while zooming away.
Falling was like you were in slow motion, wondering how in the world you ended up here so quickly. You stared at the stars wondering what happens once you hit the ground. You start to fly.
You start to fly.
Blinking away from your starry gaze, your head turns to see the red and blue masked hero holding you in his arms as he swings through the bright and crowded city.
Your arms wrapped tightly around Spider-Man as he swings lower and lower, finally dropping you back to the alley way where this all started.
He was panting as he asked, “Are you okay?”
Spider-Man was so tall. You stepped towards him with a whispered, “I think.” You were finally feeling the aftershock of what had just happened.
“Thank you for saving me, sir.” You said with shaky legs.
The hero cocked his head to the side, “Sir? Please - please call me Spider-man.” He reached his gloved hand out and shook your hand.
“I’m MJ,” you smiled, looking down at his large hands.
The MJ that Peter 1 from the other universe had?
“Is it possible?” He thought to himself, studying your beautiful face, taking in every detail.
You didn’t look like Peter 1’s MJ.
“Could I ever repay you?” You ask, realizing he had never stopped shaking your hand.
“Spider-Man?” You asked, finally getting his attention.
“Sorry!” He stood up straight, “Post fight jitters get to best of me. Would you - do you need a walk home?”
You smiled looking up at the man in the mask, “I would really like that after what just happened.”
“Would you like to walk or swing?” He asked, pointing in the direction you were walking earlier.
“Would walking be okay for now?” You asked with a small awkward chuckle.
He nodded, walking beside you until the two of you reached your apartment. “Here I am,” you sighed, rocking back on your heels, “ Thank you so much. Could I ever possibly repay you Spiderman?”
Standing up straighter he looked down towards you, wishing he could take off his mask and tell you how you are star-crossed and meant to be. How he has yearned for you since he found out he could possibly have an MJ in this world. How you didn’t ever have to repay him because you were his MJ and that was enough. You being alive was enough.
“Nah,” he laughed it off, rocking back on his heels too, “Maybe I will catch you around the city sometime and maybe you can save me,” he joked.
“Well, you’re totally my friend now Spider-Man, and I still owe you big time; so let me know if you need me,” you smiled, pointing back at your apartment,” I doubt you need saving. You know where to find me!”
“Yes I do!” He laughed, starting to slowly back up from your door step, “And if you need me, just hang around more alley ways.”
“Bye Spiderman,” you said with a smile, “I really do hope I see you again soon.”
You gazed at him, trying to take him in as much as you could take in a masked man.
“I do too,” he said quickly as he shot a web, looking back at you while he perched on the brick wall.
You smiled as you watched him swing away from the brick wall and disappear in the night.
Thank you guys so much for reading!! - here is Part 2 <3 & Part 3 & Part 4 & Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7
The Future Mrs. Spider-Man (tasm!PeterParker x Reader)
Summary: “Why did you stop un-aliving bad guys and start teaching second grade?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, “Un-aliving?”
“Yeah,” Spider-Man nodded, “Oh, I guess that was a bit indelicate.” He cleared his throat, “Ma’am might I ask why you stopped taking bad guys off the census and started teaching the youth?”
You rolled your eyes, fingers flexing into fists by your sides. “Might I ask if you’re always this insufferable?”
A/N: cursing; canon-typical violence; implied sex; mentions of sex; blood and weapons; banter—so much banter; Spider-Man and Y/N and a battle of wits; fem!reader; this was so much fun to write!
Your tumble through the bedroom window of your apartment was less than graceful, body sore and tired from an evening of swinging between buildings and pushing your muscles to their limit. Peter, who’d slipped inside just before you, caught you in his arms and steadied you on your feet, his hands holding your waist until he was sure you had your balance.
“I hate it when the bastards run,” you muttered, pulling the navy and silver webbed mask up and over your face, wincing as it ran over the tender skin surrounding your left eye. You were angrier with yourself more than anything that one of the goons you’d been rounding up on the docks had managed to get the jump on you.
“That’s gonna bruise,” Peter said, pointing at your eye, “I’ll get the ice.” His mask already discarded on the bedroom floor, you watched as he left the room, pulling off your gloves and flexing your fingers, listening to the sharp cracking of your knuckles.
Peter returned with ice cubes wrapped in a blue gingham tea towel, pressing it gently to your eye and shaking his head. “What are you going to say at work?”
“Hm,” you paused to think for a moment, trying not to pull away from the cold pressure of the ice against your swollen skin. “Last week I told them I was climbing Mount Kilimanjaro,” you chuckled, “So maybe I’ll just say I was playing basketball with the Knicks?”
“They’ll love that,” Peter laughed and you nodded. It was true—each time you showed up to your classroom sporting a new injury—or you were absent and recovering—your second graders inevitably had a hundred and one questions about what had happened. Each time you strove to come up with a more unlikely story to explain why you’d been missing or why you had your arm in a sling or why your fingers were broken. Usually, you tried to hide whatever injury was slowing you down, but sometimes—as was the case with a black eye—the questions were inevitable.
After a few minutes, Peter removed the ice from your cheek and sent the melting cubes falling out the bedroom window before closing it and shutting the curtains. He turned to you with a small smile, tired eyes, stiff shoulders. You opened your arms and the two of you fell into each other, helping one another out of your suits, peeling away the fabric that clung to your bodies with a thin sheen of sweat until you were both bare.
“I’d say we did well tonight, Mr. Parker,” you grinned, rumpling Peter’s hair gently. Gently, you pressed a kiss onto his chest, the skin warm and firm against your lips.
“All in a night's work, Mrs. Parker,” he smirked, his hand coming up to cup your face, careful to avoid your bruised eye. His lips captured yours in a hungry kiss, running his tongue along your bottom lip until you granted him access and deepened the kiss.
“I love hearing you call me that,” you whispered, breaking away from Peter’s lips for a moment as he looped one hand around your waist, urging you to jump up and wrap your legs around him. You obliged, the feeling of his rough hands and powerful fingers pressing into your skin enough to make your stomach knot with delight.
“Mrs. Parker?” he repeated, carrying you to the bed and setting you on your back. He looked down at you with yearning eyes, licking his lips at the sight of your naked body beneath him. “My gorgeous, ass-kicking, brilliant and—“
“Oh shove it, Pete,” you laughed, wrapping your legs tighter around him and pulling him closer. “I’m already turned on.”
Peter made a low sound in his throat, hands splayed on your thighs, beginning to gently spread them apart. “But I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“Well,” you sighed, biting your lip as his fingers began to wander along your curves and creases, “What are you waiting for?”
Peter was a generous lover, tender and pliant when you needed him to be, assertive and unrelenting when you wanted him that way. Exhausted from three blissful highs, hips decorated with the imprints of Peter’s fingers, and satisfied with the fullness you felt in your heart and between your legs, you cuddled up with your back into your husband’s bare chest, his arm wrapping around you protectively.
He trailed kisses along the back of your neck while you drummed a light and random pattern on his knuckles, basking in the warmth that radiated from him underneath the covers. Peter’s lips eventually found the shell of your ear, nipping lightly before he squeezed you in closer.
“Remember the day we met, ladybug?” he hummed into your ear. You laughed, pulling his hand up to your lips so you could kiss his palm.
“How could I forget?”
Five Years Earlier
When your friend—yes, singular, as you only needed one—found out that you were taking a job as a second grade teacher, she’d laughed, asking you if you weren’t terrified to be working with 7 and 8 year olds.
Truth be told, there weren’t many things that scared you, though you did find fish to be particularly disconcerting. Second graders hardly seemed frightening. They were human children, after all, and you figured you could make a rule that no one was allowed to bring in their pet goldfish for show-and-tell. You imagined that there was very little a child could do to ruffle you, especially after spending the better part of your teenage years and early twenties hunting down and killing warlords and criminals for a profit.
But that was behind you now. Now you lived a quiet life in your cluttered New York apartment with your two cats. You got brunch on Sundays with your one friend and you taught second grade in Queens to a class of small children who, you were fairly certain, worshiped the ground you walked on.
So when your field trip to the museum was interrupted by a gang of eight masked men, each roped with muscle and packing several weapons apiece, you told yourself to act how any other second grade teacher would in this scenario. Fearful but strong for her kids, just brave enough to keep them from crying, but not so brave as to do something reckless. And certainly not highly trained and capable of killing these men, and absolutely certainly not more than willing to do so.
No, you would stay put with your little ones, hiding behind the glass display of the Prehistoric Birds exhibit, cowering in fear that you hardly felt—at least not for yourself.
But then, one of the goons had to go and look at Jason the wrong way, brandishing his gun in the child’s direction so that Jason began wailing. In all fairness, Jason was a little shit—but he was your little shit and no one was allowed to make him cry.
“Shut up kid,” you heard the goon grunt, fingers tapping restlessly on the handgun he held, “Or else.”
Well. That did it.
“Jason,” you said in a whisper, voice laced with false cheer, “All my friends, listen. Miss. Y/N needs you to stay here. And cover your eyes, okay?”
Eighteen hands went over eighteen pairs of eyes and then, in a quick moment, you were out from behind the display case and toppling the goon over your shoulder before he could react. You grabbed his gun just as the first shot went off from one of the other men, making you drop to the floor. But the shot hadn’t been aimed at you.
Over your head, Spider-Man was soaring in from the second floor of the museum, slinging webs and shooting one-liners as he disarmed the masked men.
But there were eight of them and one of him so when one of the larger goons lifted an automatic weapon onto his shoulder, you launched into action, throwing yourself around the man’s waist and using the momentum to knock him over. Your foot came down hard on his wrist, twisting in just the right way so as to make the bones crunch underneath your boot. The man cried out and tried to grope for the knife at his waist but you shook your head.
“Don’t be stupid,” you warned. But, as was usual in these situations, the goon didn’t listen. Instead, he spat out something that sounded oddly like “bitch” in your direction and continued reaching for his knife. You sighed, cocking the handgun you’d taken from the first man and putting a bullet right through his hand, frowning as blood splashed up on your jeans. That hadn’t happened in a while.
“Uh, I’m gonna have to ask you to put that down.”
You turned to see Spider-Man beside you, looking down at the mess you’d made of the burglar’s hand. You dropped the gun instantly, shaking your head at yourself—at how quickly you’d slipped back into the place you hadn’t been in a year.
The rest of the room came into focus, with masked criminals caught up in webs and people crying and shouting and—you quickly whirled around to the Prehistoric Birds display and saw your eighteen students, still with their eyes covered. It almost made you laugh.
“Thank you,” you said, reaching a hand out to the hero. He took it and shook, though seemed a bit uncertain, his head cocked to the side.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asked and you shrugged, not really in the mood to get into all of that.
The sound of sirens filled the air and you heard the kids calling out for you, hands beginning to come away from eyes. “Think you could take the credit for all of this?” you asked, gesturing your arm around the scene.
Spider-Man chuckled. “Aren’t teachers supposed to frown upon plagiarism?”
“I’ll let it slide,” you called out as you turned on your heel, returning to your class and hoping that none of them had snuck a peak at the last several minutes.
The following week, after the kids had gone home for the day and you were washing the chalkboards, you heard a sharp knock on the window. Turning around, you cocked an eyebrow at Spider-Man, who was surprisingly outside your window pointing upwards. You nodded and then he was jumping up and out of your line of sight. You hurried to the roof, the corner of your ID badge making quick work of the lock that was meant to keep the kids away.
Spider-Man was already there, leaning against the large HVAC exhaust with arms folded over his chest. You matched his stance, drawing yourself up to your full height and wishing you’d worn something other than a polka dot dress that day.
“How did you know where to find me?” you asked, lips pursed.
“That’s not much of an answer,” you frowned and it was his turn to shrug.
“And,” he continued, taking a step closer to you, “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, also known as…”
Spider-Man began to list a series of names, each one an alias you had used at some point in your less than pristine past. You held up a hand after six names to stop him.
“No one is supposed to know that much about me,” you said quietly, “You should stop before I have to kill you.”
Spider-Man let out a short laugh. “You wouldn’t do that,” he said, voice calm and confident, “I’m not a bad guy.”
“Maybe not,” you retorted, “But that doesn’t mean you’re not a threat.”
“I promise not to tell your secrets,” Spider-Man said, raising a hand over his heart, “Scout’s honour.”
You surveyed him for a long moment before sighing. “Why are you here?”
“Why did you stop un-aliving bad guys and start teaching second grade?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, “Un-aliving?”
“Yeah,” Spider-Man nodded, “Oh, I guess that was a bit indelicate.” He cleared his throat, “Ma’am might I ask why you stopped taking bad guys off the census and started teaching the youth?”
You rolled your eyes, fingers flexing into fists by your sides. “Might I ask if you’re always this insufferable?”
“I’ve been told I am.” Spider-Man replied, almost as if he was enjoying this back and forth. You made a noise of consternation in your throat as he walked closer to you—though sauntered was probably a better term to describe the way he moved.
“Back pain,” you said. It was the truth—most of it at least.
Spider-Man seemed to light up and this, clapping his gloved hands together once. “Oh, I’m very good at cracking backs.”
“I’ll pass,” you said, though you couldn’t help the grin that was tugging up at the corners of your lips.
“Your loss,” Spider-Man shrugged, “Although, you have some good moves. We should team up sometime. I could make you a Spidey-suit.”
“Again,” you smirked, “I’ll pass.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind…”
“But if you do.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose and rolled your eyes. “I work with second graders, you are not going to win this.”
“Jokes on you,” Spider-Man laughed, reaching out gently to touch your shoulder. You, almost to your own surprise, allowed him to, “I’ve been told I have the sense of humour of a second grader.”
You laughed. “No, you’re much cleverer.”
“That’s not much of a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“I like you,” Spider-Man chuckled, “And since I doubt you’re afraid of heights, why don’t I swing by tomorrow after school and whisk you away to the top of the Empire State for dinner?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” you said incredulously.
“Well, yeah,” Spider-Man deadpanned, “Figure I’ve got to ask you on at least one date before I ask you to be the Future Mrs. Spider-Man.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but he was already swinging away, calling out behind him. “See you tomorrow, Teach!”
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right where you left me - p.p. 5/?
summary: with the help of an old friend, Peter tries to get back to you. and with the help of a certain PI, you try to figure out what you lost. but what happens when the person you're unknowingly missing shows up at your door?
pairing: andrew!peter parker x f!reader
word count: 7k
tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, angst, memory loss trope, set after nwh, good ol’ mutual pining, mentions of violence, nwh spoilers
a/n: the way this ended up being kinda filler-ish. but are we ready for old faces to return? also who can guess what taylor swift song snuck in at the end lmaoo. i really hope you guys enjoy this, the part was needed to set up the next chapters so i hope it's not boring
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Flash Thompson was getting married.
Peter had gotten the wedding invitation in the mail and left it opened and untouched on the kitchen counter for the past week.
It wasn’t the first wedding invitation he’d received from people he had been friends with, either in high school or college. But it was the first invitation that stung a little, because that was Flash fuckin’ Thompson getting married – high school bully, college redeemed-yet-still-kinda-mean Flash Thompson. In high school, Peter had always dreamed of a life where he was more successful than Flash, dream which made the bullying easier and at times, even comical.
Because Peter knew in ten years their paths would cross and he would hold his head a bit higher, knowing he was leading a better life. Yeah, Peter might have had a small God complex when he was a freshman.
But, ten years came and went and Peter was, in fact, not living the dream he thought he would be. So when Flash’s wedding invitation reached his fingers, Peter was suddenly taken back to high school and to every P.E. class in which Flash managed to hit him in the head with a basketball, resulting in Peter hearing colors for the rest of the day.
Because Flash Thompson was getting married and Peter Parker was pining after a girl from another Universe.
“Are you going out on Spider-Man business or just to act depressed on the ferry as yourself?” Peter threw a quick glare towards the couch as he bent down to tie his converse by the door. A ripped backpack was loosely strapped to his back and it slightly tipped forward as Peter moved. The person sat no more than two feet away from him let out a deep laugh, head falling back to briefly rest against the plush backrest.
Harry Osborn was sat on Peter’s couch, feet propped up on the coffee table.
The apartment was gently lit up by some string lights and a few lamps placed chaotically around the room. The rock beats of (Don’t Fear) the Reaper by the Blue Öyster Cult played smoothly in the background, coming from Harry’s phone.
A stack of papers was neatly placed by Harry’s feet and a laptop sat on his lap. The grey, woolen North Face jacket Harry had on blended into the couch, both bearing the same color. It was cold in the apartment since a certain hero had forgotten to close a window that morning – Harry had to shut it himself, late in the afternoon when the place had already frozen to bits. A white (thrifted) polo hid under the jacket – Harry had been weirdly into polos since being released from the Ravencroft Institute. And whether that was because he couldn’t really afford the expensive shirts he’d always worn, or because he wanted to separate himself from the old posh version of him, Harry didn’t know.
“I don’t act depressed on the ferry.” Peter retorted.
“That’s right, you also cry on Lady Liberty’s shoulder.” Harry shot back, a teasing smirk on his lips. His eyes watched Peter dully, no spark having reached them in ages. Dirty blond locks brushed the outer corner of his eyes as his hair had gotten slightly longer and Harry didn’t feel like slicking it down with gel anymore. A middle part replaced his previous look, making the man seem more approachable – friendlier even.
“I should’ve left your ass in Ravencroft.” Peter joked, making Harry’s grin spread wider.
“Who would’ve made fun of you, then?” Harry raised his hands to his sides, emphasizing his question. There was no trace of resentment in his voice, only amusement. And it was as if Harry had never turned on Peter ten years prior.
“Nobody.” Peter grabbed his skateboard and unlocked the front door. “That’s the point, I would’ve lived in peace.” And Peter was on the hallway outside about to close the door behind him when Harry shouted after him.
“Thank you though, Peter.” He said before pointing a finger at his best friend. “You know you saved my life. You’re a hero.”
Peter just snickered, shaking his head.
“Get a pizza when you swing back!” Harry’s muffled voice still reached Peter’s ears as he closed the door. And the song playing in the apartment followed Peter as he skated to the ferry dock in Astoria, through the bustling streets of Queens.
Harry Osborn had been living with Peter for about four months now, ever since the hero decided to work through his trauma by taking a page out of his counterparts’ books and curing his worst enemy. If his younger brother could sort-of forgive the Goblin for killing May, maybe Peter (who was old – nearing his 30s type of old) could work through his anger and extend an olive branch to his own Goblin.
And Peter hated to admit it, but acceptance and (semi) forgiveness worked.
Realizing that Harry Osborn fell victim to a horrible fate, to loss and pain and mental illness, and that the Green Goblin was a manifestation of Harry’s worst parts, all led Peter to believe that it was unfair to harbor hate for his lost best friend and to blame him for everything wrong in his life.
Part of him believed that by curing Harry of the Goblin, his bad parts would be eradicated and maybe, just maybe, he’d have his best friend back.
Thus, Peter recreated his older brother’s Goblin cure during a slow work day, when his thoughts were ridden by ghosts from another, inaccessible Universe. On days such as that one, Peter couldn’t help but think he had imagined all the events from last November – because how was it possible for him to have brothers? To find a person who reignited the flames of hope and affection within him, after they’d been dormant for so long? Peter had forgotten what being understood and listened to and cared for felt like until he met you and his counterparts and it all felt too good to be true.
He needed proof that it was all real. And the Goblin cure was all the proof he needed. Because had it all been a figment of his imagination, the serum wouldn’t have brought his Harry back. And Peter wouldn’t have seen consciousness and regret and sorrow all drown Harry’s once foggy eyes.
He also wouldn’t have had Harry dropping at Peter’s feet as he sobbed, more apologizes flying out of his mouth within the span of a minute than during his entire rich, entitled past life.
My Aunt May taught me that everyone deserves a second chance, kid Peter’s voice rang through Peter’s mind a lot after he had been sent home. And he knew his own aunt May held the same belief on second chances – and honestly, that belief was the reason why Peter offered his couch to Harry upon his release form the Ravencroft Institute. Why he decided to give Harry Osborn a second chance.
And he also offered because he desperately wanted to watch the ex-rich kid struggling to do normal people things – like cooking his own omelette in the morning or carrying his dirty laundry in a bag to the laundromat three blocks away or finding out why you should never get on an empty subway car.
The horrified look seen on Harry’s face through the subway windows when the doors closed and rich boy got hit in the face by nothing but pure lower-class experience will never cease to get a snicker out of Peter.
A Wallows song blasted through the hero’s earphones as he stepped off the ferry on Liberty Island. The wheels of his skateboard rolled over pavement bumps with ease and wind blew strands of his hair back. He had stopped by a fast-food place before getting on the ferry, so a packaged burger sat in his half-open backpack and a large Coke-filled paper cup with a straw poking out of it rested in his left hand, his fingers sticking to it for security.
Peter had a clear destination in mind and he couldn’t wait to get there and eat his food, absorbed by the bustling sound of thoughts rushing through his mind. Because there was a certain place on Liberty Island that quickly turned into his favorite spot ever since he returned home, eleven months prior.
A place that brought him closer to you, despite being worlds apart.
Below the Statue of Liberty, Peter found a wooden bench standing over the everlasting patches of fresh grass. It had stood there for decades before Peter unofficially claimed it, and might stand for decades to come. It was riddled by time, its firm wooden slats chipped, its iron casting stained by droplets of rust. The initials of strangers scarred the dusted wood and Peter knew them all by heart, as if they had belonged to old friends.
The bench stood on the very spot where you and Peter said goodbye in a different reality.
And at the beginning, Peter would sit on that bench for hours, gazing into the distance at the Hudson River gently swaying in the wind, waiting for something to happen.
For you, or wizard Ned or his younger brother to show up – to come for him.
But nobody ever did.
And Peter found himself, yet again, alone. He still had aunt May, yes – and he was incredibly grateful for that. Because his brothers had lost their aunts and the mere thought of losing his May managed to redden Peter’s eyes, to soak his cheeks in salty tears each time. He had her, but he still felt lonely. Because it wasn’t as if he could share telltales from his heroic activities (even though part of him believed she already knew his secret) and put her at risk. He couldn’t tell her he traveled worlds and found out he had brothers – whom he lost immediately after meeting.
But he did tell her about you.
To aunt May, you were a girl from outside New York who couldn’t make it to Christmas dinner due to flight issues. And you were also the girl who brought back the glimmer in her nephew’s eyes, glimmer she hadn’t seen in years.
“If you’re so in love, why don’t you go visit her?” Aunt May spoke as she cut into a fleshly cooked meatloaf on Christmas. “Grand gestures go a long way, don’t mope waiting for her to do all the work.”
Peter scrunched his nose, focusing on mashing the potatoes on his plate with the fork in his hand. Even now, almost a year later, he could still remember the way his head spun upon hearing May’s words. “I’m not in love, aunt May.” He mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward.
But he knew the woman was right, and that waiting around for you to solve multiverse travel was selfish.
So, due to a sudden impulse of hope and determination after weeks without you, Peter decided he was going to, quite figuratively, move mountains for a reunion. And Peter Parker quit his job as a freelance photographer and took the position of Research Scientist at Horizon Labs. He buried himself in physics within the walls of his new workplace, swimming through theories and formulas and crumbled papers thrown in frustration at the nearest glass wall.
And whenever his theories failed, when things got hopeless, he took the ferry to his bench on Liberty Island.
And on the days when his theories did pan out, when he seemed to be getting just slightly closer to figuring out the multiverse, he swung to the nearest port, junk food in hand, just to sit in your spot.
No matter what, Peter Parker could be found haunting the very spot where he left you, sitting on top of the backrest, feet collecting dust on the actual seat of the bench. And he imagined one day you’d be sitting next to him and all his efforts would be worth it. And he’d carve your initials into the wooden backrest as if you were infatuated teenagers, and you’d laugh because it was childish but you’d still take a picture of the carving before walking home together, hand in hand.
A pillow hit Peter’s face with brute force, stirring him awake. His room was still dark due to the curtains being drawn shut, but slithers of light still peaked through the fabric. Peter was quick to grab the pillow out of Harry’s hands before he could hit again.
“You didn’t get pizza last night, prick.” Harry retrieved his pillow from Peter and placed it under his arm.
Peter groaned, falling back into his bed. “I came back late.” His voice was hoarse, still riddled with sleep. He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. The sheets were pulled off him and Peter felt transported back to his high school days, all of a sudden. “What are you, my aunt?” Peter mumbled, one hand reaching for his duvet.
“At this point, probably.” Harry sketched a smile. He was already dressed for the day in a black, loose shirt and grey pants. His hair was damp, as he had taken a shower after going on a run that morning.
“You can’t cook.” Peter mumbled.
“And that’s why I asked for pizza last night.” At Harry’s words, Peter groaned and rolled over, back facing his friend. “Lucky for you, I’m a forgiving person.” Harry had almost completely lost his accent by then, but the traces of being raised in upscale New York could still be seen through the way he enunciated certain words.
Harry found his eyes traveling to the polaroids stuck to the wall above Peter’s bed. They were all of the same girl and goddamn was she beautiful. He didn’t know much about her, though. All Peter had told him was her name and that she was from another place, a world he desperately wanted to reach.
And Harry understood why Peter felt so drawn to you; he understood his best friend’s motivation to singlehandedly prove the existence of the multiverse.
“Come on, man.” Harry shoved Peter’s foot. “You have a job to get to.”
“I’m taking a day off.” Truthfully, Peter wanted to mope that day. Because Flash Thompson was getting married and Peter was burning himself out over a girl from another world and he felt frozen in time while everyone he knew moved on with their lives.
“Okay, should I go to your lab to test out this blueprint for the multiverse portal, or?”
Peter opened his eyes. “What blueprint?”
Harry leaned against the doorframe. “While you were Spider-Manning last night, I studied your work and came up with something that could hold and transform the energy necessary for this to work.”
Peter shot up in a sitting position. “You came up with a portal.” He reiterated. His heart sped up.
“Well, I came up with the skeleton of a portal. You came up with the actual … thing.”
Harry offered to help Peter with the multidimensional portal a few months ago, after Peter was feeling particularly bummed out, causing the hero to rant to his old best friend until the early hours of the morning. And even though Harry had a world-ending headache, he listened.
At first, it all sounded like a fever-dream.
But then, Peter talked about Norman Osborn and how his Green Goblin murdered aunt May, about a young Peter Parker wanted to get revenge but ended up curing Norman instead. And Peter confessed that act was the reason why he felt the need to help Harry once he returned home.
Harry found himself eating up Peter’s words and believing him wholeheartedly by the end of the night. And the ex-villain felt that by offering to help Peter in his mission to get back to you, he would be redeemed. He wanted to prove to Peter that he was cured, that he was trustworthy – so he neglected his goals of taking back Oscorp and used his engineering knowledge to help his best friend instead.
But Peter’s story didn’t just open a path for Harry to find redemption.
It also gave Harry nightmares, all of them of his late father being the Green Goblin. And Harry found himself ditching sleep on the nights where his father’s face haunted him, choosing to go for long runs instead.
“Do you think it could work?” Peter asked as he struggled to put on a pair of slightly baggy pants, stumbling and jumping across his room. Over the I <3 NY t-shirt he wore to bed, Peter threw a black hoodie.
“Honestly … yeah.” Harry nodded, bringing his awareness back to the present moment.
Peter dashed into the living room to pick up his disheveled notebook. His hands were shaking.
Harry laughed as he followed Peter. A stack of books fell as the man rushed around the room, grabbing everything from his laptop bag to physics books to shoes. “What’s the first thing you’re gonna say to Y/N when you see her?”
That sentence alone acted like a shot of hope for Peter, sending electrical vibrations through his body. He paused by the door, before putting on his used-up converse. And then he shrugged, eyes on a smiling Harry. “I don’t know, man. I just want to see her.”
And as he sat next to Harry on the subway on their way to Horizon Labs, Peter, perhaps high on extreme inclines of hope, decided to send a text to the soon-to-be groom, Flash Thompson.
Congrats on the wedding, man! i’ll attend too, with a plus one
– peter parker
You could barely see the people around you, as the entire place was drowning in hues of deep blue and purple. Your ears rang the more you advanced into the underground club and you could feel the piercing bass of electronic music inside your throat. All you could smell was alcohol, sweat and cigarette smoke residue which had sewed itself into people’s clothes.
Hands brushed over the exposed skin on your back as you walked through the crowd. Feathers tickled the skin on your arms as you pushed past girls in angel costumes.
Some guy wearing a Ghostface mask tried to get you into a dance, but you dodged him with ease. Red laser lights hit your body as you stepped closer to the ring and your costume sparkled.
“Okay, targets are in the far-right booth close to the bar.” DODC’s Agent Cleary’s voice came through the communication device in your ear. “All you have to do is distract them until my guys get the weapons from the back. Shouldn’t be hard since you’re dressed for the occasion.”
You frowned even though Cleary couldn’t see you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know…” he trailed off awkwardly. “You’re dressed for attention.”
“Are you slut-shaming me, Cleary?”
He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Why do you make everything I say into some social justice shit?”
“Because I hate you.” You replied with nonchalance as your gaze found the targeted booth of men.
“Whatever, just do your thing until I tell you we’re clear.”
Working with the DODC had been a nightmare for you – only because you hated the man you got partnered up with. But word on the street was that Fisk had gotten his hands on Skrull technology and was making and selling weapons on the black market. The place you were currently at was just one of many under Fisk’s quickly rising empire, and weeks of scouting had showed that the weapons hub was located in the back of the club.
And you walked into that grand rave in a Halloween costume you had put together last minute, ready to never work with the DODC again and to get home early.
You approached the booth with a slight stumble in your steps and half-closed eyes. All the men there gave you a look-over and a shiver ran down your spine, but you ignored it.
Red leather boots reached the skin underneath your knees, making your legs look longer. A dark blue, high waisted bikini stood underneath a blue sheer sequin skirt. A red buckle top made out of the same material as the skirt covered the necessary parts of your chest, its straps meeting behind your neck. Black pasties in the shape of spiders laid underneath your top, providing coverage.
You had extensions which fell over your shoulders. Your bangs were held back by a comb headband. Rhinestones drew the shape of a spider-web by your eyes, tying together the red eyeshadow and the sultry eyeliner.
“Do you guys know Bad Bunny?” Your voice was at a slightly higher pitch as you placed your hands on a guy’s knees, leaning closer. He was the man in charge of Fisk’s operation – and your main target. “I wanna dance to Bad Bunny but the DJ won’t play him.” You whined.
And the man shared a look with one of his guys who immediately got up to solve it. And then he pulled you into his lap and pushed the hair behind your ear. You giggled, wanting to vomit.
And when a Bad Bunny song took over the entire club, you got up to your feet, hands pulling the crime-lord along. Cleary told you his team had entered the building, and you danced in front of all the criminals inside that booth. Your costume shone in the dim lights of the club, you leaned your head back on the man behind you and you felt a pit of guilt forming in your stomach.
You didn’t understand why, though.
It wasn’t as if you had anyone in your life, nobody else you’d rather be grinding on, nobody you had feelings for. So why did you feel nauseous?
And when the man’s breath fanned your neck and his hands reached past your waist, gunshots erupted from the back – and you breathed out in relief. Some men got up, the guy whose arms had been on you stepped back.
You bent towards their table to grab a glass of … something. Purposely, you stretched one leg back as you leaned forward and one of the guys tripped, falling over another man who had been ready to dash towards the gunshots. And you turned around quickly to apologize but crashed into their leader and spilled the drink on his shirt. Quickly as you rushed out apologizes, you drew your hand back, breaking the glass against another man’s forehead. The leader turned to you with annoyance on his features and his hand going for the gun on his belt. You grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel’s off the table and broke it on his head before kicking him in the chest with the heavy heel of your boot.
Another gun was pointed at you and you pushed the hand holding it up, bullet shooting into the disco lights on the ceiling and you got the strangest feeling of deja-vu.
People started running out of the club immediately, but the music still played.
A man flew through the back door and landed at your feet, unconscious and on his back.
And you felt someone behind you but you turned too late and his fist collided with your jaw so hard that it sent you tumbling over the table, landing on the other side on all fours. Your knees scrapped against broken glass and they stung when you jumped up to your feet, but you were angry. You blocked the arm of a man who was charging at you with a punch, and hit him instead. Your hand swung to the right and collided with another man’s jaw, knocking him down. You then grabbed his gun off the floor and shot the next man who charged at you in the shoulder.
Your skirt ripped as you round kicked someone. They then threw a punch which you dodged by bending down and when you got back up to swing, they were being yanked back. And from the right another large man was about to reach you, when part of a billy club knocked him over with ease.
“Are you okay?” You couldn’t help but smile when a certain red horned individual reached you. There was blood trickling over your boots and your jaw ached, but you smiled.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” You responded, pulling down your top as its lower band rose during the fight.
Daredevil sketched a smile as he readjusted his billy club. There was a brief moment of pause in the fight, when all enemies were groaning on the floor, in pain. You found it funny how music still continued as if shit hadn’t just gone down, as if the club wasn’t empty.
“Did you get them?” You asked Daredevil as you took out the comms in your ear and continued to fix your costume. You knew you should have picket something more practical for a fight – but you also wanted to look hot at a rave and you couldn’t fight that simplistic urge.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Thanks for the tip. The weapons are all in the back.”
“Of course.” You shrugged. “Nobody wants to see Fisk go down more than you.”
And Matt didn’t have the chance to reply because within seconds, you were joined by another deeply concerned friendly hero.
“Are you okay?!” Spider-Man dropped by Daredevil’s side rushing to you, eyes wide. Your jumped slightly at his sight, not expecting his presence there at all. And you suddenly felt very uncomfortable as the hero stood in front of you – because you were basically dressed as sexy Spider-Man in front of Spider-Man. Matt fought back a chuckle upon hearing your heartbeat quicken in pure embarrassment.
“I’m,” you choked out, absentmindedly pulling down the sheer skirt. “I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about, Spider … Man.” You wanted to Blip out, all of a sudden.
Spider-Man cleared his throat. Then nodded sharply and stepped back. “Good to hear, um, Miss.” He looked around before throwing his web in the distance. In the blink of an eye, he snatched a black coat that had been forgotten in a booth and handed it to you.
A breath of relief left your lips as you put it on. “Since when are you two” your finger pointed back and forth between the two heroes, “working together?”
Spider-Man scratched his neck. Matt smiled. “Everyone needs a little help from time to time.” His hand patted Spider-Man on the back. “Plus, it’s funny to work with someone whose voice still cracks.”
“Oh, come on.” Spider-Man whined as you snickered.
And then the front doors busted open and in walked dozens of men in tactical gear and guns drawn – and you immediately recognized them as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. You ordered the two heroes to run before it was too late, then sat at a booth as your coworkers swept the entire building. And as a medic cleaned your wounds as you were getting interviewed, you could see Spider-Man watching through the windows in the ceiling.
By the time you got home, you were exhausted.
But it was fine, because your apartment was quiet and warm and it smelled of tea tree and eucalyptus. You had also already told your supervisor you’d be getting into work late the next morning, so you were excited to take a shower and sleep for a while.
You took a moment to relax on your couch, taking in deep breaths to calm your mind after the events of the night. Your eyes rested on the broken picture frame sitting on your windowsill. Its state was something that baffled you each day – because almost a year prior, you had found it covered in sticky spider-web, its glass in the trash. The next morning, after the web dissolved, the pieces of wood laid on your living room. And it was crazy, because you couldn’t remember breaking it, nor fixing it.
Which reminded you –
You sent two consecutive texts to the same person, not really expecting a reply on the same night. But before you could lock the phone and put it down, two texts came through:
I’m not a wizard.
Jessica Jones replied, making you shake your head. You typed out a quick response.
No, you’re just the best PI in the city <3
And a moment later, she texted back.
Flattery won’t make me find Peter P faster.
Go to bed.
It’s 3 am.
You had gone to Jessica for help after being referred to her by Matt Murdock, some months prior. The cryptic note on your phone was driving you insane and you had initially asked Matt for help. However, he said all he could do was listen to your rants – he had no power to solve mysteries.
But Jessica Jones could help you, he said.
He was wrong. Jessica was completely not interested in your case – not at first. Because it was weird and it seemed easy to solve and you were a goddamn secret agent and she didn’t want to help government officials.
But she still followed you for a few days, just to get a feel of who you were. You had a routine that bored her and she decided that yeah, you were just a typical government employee. But then she found you sitting cross-legged on a bench on Liberty Island, moping on a random Friday.
“Since when are there benches here?” Was the first thing Jessica said to you that night.
You bit your lower lip. “This one was placed here after they rebuilt this portion of the island – you know, after the shield fell and all.”
There was a silver plaque on the backrest of the bench, inscribed with –
All we can do is our best.
And sometimes, the best we can do is start over. –
Steve Rogers, Captain America
“That’s so corny.” Jessica remarked upon reading the inscription. Her hands dug deeper into the pockets of her jacket.
You just snickered. “New Yorkers love their benches. And their Avengers.”
There was a brief pause. Jessica sat next to you. Your eyes were on the horizon, beyond the Hudson and over the floating boats. “So what’s this notes app thing you got?” Jessica eventually broke the silence.
“Now you wanna help me?”
“I didn’t say I wanna help you, I’m just curious.”
You leaned back into the bench, hands folded to your chest. Gentle waves crashed into the shore. “You know that moment when you’re about to leave the house and you just have this feeling that you’re forgetting something? But you don’t know what it is, so you get into your car and drive away.” You began. “And then it hits you. You forgot your wallet, or your airpods or whatever else. Ever felt that?”
Jessica just nodded sharply.
“Well, I have that. Except the moment when I realize exactly what I’ve forgotten never comes.” Your shoulders were slumped. “I just feel like there’s something missing, and it’s driving me insane.”
“When did you start feeling like this?” Jessica asked.
“On the day the shield fell. I genuinely … it was like I just woke up right here, in the middle of chaos and destruction and I was standing on the shield and I felt it slip towards the river, and I had my phone and there was a new note on the screen and it just said three words. And even though I had this … waking up moment I still feel like … like I’m dreaming.” Your fingers fiddled. “Everything seems normal but I feel off and somehow, I know something’s wrong.”
“And you think figuring out what the note means could …” Jessica frowned in confusion. “Wake you up?”
“I think it holds meaning.” You shrugged, finally turning to look at her. “I think it’s important.”
“And why do you need my help?” Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, don’t you have some crazy-ass resources?”
“You don’t think I tried that?” You shot back. “There’s hundreds of Peter P’s out there and I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Frustration seethed through your words like venom, poisoning your thoughts with annoyance. “I just thought a more trained, outsider perspective could help.”
Jessica let out a loud sigh. Then she clicked her tongue. “Fine.”
You turned to her, eyebrows raised.
“Come by my office tomorrow, we’ll talk more.” She continued before getting up.
“Wait, you’re gonna help me?”
“Finding exes for blipped people is getting boring. I need a challenge.” She didn’t want to admit how badly she related to you in that moment. She’d had her own encounter with losing time and feeling like she was in a constant state of dreaming, had her own issues with memory loss. But her experience stemmed from being mind controlled – she could only hope that wasn’t the case with you.
And all you could do was smile and promise you’d see her the next day.
“And stop moping on this bench, it’s weird.” Jessica shouted as she walked away. “And sad.”
That encounter happened months prior, and she’d been helping you ever since. She even managed to compile a list of suspect Peter P’s who were worth looking into, and she’d been investigating them over the past weeks.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard on your phone as you were about to type out a reply to Jessica, when there was a knock on your door.
It was loud and persistent and it made you flinch.
The heels of your boots clanked against the wooden floors, as you didn’t have the energy to take them off yet. And you let out a frustrated sigh as you placed a gun in the waistband of your skirt, behind your back – because it was early in the morning and you had just fought Fisk’s men and what if more were coming after you?
They wouldn’t be knocking though, would they?
You opened your door wide, in a heartbeat, ready to face whoever was on the other side. To get it over with and go to bed.
A tall, lanky man stood about a foot away from you. His left arm was raised in a lean against the doorframe. His brunette hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it excessively. Slight scruff covered his otherwise strong jaw. His lips were parted, his honey eyes wide. His chest rose up and down quickly as his eyes slowly inched up your body.
Peter Parker never expected this when he reached your world for a second time. He prepared himself for the sight of a barely-awake you, with sleep riddled features, body covered by baggy pajamas, hair up.
Never, in a million years, could Peter expect you to open the door for him as sexy Spider-Woman.
There were so many things Peter wanted to say – and do, but he found his eyes lingering on your exposed legs, on the slit in your skirt, up the waistband of your bikini and on the spiders on your chest for a second too long.
And all the words he had in mind got caught up in a web of incoherent thoughts.
His heart was hammering against his ribcage and he was sure your neighbors could hear the thumps. He felt heat quickly creeping up his ears and he kept swallowing the lump in his throat.
There was glitter on your lips and he wondered if it was transferable.
And then his eyes landed on the forming bruise on your jaw, purple vines of broken blood veins reaching up your cheek. He knew those wounds too well and his jaw clenched subconsciously as he realized you had been punched.
Peter found himself reaching out to you, wanting to cup your face and run his fingers over your bruise in comfort.
But you stepped back.
And your hands rose to your chest, fists clenched – ready to hit.
At first, Peter thought you were joking – so, he laughed. But the glare in your eyes and the stoic look on your face made him freeze.
“Don’t fuck with me.” You threatened. You had had enough of men touching you for one night. Another stranger having his hands on you would’ve quite possibly sent you overboard.
Peter raised his hands in surrender, palms on shoulder level. “Is this a bit?” He asked. This was not the reaction he expected.
You frowned. “What?”
“I’m confused.” Peter said, eyes scanning the apartment behind you, looking for a sign that maybe he didn’t reach the right universe. Because last time he saw you, no part of you seemed eager to let him go. And now, no part of you seemed to welcome him back. “What world am I in?” His eyes shifted back to you.
“Dude, what?” Your shoulders pushed back. “Are you on something? I think you got the wrong apartment.”
“Come on, Y/N. This isn’t funny.” Peter could feel the color draining out of him. He could feel dread creeping up his spine, delicate as a spider. Something within warned him that something was very off.
Your frown hardened. “How do you know my name?” You demanded.
Peter licked his lips. His hands went behind his head, fingers connecting at the nape of his neck. He feared that his hands might reach out for you otherwise. “You can’t do this to me.” He pleaded. “I told you there would be a way – and I found it.”
You looked up at him in nothing but confusion. You searched his eyes to see if they were bloodshot, his nose to see if it was irritated or stuffy.
But he looked normal – sober.
“Listen, I have no idea what you’re on about, I think you have me confused for someone else.” Your arms lowered and a palm rested on the door, ready to close it. “My advice to you … go home, sleep the confusion off.”
Peter’s hand flew to your door, holding it open. He took a step inside your apartment and your hand reached for your gun. “Bug, please.” He pleaded. His eyes glistened and his lower lip trembled before he pursed his lips. The tip of his nose reddened and your face softened.
If this was a joke on him, it was cruel.
Peter was yanked back before you could do anything, and you watched as a younger man stepped into your line of vision from behind the tall stranger. The boy had a strained smile and an arm around Peter’s slumped shoulders. And the otherworldly visitor inhaled a shaky breath upon seeing his younger brother by his side.
Peter waited for his brother to remind you that, hey, this tall, handsome guy is my older brother from another reality – remember him? You guys almost kissed twice?
But instead, Peter-One made the situation worse. “Miss, I’m so sorry for my brother here.” The boy patted Peter on the back with a chuckle. “He’s had too much to drink, he – he goes crazy on Halloween.” The boy’s voice trembled.
You eased up. Your gun remained in the waistband of your skirt. Your eyes remained on the tallest of the two, both your glances meeting. Peter kept waiting for you to burst out laughing and to run into his arms. But the moment never came. Instead, the detached look in your eyes and the distance between you made Peter feel like he was attending his own funeral. The scene felt ghostly – cold and void of color. Because you eyed the two men like strangers and he could tell his younger brother was struggling with it as well.
“I’m sorry for the disturbance. We’re – we’re leaving now.”
“But – “ Peter-Three began but was quickly cut off by his brother.
“We’re going.” He spoke with sternness in his voice and a smile still on his face as his eyes never left your face. “Have a good night. And sorry.”
And they were off. Peter-One pushed and dragged his brother away, lacking any trace of grace.
And as you locked the door behind them, you couldn’t shake the uneasiness out of your system. A frown permanently resided on your face as you took off your boots, slowly.
The older stranger seemed eerily familiar.
And the whole situation felt off – how did he know your name? And why did goosebumps erupt over your skin when he called you Bug?
The realization hit like a bucket of cold water dropping over you. The phone in your hands almost slipped as you frantically grabbed and unlocked it, fingers scrolling through your camera roll.
And then you found them.
Three consecutive pictures – selfies of the stranger who had just been at your door. Selfies you had looked at for hours on end, trying to figure out how they ended up on your phone. They were all taken in your kitchen on the day you couldn’t remember. And you had run his face through S.H.I.E.L.D.’s face recognition software multiple times, but got no hits.
And now he showed up at your door.
You put a random pair of shoes back on and dashed out of the apartment, door slamming forcefully behind you.
By the entrance to the building, Peter-Three shoved his brother away. He was confused and annoyed and hurt. Because he spent a year – a whole fuckin’ year trying to come up with multiverse travel just to see you. He worked so hard, on himself, on the portal – and he did it knowing you’d be at the end of the tunnel. You’d be there and the look on your face when he showed up would all be worth it. And he’d hold you and finally kiss you and he’d be happy for once in his goddamn life.
He swung through New York grinning after he jumped through the portal. His heart thumped and his palms sweat with each web grab that propelled him closer to your apartment. Peter felt invincible because he had just travelled dimensions and there was nothing stopping him and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction.
“What the hell, man?!” Peter’s voice rang through the empty lobby.
Peter-One cringed and looked back at the elevator. “I swear I can explain, but we have to go.”
A mix of overflowing excitement flooded the young boy’s chest, mixing with immobilizing dread and anxiety. He wanted to hug his brother so bad – he never thought he’d see Peter-Three again and the sight of him truly minimized the loneliness he’d been feeling over the past year. Because he was finally face-to-face with someone who knew him. But Peter also felt absolute dread since his decisions, all of a sudden, had real consequences and his brother’s heart was about to break upon hearing what Peter had done.
“No!” Peter-Three’s ears rung. “Is this a bit? Am I being pranked?” His voice got louder and louder, simultaneously dropping in gravity. His fingers hit his own chest as he pointed at himself vigorously.
Peter-One stuttered. “I – it’s – it’s my,” he kept glancing back at the elevator whose doors stayed closed as the lit-up arrow above pointed up. “I’m gonna tell you everything but right now we have to go because Y/N is for sure coming after us and I can’t face her right now.”
“Why not?! Just tell me what’s going on!”
“How are you here?”
“Peter!” The older man shouted, completely frustrated.
The elevator’s arrow changed, now pointing downwards.
Peter-One pushed the front door open and urged his brother to follow him. “Please, you have to come with me.”
“Am I dead to Y/N?” Peter deadpanned. He just had to know. “And why did you act so weird with – why did you call her miss? Don’t you know her since you were in, like, diapers?”
Peter-One groaned “I didn’t have diapers in primary school.”
The other Peter clenched his fists and in an exaggerated, annoyed and overly-dramatic sing-song voice, retorted. “Not my point!”
Peter-One stomped his foot. “Okay! She doesn’t remember us! Let’s go!”
Peter sensed time stopping in place. Sounds all around faded and he felt the entire weight of his body pressing into the sole of his feet. “What?” He only managed to choke out a single question. Annoyance and confusion all washed off his body, like a wave.
The younger hero looked down, pressing his lips. He felt nauseous. “It was the only way.” The boy mumbled.
And chills went down Peter’s body when he remembered the look on your face before he left. The broken, hopeless eyes scanning his features and the salty dark tears streaming down your pale cheeks. You knew – and you wanted to warn him but he didn’t listen.
And he waited for you to open a portal, he lived his life for a year thinking you were working to see him just as hard as he was. In reality, though, you weren’t thinking of him at all.
He stayed collecting dust on Liberty Island while you moved on.
The elevator dinged and its doors slid open. You dashed out armed only with a thumping heart, feet carrying you into an empty lobby and a front door slowly shutting closed by itself, no sign of the two Peters left behind.
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pov - peter parker
pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader
summary: what better way to spend the day than sleeping in with your favorite boy. a boy who just so happens to be spiderman.
word count: 0.7k
warnings: swearing and suggestiveness.
God, he looked so pretty like this…
…sleeping peacefully as the curtains welcomed in the afternoon sun. His light brown curls strewn out over his pillow, partly covering his face. On your side, you observed the rise and fall of his chest as he rested underneath your shared bedding. The sight warmed your heart as well as sent your cheeks a tingly sensation.
Forever didn't seem like a long time if spent like this. Lazy Sunday mornings, sleeping in until noon and watching Peter get the rest he so desperately needs.
And you, oh so desperately, wanted to reach out and- no. No, he needs this.
The large grin on your face widened from knowing that with him here, fast asleep, Peter wasn’t getting hurt and risking his life. The first aid kit was running low on supplies, and from the sounds of the winces and looks on his face, as you stitched him up from time to time, he was in a lot of pain.
It was moments like these you wanted to bottle up and store in a cabinet with the rest of the endless happy memories. All so easily accessible to be engulfed in your mind. Ready for use whenever you need a smile back on your face. Each second tastes like honey ever so sweetly dipped on your tongue and fills your body with mass amounts of oxytocin.
It was moments like these you wanted to develop into physical film, specifically on his camera, and shot through his lenses.
“It’s rude to stare, y’know?”
Fuck, caught red-handed.
“It doesn’t take someone bitten by a spider to realize how creepy you look right now,” Peter murmured as one half of his face remained smashed into his pillow, his eyes still, seemingly, pressed shut.
“Whatever,” you lightly chuckled as the sound of each laugh put a toothy grin on Peter’s half-sleeping face.
His eyes peered open slightly, smiling similarly to the one already plastered on his face, “Hi.”
“Hi,” you breathed, pushing the strands messily covering one of his eyes back before he slowly pressed his lips onto your own.
Lazily, his tongue entered your mouth as his hands glided up your upper half and to your cheeks. Taking control of the kiss, he gripped your face tightly, deepening the euphoric sensation. You put your hand on top of his as you both melded into one another.
As you pulled away softly, Peter tugged gently at your bottom lip, his hand still resting on your cheek. He soon after began to press small kisses along different points of your face. “I want to stay like this forever with you.”
He stated the words in between kisses, muffled as they left his lips, and as his phrase remained embedded within your mind, your eyes slightly widened.
“Spiderman can read minds now?” You asked, tugging at the bottom of your lip.
“No, but he is laying next to his most favorite person in the world, on the best kind of day.” He stated before placing a final kiss on your cheek. As he pulled from your face, his eyes widened as his expression filled with eureka. “Wait! Don’t move.”
“Ok?” You questioned, remaining still as you observed Peter fumble to retrieve his camera on the table next to him with a complacent expression.
Peter placed the viewfinder up to his eye, “Can I?”
“Of course, Peter.” You breathed, laughing lightly at the fact that he even asked. A bright flash quickly overcame your line of sight, making you squint the slightest bit. Your smile and squinted eyelids made the perfect picture, which Peter would develop later.
“Can I see?”
You crawl in between his legs, Peter adjusting to get more comfortable, as you both admired the photo he had taken. “You look so beautiful, Y/N.”
“Well, I do have the best photographer around taking my picture,” you smiled, grazing your hands across his stomach, sinking in deeper on your knees between him.
“Or maybe,” he began, sitting up to place a thumb on your bottom lip, grazing it there before kissing your lips ever so softly. You moved your body deeper, attempting to deepen the kiss, but he didn't respond, staying still as his tongue barely made it into your mouth. He knew what he was doing. The delicacy of the kiss, so soft and small, yet so affirmative to your own needs, leaves you yearning for more. “You're just a great muse.”
Oh, fuck me…
no way home spoilers
okay okay okay but BUT hear me out
at the end of nwh eddie’s like “maybe we should move to new york” and since he’s kinda broke when he gets there he has to get a roommate and AND since andrew’s peter is also broke, they become roommates and both of them are like “okay that dude’s a little weird but i’ll let it slide bc its new york” and they’re just the most chaotic duo to ever inhabit nyc without even realizing the other’s identity