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ptergwen · 4 years ago

Text

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

if i forgot you please lmk!

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #spiderman #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic

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wildlychaotic · 4 years ago

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The lord of the North

Chapter 1- The day he saw her

Author’s note: Heyy! I decided to write this because I felt there weren’t many fics about Uhtred and so I decided to write one myself. This won’t be like a well thought out book or anything. I am writing for fun and I hope people enjoy it.

PS: I don’t know if anyone will ever read this, probably not loll, but if you do tell me what you think!

Uhtred was merely thirteen summers old when he first saw Veyara. He was brushing the horses’ fur in the stables when he heard commotion. He glanced in the direction of the noise and noticed young Ragnar returning from the shore with his men. He had left their village in Leeds on his father’s orders with ten of his men two days back. Uhtred had believed it to be another plunder but he seemed to have mistaken. A few steps behind Ragnar he saw a girl as they walked towards the great hall.

Her expression sombre and eyes empty. Her wavy jet black hair bellowed wildly in the wind as she trailed behind Young Ragnar. Her face stirred something inside him that he hadn’t felt before. He was too young to make sense of the emotion so he ignored it and let it simmer. They stopped at the entrance of the hall and Young Ragnar shouted and called for his father.

Ragnar the fearless emerged after a while and immediately let out a big laugh as he greeted his son with a hug. Uhtred couldn’t help but be envious of their relationship. His own father had never shown him any sort of affection and for the love of gods he could not recall a day he had laughed with his father. The closest he had felt to was father Beocca. Even his own brother had never made any efforts to talk to him or play with him. He was always busy with the tasks their father assigned him. “I don’t have time to play fight with you Osbert, I have a kingdom to look after” he would say. The memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Taken in by Ragnar the Fearless three years prior he was finally finding his feet. The days were shorter as the time would fly with all the work he did. “You still have to pull your weight around here boy” as Young Ragnar so kindly put it. After Ragnar the fearless had adopted him and saved him from his conniving uncle Aelfric Uhtred felt the tasks allotted to him had increased significantly. In addition to the measly chores he was doing before from fetching eggs for Mrs Ragnar each morning to cleaning horse shit every night; he was also expected to train with Young Ragnar and his warriors. The training sessions were made simpler for him but more often than not he found himself on his arse, his lip bleeding, his body throbbing with pain all the while hearing the warriors laughing at him. He always looked at Ragnar the fearless, who was now his father in hopes of him ending his misery but Ragnar would only chuckle, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

The first few times this happened he cried because he felt humiliated and angry. He was Uhtred of Bebbanburg, an ealdorman of Northumbria and the danes laughed at him as if he was a mere stable boy. One day he was sitting near the river, in deep thought remembering his old life when Earl Ragnar approached him. Ragnar the younger sauntering behind him.

“What’s wrong boy? Why this long face,” Ragnar the elder asked. Young Ragnar had seated himself a couple of steps away from them on a rock and had to adopted throwing pebbles in the river as a way of passing time.

“I don’t like it here. These men make fun of me all the time.” Uhtred replied like a petulant child.

“It is the way here, boy. Boys don’t become men until their minds and hearts are steeled. We are not giving you any special treatment. Every warrior here has gone through this. Even young Ragnar.” Earl Ragnar replied.

Uhtred was surprised as he looked at Young Ragnar. Young Ragnar raised his left brow at him as if to say ‘what else did you think you turd ball.’ “So what if they laugh at you? Laugh at yourself with them. Have fun and learn from your mistakes so you don't make them again. That’s the only way to learn Uhtred. We are preparing you to face the world. It is not easy being a Ragnarsson boy. Are you going to throw a fit when your enemy looks at you in the eye and laughs?” Earl Ragnar asked in a calm voice.

He shook his head lightly, his eyes downcast and multiple thoughts racing through his mind. As he looked at both the Ragnars a new emotion took birth inside him. He realised he didn’t hate it here. In fact he felt more at home than he had ever felt before. He was lost in thought when he felt a pebble hitting his head lightly.

“You coming turd ball? Young Ragnar asked with a sly smirk gracing his face as he walked back to the house with his father. Uhtred nodded and hastily caught up with them.

Uhtred had even formed a kinship with Ravn, the old man whose appearance had scared him to death when he had seen him for the first time. He wasn’t half bad once Uhtred got to know him. Even though Ravn’s eyes remained unfocused they somehow still reflected wisdom. Wisdom he had gained from his time on earth. Uhtred made it a point to swear by every word that came out of Ravn’s mouth and rightfully so.

Uhtred snapped out of his daze when he saw Ragnar the fearless bending to the level of the girl as he whispered something in her ear as she nodded timidly. He put his hand on her head and ruffled her hair.

He turned and announced to the villagers who had gathered to see what the commotion was about, in his thunderous voice, “This girl is my late friend’s only living child, Veyara Ranheimr, she will be living with us from this day onward. I don’t want anyone to mess with her or lay a hand on her. Am I understood?”

No one answered. “AM I UNDERSTOOD? He yelled again. A chorus of ‘yes lord’ followed. Satisfied with the response Ragnar turned around and led his son and the girl inside the warmth of the house.

The crowd dispersed, the warriors making their way towards the ale house and the villagers resuming their chores. Uhtred also resumed brushing the Horse. His eyes focused on the horse’s white fur with his mind ringing again and again with only one word.

Veyara

#Uhtred of Bebbanburg #uhtred x oc #uhtred #finan the agile #The Last Kingdom #osferth #brida #king alfred #alexander dreymon #tlk fanfic #uhtred imagine #Sihtric #Eadith #vikings #danes #ragnar the younger

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friendofspidermannedleeds · 4 years ago

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Fictober Day 9

Prompt #9: “there’s no right side to this” Fandom: Spider-Man (MCU) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None Characters: Peter Parker & Ned Leeds Words: 719 Summary: Peter and Ned have to write a Civics paper on the Accords. Author’s Note: I literally don’t know anything about the specifics of the Accords, so if anything here is inaccurate, I apologize and wholly confess to getting all of my information off online Marvel Wikis.

No Right Side

“Hey, Ned—have you read up on the Accords for the Civics paper yet?”

They’re sprawled out in Ned’s room doing homework, Peter at the desk and Ned sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“Nah, not yet. Why?”

Peter doesn’t know where to start with this.

“It’s just, um—we’re supposed to pick a side and explain our reasoning, and I’m not sure how I feel about them.”

“About the Accords?”

“Yeah.”

Ned peeks over his laptop at Peter’s screen. “You’re reading them now?” Peter nods as Ned shrugs and goes back to typing. “I’m finishing this lab report first.”

“Okay,” Peter says, his stomach turning as he returns to the lengthy document they were assigned.

He can’t tell Ned why this is bothering him, but he needs to talk this out, because a few months ago, Peter was fighting on the side of the guys who believed in the Accords, and now—well now, he’s not so sure.

At the time, Mr. Stark had explained the basics. (Sort of.) He’d said Captain America wanted to perform his acts of superhero-ing unchecked, but that the Avengers needed to be held accountable for all the destruction they’d caused over the years, and Peter had agreed. (More or less.) And after the airport battle, when Peter had stopped to consider everything that went down, Captain America did seem a little shady, what with going off the grid and all—so Peter was fairly confident he’d made the right choice. (Maybe.)

Now he’s reading things that make his skin crawl.

Those with secret identities must reveal their legal names and true identities to the United Nations.

If all those people new Peter was Spider-Man, how would he protect May?

Those with innate powers must submit to a power analysis, which will categorize their threat level and determine potential health risks.

So, the world’s scariest, most invasive doctor’s appointment, basically.

Those with innate powers must also wear tracking bracelets at all times.

Like a prisoner on probation?

Peter squeezes his eyes shut.

“Ned?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just thinking here, for…for the assignment—you know the basics of the Accords, right?”

Ned shrugs. “I mean, I guess. Avengers have to register and take orders from the government, right?”

“Right,” Peter says, “but it’s more complicated than that, I mean—regulations are good, right? So we don’t have a repeat of the Nigeria thing?”

“Yeah. Makes sense.”

“But, I just—it says here every person who has super powers has to be, like—registered, I guess, and tested so they know what their powers are like, and have their secret identities known.”

“Uh-huh,” Ned says, “so what’s your point?”

“I guess I’m just trying to see what side I’m on, you know—for my paper—and uh—what side would you be?”

He tries to keep the question casual, but his throat is so dry it feels like the last words are being choked out of him.

“I don’t know,” Ned says, “I’ll write my paper as pro, I guess. Seems like the Avengers would be even more awesome if they had help to be responsible.”

“Okay,” Peter nods, “okay yeah, but what about—like the enhanced people, right? I mean they’d be tested, and it’s like—like they’re experimented on, basically, which—don’t you think that’s kind of taking it too far? I mean they didn’t ask for powers.”

“They didn’t? Isn’t volunteering for the super-serum, like, Captain America’s whole thing?”

Peter can’t say anything to that, because if he opens his mouth, he might ask what Ned would say if he knew his best friend was enhanced—not by choice, but by a freak accident. So he swallows and opens a document to begin his paper.

Ned takes his computer off his lap and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Peter, you good? You look a little stressed.”

“I’m fine.” He quickly types the assignment header. “Just wasn’t sure which direction to go with this.”

“Okay,” Ned leans back again, “but dude, it’s only a Civics paper, they don’t care what you actually think. And besides, it seems like there’s no right side to this—don’t worry so much about it, just pick one—pro, or against.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

But Peter would worry a lot less about choosing if he could rewind to a time before he already had.

#fictober21 #ned leeds #peter parker #spider-man fic #my fic #i got plans today #so this was the FASTEST write-to-post i have ever done #gonna check it for typos later #hopefully there aren't too many #ah i am nervous now #anyway here's this #fos fic

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just-a-happening · 5 years ago

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Hide & Seek | P.P

Summary: In which a babysitting job goes awry for Peter and he needs your help tracking down a very special Avenger’s daughter.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 2,705

Author’s Note: okay so this one is super long but I really, really love how it turned out. I’ve had this idea brewing in my head for a while and I didn’t think I’d ever get around to writing it because I didn’t think I’d be as into writing Peter stories but this might make me reconsider. I like to think this takes place in the months between Endgame and FFH. enjoy! xx

There was a boy on your fire escape.

You recognized him almost immediately. He worked at the station behind you in Intro to Mechatronics with Ned Leeds, he sat two rows ahead of you in Chemistry and he was on the National Decathlon team with your friend MJ.

He also happened to live two floors above you.

Peter had his back to you, his body bent over the railing as if looking for something he’d dropped. You could hear him—“Shit! Shit! Shit!”— through the slightly ajar window, which you’d left cracked the night before.

You raised a fist to knock on the glass (softly, so you wouldn’t scare him) but before you got the chance, he perked up and whipped around to face you so fast you were the one who ended up startled.

His eyes met yours and his face flooded with disappointment.

You tried not to take it personally.

“Oh! H-Hey,” he said, struggling to keep his tone casual. His hands hovered at his side awkwardly while he decided where to put them. In the end he just crossed them over his chest, still fidgeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um, scare you. I just thought you might be someone else.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting someone else?” You made a point to gesture to your things. “Inside my bedroom?”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “In my defence, I didn’t, uh, necessarily know this was your room, um, specifically.”

Over the last few months you and Peter had formed an odd kind of friendship.

Entire apartment complexes were built around the city in the last year to accommodate the blipped. Families started reappearing in their old homes only to find that they were now someone else’s new one. In the chaos you and your family just so happened to have ended up in the same building as Peter Parker and his aunt.

Peter was always around, of course, which made it easy to fall into each other in a very casual, easy way. Many nights when you were too nervous to sleep you’d climb out onto the fire escape only to find Pete doing the same. You never talked about why you were both up, a kind of mutual understanding, so instead, you talked about everything else.

But sometimes you would run into him in class or you would both awkwardly reach for the front door and he would right through you—like you weren’t really there.

Everyone was recovering from the blip, but something told you Peter Parker lost more than just five years.

He was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, his eyes scanning the levels below you. Curious, you pushed what was left of the pane up and copied him, your gaze landing on nothing other than Mrs. Sardowski’s rapidly wilting house plants. You frowned, sitting on the window’s ledge.

“So,” you said, pulling his attention back to you. “What are you looking for?”

He let out a humourless chuckle. “It’s less of a what and more like a … who?”

You squinted up at him, the mid-morning sun peaking between the fire escape’s bars. “I hope you weren’t babysitting Parker because, y’know, parents don’t usually appreciate that kind of thing.”

You meant it as a joke but then Peter grimaced and you made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a horrified gasp.

“Oh.”

He groaned, throwing his hands up to cover his face. “I know, okay! We were playing hide and seek and I told her—I told her, I swear—that outside was off limits but she doesn’t listen! She never listens!”

You let out a low whistle.

“I’ve never babysat before!” he justified frantically, his eyes wide and scared. He started pacing the fire escape, the metal rattling with every step. “Pepper had this–this thing and Happy’s in Coney Island with May and I thought ‘how hard could it be!’ and it was actually really, really hard and now she’s gone and—”

You frowned, your brain making the connections painfully slow. “Pepper? As in Potts?”

If he’d heard you he gave no sign of it. He’d finally come to a stop at the far end by your brother’s window, his hands curing around the railing so tight his knuckles were turning white. You climbed all the way out, careful not to trip on the rusting metal bars.

He was rambling. “I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find her anywhere, she’s gone! What if she’s not even here? What if she’s just wandering the streets or worse what if–”

“Pepper Potts,” you repeated slowly. “The Pepper Potts? The one married to–?”

Peter didn’t stop. “God, if I lose Morgan I don’t–I don’t know what I’m going to do. How am I supposed to tell them? Who am I kidding, I can’t tell them! They would never forgive me. Hell, if anything happens to her I’ll never forgive m–”

Morgan. You’d heard that name before. After everyone came back and we found out who’d finally defeated Thanos you remember watching a telecast in one of the shelters that said he was survived by his wife and his daughter—Morgan.

You held up a hand and he shut up, your panicked gaze meeting his. “Wait … are you–are you actually saying you lost Iron Man’s daughter?”

He didn’t say anything, but by the way his shoulders fell in defeat he didn’t have to.

“Oh my God, Peter–”

He winced, his eyes pleading. “Help me. Please, help me.”

Your mouth fell open, trying to find the right words and failing spectacularly. Instead you just sputtered pathetically before finally settling on: “I can’t!”

He let out an exasperated sigh that sounded more like a whine. “Why not?!”

A good question. Part of you knew you wanted to help him, but another part, a much smaller part, begged you to stay out of it—you didn’t want to be one half of the duo that lost Morgan Stark.

But you knew that wasn’t actually it. Things with Peter had taken a turn for the weird, your heart practically beating out of it’s chest anytime you so much as caught sight of him. And your late night talks were getting longer with every passing evening, most of the time well into morning.

You were afraid of how an entire afternoon spent with Peter would make you feel.

You swallowed hard, motioning to vaguely back at your room. “I have homework! So much homework that I really need to finish because I really can’t fail the exam.”

He ignored you, peering into your room as if to corroborate your excuse—which wasn’t an excuse—but you knew it was pointless. You’d left your notes on your desk across the room, most of them half-hidden under textbooks.

“You’re taking Molecular Cell Biology?” he asked and your eyebrows shot up into your hairline. You glanced back to make sure your notes were where you left them and sure enough there they were, barely even legible.

For the second time today you were left speechless. “Yeah, I am but how did–”

He didn’t let you finish. “And you’re failing Molecular Cell Biology.”

“Hey!” you shoved him lightly, momentarily forgetting what you were asking.

He looked back at you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry–I’m sorry. But you are,” you glared and he held his hands up defensively. “You are! But you don’t have to be. I can help you–tutor you! I can tutor you.”

You considered it. You knew that Mrs. Palomino had maxed out her extra credit assignment threshold for you and you were down to your last chance to pass her class with a respectable grade.

You sighed. “Okay fine Parker,” you conceded and he all but cheered. “I’ll help you. But I swear to God if I don’t get an A …”

He was already climbing the fire escape, taking the stairs two by two. “I’ll get you better than an A! I’ll get you an A plus! An A plus, plus!”

You followed him, scowling at the back of his head. “That doesn’t exist!”

You ended up in his bedroom, cross-legged on his navy plaid comforter listening as he numbered off the things Morgan liked form the floor while also evaluating his choice on wall decor. He had maps and posters and random scribbled notes in red, messy handwriting.

You let your mind wander to a future where being in his room was normal and being in his bed was normal and asking him to join you on it was normal and you didn’t have to guess what was happening behind those kind eyes because he would want to tell you.

He was in the middle of contemplating whether we should chance the subway or get the cops involved when his voice broke suddenly broke through your distracted thoughts. “Are you listening?”

You blinked a few times, trying to bite down the blush creeping into your cheeks. “Morgan likes spare parts, hamburgers and sour gummy worms,” you repeated dutifully, hoping to God he wouldn’t ask you why you were suddenly flustered.

He didn’t.

“Right. She also really likes cats, don’t forget cats. Which is funny because Tony wasn’t really a pet guy,” he mumbled, his gaze suddenly a million miles away. “He did like to take in strays, though.”

You knew that once upon a time Peter was Tony Stark’s intern, but the affection in his voice was so visceral you felt it in your own chest.

“You know what I still can’t figure out?” you asked abruptly.

He glanced at you. “What’s up?”

“How did you end up babysitting Tony Stark’s daughter?” you asked and you watched as his lips turned up in a ghost of a smile. “You were snapped too, so you barely knew Morgan, right?”

“Right,” he said, in a voice right above a whisper. Then he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, I guess it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

He looked like he was struggling with what to say next. “Well, when Tony uh, you know, I wanted to help with whatever I could even though I wasn’t, uh, his intern anymore. So,I told Pepper to call me whenever and it turns out she needed a lot of help with Morg.”

You wanted to ask him more about it, but it felt too personal. So instead, you focused on Morgan and where a six year old girl could possibly want to go. And suddenly, it came to you. You knew where Morgan was and you didn’t have to take a subway or call the NYPD to find her.

You leaped off the bed, eyes wide. “Get up,” you said, but he just stared up at you quizzically from his spot on the floor. You nudged him with your foot excitedly, “ Get up!”

And he did. Reluctantly.

“Think about it,” you explained impatiently. “What has burgers, sour gummy worms and a cute kitty cat?”

You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he thought about it and hear the ‘click’ in his brain when he finally got it.

He jumped up. “Delmar!”

The next few minutes were a blur. You both scrambled to Peter’s front door and ducked into the elevator before the doors could close and took it four floors down to the lobby, where you were off again out the door and onto the street.

A fire destroyed Delmar’s Deli years ago and after the blip things got even more messy. But he stayed in Queens and ended up relocating to a new deli just a few blocks from your apartment, a deli you’d come to know and love.

You were sprinting a few paces behind Peter but when you finally made it to the familiar store front, you both reached for the handle at the same time, which you immediately realized was silly because you didn’t even know Morgan so you stood back and let him walk in first.

Delmar’s was as comforting as it was cluttered. You skirted past discarded magazine racks and an impressive candy selection on your way to the back, which is where Delmar made his world-famous (according to him) sandwiches and burgers. He was there now, laughing at something someone you couldn’t see said.

“Hey Mister Delmar,” Peter greeted cheerfully, not even out of breath.

You, on the other hand, were practically gasping for breath, supporting yourself with the topping display, your side pressed to the cool glass. You searched the place for the bodega’s unofficial cat, Murph, who always came up and curled himself around your ankles when you came in but he was nowhere in sight.

“Peter!” Delmar replied happily. He glanced over at you and his smile widened, “Chiquita!”

You giggled at the nickname and waved.

“Mister Delamar, have you seen a little girl?” Peter asked and you could tell he was trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Her name’s Morgan and I’m really hoping she’s here.”

Delmar glanced down at his feet. “Morgancita, I think he found you.”

As he said it you watched in total amazement as Morgan Stark crawled out from behind the sandwich station, Murph sitting happily in her arms. Until this moment you’d only seen Morgan on the TV, and the screen didn’t do her justice. She was a carbon copy of her dad, all dark eyes full of mischief. She cooed at Murph one last time before putting him down gently.

She put her hands behind her back and frowned up at Peter, who looked so relieved you worried he might pass out.

“You win Pete,” she said sadly.

Peter crouched down in front of her, looking torn between wanting to hug her and throttle her. In the end he settled on ruffling her hair.

“Morgan, never ever do that again, okay?”

She furrowed her brows adorably. “But Pete, I’m going to have to find better hiding places if I’m going to win.”

Peter’s eyes softened. “Just promise you’ll play by the rules next time.”

Morgan didn’t look happy, “But that’s boring.”

“Promise?” Peter said, holding out his pinky.

Morgan watched the pinky with one of the most calculating looks you’d ever seen. But after a few seconds, she shrugged and wrapped her tiny pinky around Peter’s. “Promise.”

Then they both turned to face you and you were suddenly incredibly nervous but you didn’t have enough time to contemplate what to say because before you knew it Morgan’s dark gaze landed on you.

She tilted her head, “Who are you?”

Peter placed a hand on her back and smiled softly at you, and you felt heat flare up in the pit if your stomach. “She’s a friend of mine. We go to school together and she helped me find you.”

“Isn’t that cheating?” Morgan asked, narrowing her eyes at you.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Not when you break the rules, Cymorg.”

She fixed her attention back to you. “Hi,” she said, holding out her hand like a miniature professional. “I’m Morgan.”

You smiled down at her, taking her fingers in yours. “It is very nice to meet you, Morgan.”

You bent down so you were level with her and beckoned her closed, as if to tell her a secret. She leaned in, Peter watching you both curiously.

“For the record, if it wasn’t for me, you would have won,” you whispered. “He had no idea.”

She smiled up at Peter and said, “I like her.”

He was looking at you in a way that made you dizzy. “Me, too.”

“And she’s really pretty.”

You don’t know who flushed brighter: you or Peter.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland x reader #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #tom holland imagine #peter parker x fem!reader #morgan stark #iron man #tony stark #avengers #avengers fanfiction

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pparkersz · 4 years ago

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and they were roommates | p.p [1/5]

summary: Ned’s really good friend Y/N is being evicted from her apartment and is in desperate need of somewhere to stay. When Ned finds out about her dilemma, he proposes to Peter they let her move in, and despite his hesitance, he agrees. Y/N gladly accepts Ned’s offer but upon moving in realizes that her new roommate Peter Parker was hiding something. A Spider-man Roommate/College AU. (masterlist)

warnings: fem!reader, swearing, aged up! peter parker & co.

a/n: hi everyone! i’ve fallen into the hole of p.p x reader fics and am inspired to start a new blog dedicated to fic writing. i’m excited to share this short series with you all. please feel free to send in any one-shot requests. :)

Y/N was in trouble.

With a groan, you let your head drop with a hard thump on the wooden table.

It wasn’t the kind of trouble most people would expect from a college student like forgetting to turn in an assignment before a deadline or sleeping in, and missing class one too many times.

No--this was the kind of trouble that your mother warned you might run into when you decided you were tired of living in the cramped dorms of Colombia University and that you wanted to move into an overpriced and even more cramped apartment with a flakey roommate.

Aria, said flakey roommate, decided last month that she no longer was interested in living with Y/N you had spent the last few weeks desperately posting ads on Craigslist and the campus bulletin board for a new roommate.

Just as you’d imagined, most people that replied on Craigslist were creeps and the few from school that responded to your poster decided last minute that the apartment was not to their tastes.

Despite working many, long hours at the closest family-owned café Bugle Beans for the last three years of your college life, Y/N did not have the money to pay rent and utilities on her own.

Your landlord had tried to be understanding but he’d been kind for long enough.

“I warned you that we don’t give extensions, kid,” he’d sighed to you earlier that morning. “I’m giving you a week to move out or you’ll find all your things outside.”

“I’m fucked,” you sighed into your hands. “I’m so fucked.”

“Like fucked fucked?” A teasingly inquisitive voice suddenly came from your right, startling you out of your miserable stupor. “Or I’m going to possibly fail out of a class and hurt my GPA fucked fucked?”

You lifted your head and couldn’t stop the genuine, small smile that crossed your face. “More like I’m going to be homeless in a week fucked.”

Ned Leeds, your only confidant on this huge campus took a seat across from you, gaze switching from teasing to concerned. “Y/N, what the hell?”

You bit your lip, lowering your hand to rest on your crossed arms. “I still haven’t found anyone to replace Aria and I can’t afford rent. My landlord’s giving me a week to pay up or get out.”

Ned winced beside you, patting your arm comfortingly. “Yeah, the city landlords are ruthless, and trying to find a roommate that’s not a psycho is even worse. I’m sorry.”

You blew out another sigh. “Don’t I know--”

“Y/N!” You jumped at the sound of Ned’s suddenly excited voice. “I have an idea!”

“Do tell.”

“Peter’s ex-girlfriend MJ moved out from our loft a few months ago and we’d been meaning to find a third roommate for a while now. It hasn’t really been a priority but it’s about time we try to find someone.” Ned’s brown eyes were shining excitedly as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “We need a roommate, you need a place. What do you say?”

For the first time in a month, you felt a small burst of hope in bloom in your chest.

“Ned, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, kid.”

“Ned Leeds,” you almost sobbed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I owe you all the free coffee and cookies in the world.”

Ned snickered, rubbing your back softly. “I’d have to talk to Peter but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

You pulled away and gave him a watery grin. “Let me know as soon as you can, please.”

“I’ve got you, friend,” he winked, getting up from the spot next to you. “I’ll text you tonight. You better start packing.”

___________________________________________________________________

“I just don’t think it’s wise right now, Ned.”

Peter Parker repeated this to his best friend for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening.

“Peter, she’s the best, I promise--”

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” the brown-haired young man interrupted, putting down his highlighter and looking away from his notes. “It’s just--with the whole Spider-man thing I don’t think it’s a good idea to have someone new here, man.”

At Ned’s crestfallen expression, he felt a sliver of guilt creep up.

It wasn’t necessarily that he had something against Y/N. He’d met her briefly a few times and Ned always spoke highly of her since they’d been randomly partnered for a project their freshman year.

“Pete,” Ned’s voice was desperate. “She got evicted from her apartment and has a week to come up with almost two grand or find somewhere to live. She doesn’t have many friends in the city. She needs us.”

Peter swallowed hard before releasing a sign. He couldn’t argue with Ned about that and his own conscience wouldn’t let him rest if he knew that someone was potentially going to be left homeless.

But he was hesitant.

He’d gotten used to not having to hide to anyone his superhero persona and the thought of having to be careful around someone new in his own home was not appealing to him.

When MJ moved out, he and Ned had decided they would eventually find a new roommate but there was no rush. Mr. Stark had kindly left a nice fund for Peter that helped them out with rent for a while and they’d fallen into a nice routine just the two of them with MJ occasionally coming over for movie night.

He and MJ were still good friends, having parted on good terms, so she was still around often.

He supposed though that they’d just be crossing the bridge he’d been much too comfortable to cross a lot sooner than he wanted.

Clearing his throat Peter gave Ned a nod. “Let her know the empty room’s hers if she wants it.”

Ned let out a breath of relief, giving Peter a grin. “You’re the best Pete. I promise I’ll help with covering for you if it comes down to it.”

Peter shook his head with a smile of his own, punching Ned lightly in the arm. “I’m counting on it, Ned. It’ll be like old times.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve cooked up a good story, eh?” Ned snickered as he remembered the various times he’d have to come up with excuses for Peter’s absences, suspicious behavior, and abnormal disappearances. He reached for his phone immediately opening up his messages. “I can’t wait to tell, Y/N.”

“Let her know I’d be happy to help her with moving in.” Peter offered quietly, turning back to his notes.

“Will do. “ Ned responded distractedly, typing away rapidly on his iPhone.

Peter raised a hand to his chin, rubbing it in thought. He didn’t like to call it his tingle, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t telling him that this might just be a bad idea.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #spiderman x reader #text post

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bmebookmyessay · 4 years ago

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starkeyscumdoll · 5 years ago

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Home - Peter Parker

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary : You’re left to do an English assignment that catches you off guard, but Peter may or may not have been your inspiration.

Warnings: Cussing (let me know if you find any, though!)

Words: 3.2 k

What is home? The message was sprawled across the board as your English teacher, Mr. Gilloway stared at the class, eyebrows scrunched up and his hooked nose crinkled. The soft light bounced off of his bald head.

“Since you all like to complain about wanting to go home, you might as well write down what is home. You can either write it as a descriptive piece, because I’d live to know why you want to go so badly,” he said sarcastically, “Or whatever comes to mind. It’s due in a month, so Flash, you better not complain about not having completed your work. You will also have to present in front of the class just so I can hear your wonderful voices grace my god-awful days. Class dismissed.”

You had no idea as to what is home to you, as you’ve never felt at home wherever you go. It seemed as though you never stuck to one place. A million thoughts ran through your mind thinking of a solution as to how you were going to come up with an answer, when you meet up with your best friends, Ned Leeds and Peter Parker near the school’s overcrowded parking lot.

“Hey, Y/N! Are you ok? You look a bit.. distracted.” Ned stated, his voice laced with concern. Ned always looked out for you, right after Peter. The duo had welcomed you into their “super secret that no other soul should ever be told cult” with open arms, when you had first moved to Queens. Overtime, the three of you were inseparable, the school knowing you as the three who would be sitting in the quiet, snug corner of the cafeteria fighting over who was the actual hero in Star Wars.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just thrown ‘off the rails’, if that’s even a saying,” You created air quotes to try to emphasize it, “it’s just Mr. Gilloway being a pain in the ass with his ‘deep and meaningful projects’ that are supposed to bring us to a realization of some unknown idea to our ‘uneducated minds’, whatever he means.” The Polynesian boy smiled, his pudgy cheeks showing off the rosiness of his almond skin tone.

“Peter and I both told you not to take AP English and look at where it got you, huh,” he taunted, as you looked to see both of them give their signature ‘I told you so’ faces, with their eyebrows raised and an amused smile, “just goes to show that we’re always right.”

With a roll of your eyes, you moved on to go home,

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mom. I’m gonna head out now. See you in chem tomorrow.” Before you left to catch the subway, Peter grabbed your wrist and said,

“Wanna come over? May misses you and we’d love to have you for the evening.”

You quickly nodded in affirmation and sent your mom a text to let her know about your whereabouts. The ride to his place was the same as always, sharing the headphones to listen to AC/DC, you complaining about Flash being your lab partner, and Peter sharing the previous night’s events during his patrol. Everything felt right at the moment, as if he was your safety blanket. Peter had the ability to radiate this sense of comfort even if you were across the room from him.

The subway finally stopped at your final destination, and you soon found yourself in the small, cozy apartment. It was the same as always, the soft grey throw blanket draped over the back of the worn out brown couch, and the smell of charred bread in the air. It was simple, just like the family. You sent a simple wave to Peter’s Aunt May and followed Peter to his room to start on your Chemistry homework.

Hours later, there were papers filled with math calculations and Chemistry formulas scattering the small room, as Peter was munching on some cheese-flavored potato chips.

“Did you get seventeen moles of copper nitrate for number 8?” Peter inquired, causing you to let out a groan.

“It’s seventeen? I got twenty-nine. Pete, I’m a hopeless teenager who doesn’t understand a single thing about this right now,” You heard a chuckle across from you and looked up, only to find Peter staring at you, something was different about his expression, but you still threw you eraser at him. Peter simply replied,

“Instead of complaining, you could have just asked. Lemme see what’s wrong… Ah,” he went on to explain the confusing lesson, however everything he said became sets of useless words as you were focusing on what was happening to you. Your entire body filled with warmth, while your heart was beating feverishly, like you’d just ran a marathon. The constant feeling of elevation in your stomach was overbearing, it felt like the spark on a tungsten before it reached the gunpowder for fireworks. It was different to what authors wrote in their stories, it was so much more than what you’d imagine, but it didn’t feel like love. The constant overcame your mind until you heard Peter call your name,

“Y/N, Y/N, are you still alive? May’s calling us for dinner, it’s Thai Food Thursday.” For the rest of the night, you could feel yourself being distant and distracted from the conversation, all thanks to Peter.

A week later, you still hadn’t made any progress on your English paper, which made you dread English class even more than you had before. Your past made it harder to even get an understanding of what home even was when all you could think of was your father.

Your father was always distant from you and your mother, acting like a guest at a bed and breakfast where he was only there for the night. Some weeks, he’d have to leave for a business trip, not coming back for a few weeks, or at least you thought that until you found him at a city nearby while being on a class field trip the fifth grade. He was with a familiar woman who you’d known growing up, Aunt Lydia, your mother’s younger sister. It turned out that your father had become infatuated with her in the duration of his first marriage, eventually starting a new family with Aunt Lydia and being much happier with her. The news spread like wildfire in a forest, eventually getting to your mother last. It broke you to know that your father would rather spend his days with some other kids than with you, another woman instead of your mother. After a short 2 weeks, the two of you had packed your bags and moved to Queens to forget the past, making it seem as if everything you knew from before was now supposed to be thrown out of a window. The project was no use when now all you could think of was a cold space where tension was intermingled in the air, and pain stained into the deepest threads of the couch pillows when you thought of home.

The library was almost completely empty, which was usual considering that the people of New York had better things to do than spend their time at the library, except for you, Peter, and now Ned. It was your annual reader’s binge night, where you’d all spend the afternoon reading a book from start to end, and then go out for a sub at the small, family-owned deli from around the corner. It was a tradition, and allowed you to bask in each other’s presence without the hassle of having to talk. The sounds of iced coffee being sipped and the constant whoosh of pages could be heard throughout the day. After the author had infuriated you enough with their cliche-filled sci-fi novel, you looked up to break the silence, until the sight of the room stopped you. More specifically, Peter. The sunlight shining in through the gigantic windows had illuminated the small features of his fair, pale face, like the freckles that were sprinkled all over his nose and cheeks just as the course sugar on sugar cookies. His chestnut brown hair became an array of colors as the copper undertones shining through, as he was concentrating on the book before him. Peter’s state of peace made you feel safe, as if nothing bad was going to happen to you. The time flew by as if it were like seconds as you continued to take in his image, until you felt a twinge on the side of your head, looking to your side to find a plastic straw on the ground.

“Y/N, you can stare at Peter after finishing the book. Now hurry up or else Mr. Delmar’s is gonna close up shop before we even finish!” Ned exclaimed as he smirked at your actions. Peter softly chuckled as you flipped off Ned, before all three of you went back to the book. While you mindlessly flipped pages, all that you could ponder was the same weird feeling that you felt at Peter’s house. It was almost as if you belonged there, as if you weren’t an outcast who had came out of nowhere. There was something about the feelings you had that you couldn’t comprehend completely, but it was becoming more and more prominent to you each day. Whatever the universe is trying to tell me, it sure is fucking me over, you thought, just as you saw your best friends close their books. Peter saw your expression, it was evident that you were deep in thought, and asked,

“You okay, Y/N?” To which you simply replied in the most New York way possible,

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Wanna go grabba sub now?”

You picked up the group’s sandwiches and headed over when you heard Ned and Peter talking about you,

“I don’t know, Ned, Y/N is hard to be around when she can’t even take a hint,” You stopped dead in your tracks, like gravity was pulling you down and you weren’t able to move your feet. It felt like the day at the school field trip, everything you once knew was fabricated and far from what you thought your friendship was.

“Peter, you’re going to have to tell her someday. It’s hurting you and it's probably gonna hurt her too in the future,” you took your chance and walked in before any more damage could be done to your friendship.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” You said as you sat down. The two shook their heads, muttering words that you couldn’t make out, and started a new conversation. Throughout the rest of the day, you couldn’t help but wonder about what you’d done wrong, guilt and fear flowing through your veins as if your blood had been replaced with it.

You invited Peter over the next day for dinner to repay him for when you ate at his house last time, and in hopes to try to mend whatever tension Peter was feeling. The dingy apartment that you’d been living in for the past 5 years was usually dull and quiet, your mom still hadn’t comprehended how her sister could betray her and you were left trying to feel the same way as she did when you were younger, when your family wasn’t broken. While eating the burnt ends of your chicken parm, the English project was still running on your mind. Of course Peter knew you were thinking about it, so naturally, he had to ask how the English assignment was coming along.

“I can’t connect with anyone or anything that relates to my home. I am genuinely convinced that literally everyone hates me, and soon I’ll be living alone with my three cats in a studio apartment!” You complained as your arms flew up in exaggeration. Peter, on the other hand, seemed frustrated, with his eyes in annoyance and his knuckles turning white from clenching them so hard. Peter cried,

“Well, maybe if you would just open up and try to let more people into your life, then you wouldn’t be here right now!” At this point, the tension you tried to get rid of was now a thick fog that couldn’t be seen through.

“That’s impossible, Peter! You, out of all people, know it’s hard for me to get close with someone, when practically no one finds me bearable,” you looked at him with anger, “not even you.” Peter was taken aback,

“How did you hear that?”

“So it was true,” you scoffed as you felt the wet trail of plump tears run down your cheeks, “gee, thanks a lot, Pete.” He stood up, intimidating you, as he boomed,

“Well, yeah, it is. All you ever do is push away anyone whoever tries to get close to you. You’ve built this thick barrier around everyone and it stupid. Grow up and stop acting like a four year-old, it's annoying,” and immediately walked out the tiny apartment’s door.

You sunk down in your chair, the tears flowing faster and add onto the pain-ridden apartment. There goes someone else I love, you pondered, I love you, Peter, more than I’ve loved anyone else.

Your English assignment was now due in a week and a half's worth of time and you’d barely had an outline or a single idea as to what you wanted to write about. For multiple nights, you would just sit in front of your grey, busted laptop and stare at the blank document until you’d figured it was now time to sleep. Multiple sentences that were once on the document soon disappeared by the click of a button immediately after.

As sleep-deprived teenagers rushed to leave the room, you went up to Mr. Gilloway, intimidated by the hunch on his back that formed every time he was scrolling down the New York Times about another political outburst from the Senator. It wasn’t that Mr. Gilloway was bad in person, it was just that he tended to be very unfiltered. All it took was one glance from him and you knew that you were going to take in the bitter and harshful words about not working on the assignment. But you took the leap anyway, and took all the courage you had in you to ask,

“Mr. Gilloway, I don’t know what to write for the assignment. I keep thinking about it, but nothing is coming to mind and I really have no clue as to what home is.” Squeezing you eyes, you braced for the string of words that were meaningless to him.

“Well, what was it like for you to be at home? Anyone particular who comes to mind? Or perhaps a memory that just replays over and over in your head? Remember, Y/N that home is not a definitive object, you can make it anything you want. It could be the simplest idea, or something over the top, but that is what it means to you. I have full trust in you to go with your guts and write wha’ is home to you,” Mr. Gilloway gently replied. His response was out of character compared to who he really was. It was unrecognizable, sympathy and gentleness was the last thing that would come across anyone’s mind when they thought of Mr. Gilloway. Unable to form words, you nodded your head, only to hear, “Now go, I need to catch up on what our jackass of a Senator we have right now.”

It wasn’t until you got onto your laptop once again when you knew what to write about. You finally had an idea.

It was finally the day of the presentation and your nerves got the best of you. The past week was more muted, with evenings spent writing the English assignment, and the daytime spent studying in the library in hopes to avoid Peter. It was also the most emotionally draining week, knowing you couldn’t just go up and tell him how you really felt about him.

Y/N, it’s your turn. And Flash, puh-LEASE keep the flirting for someplace else, my classroom is not a ‘Singles Mingle’,” Mr. Gilloway said. The voice at the back of your head kept telling you don’t mess up, don’t mess up, don’t mess up. The anxiety of sharing something so intimate with a group of bored teenagers was nerve wracking, so much so that your hands were quivering.

“Home is an abstract idea, and to most people, it is their place to go to sleep, eat, and repeat. In my entire life, I'd never felt like I was at home until just recently when I came to know how I know I am at home. Home is a blend of emotions, where there are multiple feelings every time you’re there, A sense of belonging, where no matter how different, broken, or mismanaged a person is, they still know that the very spot will always let them be themselves. Home is where a person feels comfort and safety, where they know that they will be supported and consoled through all the times you’ve been through. A sense of adoration that lingers in the air, making a person feel loved for who they are. The idea that a person knows who they are when they’re at this place, or with this person, makes us realize that this very place is our home. My home is with someone who I’ve known for a while, and even a glance into their brown eyes makes me feel complete. As they always say, home is where the heart lies.”

You looked around the room to see blank stares and an unusual smile from Mr. Gilloway, but it was relieving to feel the overbearing weight of not knowing yourself being lifted off your shoulders.

Once class had ended, you heard your name being called by none other than Peter.

“Was your speech about me?” Peter had a look of desperation and hope, “I feel like home to you?” How’d he listen? You thought, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I asked Mr. Gilloway,” Peter had read your mind, “Y/N, I only said I couldn’t bear you because I’m so deeply in love with you, but you never see that. It’s kind of hard to be friendzoned all the time, y’know?”

The moment you had awaited all along finally came in the least expected way, nor was it how everyone else described it to be. There were no fireworks in the background but instead, it was just as if the world had stopped around you.

“I love you too, Peter,” you whispered.

“So is it true?” With a simple nod and a small smile, you said,

“Yeah, it is about you, Peter.” A soft smile creeps up his face as he pulls you into his arms. It felt right, as if your body was perfectly molded to fit into his embrace. You decided to take the risk and pulled away, placing your hands over his pillowy cheeks, and pulled him towards you. You placed your lips on his, they were soft and smooth, with a hint of vanilla from the chapstick you made him use after seeing how rough they were a few months back. Peter kissed back, trying to empty all the love and adoration he had kept inside of him.

You couldn’t tell what the future held for you two, but you made a vow, right then and there that you would protect him with your entire heart, help him after his patrol’s and night, and most importantly, keep him in your heart for the rest of your life.

This was your home, right here with Peter.

A/N: Hi! I hope you liked this piece, I’ve had a a writer’s block for almost 2 years now, so to write this was a bit of a struggle, but it’s all good! Feel free to send over any requests or criticism. I also have to give an honorary mention to @wazzupmrstark! Her INCREDIBLE works gave me a bit of a push and inspo to get back to writing, so thank you so so much Kaili! (i’ll stop annoying you guys, byee :) )

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #imagine peter parker #mcu #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfics #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fanfic #spiderman imagines #spiderman x reader #stargazerhollandworks #imagine spiderman #spiderman #peter parker oneshot #spiderman one shot #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man fanfic #spider-man imagines

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aseriesofunfortunatetexts · 4 years ago

Note

oh wow, i just read your reply to my ask and i can actually relate to you (not in all points though - your student life sounds quite horrible and not like something anyone would want to experience; also, i hope you’re doing better with your drinking now); the thing with me and procrastinating is, i’m always very motivated when i begin studying a new topic or just start learning in another environment, but that lasts about a week and then i fall back into my old habits. i gave up on one of the things i had to do and just handed in a file you can’t open (probably not the best or most decent way, but it’s nothing important anyway and my professor won’t notice), but i finished the other thing and it wasn’t even too bad. i don’t know why i still keep writing this, it probably just feels good to be heard and to realise you’re not alone with your problems; that everyone’s struggling at some point in their lives.

thank you for listening <3

- procrastinating anon

I’m happy to provide a sympathetic ear to struggling followers, and I know from experience that it helps to talk about things that are troubling you, even if your listener is just a messy TFLN blog you follow. It does warm my heart that you feel comfortable enough to open up like this to me <3

I was also insanely motivated when I started uni, and it lasted a couple of semesters actually! It was so exciting to be surrounded by people who shared my interests in English literature and language, and to be studying at a level that challenged me, for the first time in my life might I add. Campus was beautiful, I got a room in a residence hall with lots of cool people, I did all my homework, read everything on the curriculum, I did supplementary reading for fuck’s sake, I was in several study groups, I was on a roll, baby! And then it just... stopped. It became a chore, you know? But I couldn’t drop out, my dream was that MA in English, even though I knew it’s pretty useless, in terms of future employment, unless I wanted to teach high school, which I did not. It was just a matter of pride.

My Master’s thesis was still the only assignment I didn’t turn in, but let’s face it, it’s the one that matters most on paper. It’s still a tender subject for me today, and I spent years feeling like an utter failure. School and studying was what I was always good at! I was a so-called gifted kid when I was little, I was expected to do great things, academically.

I guess my struggle with addiction actually helped take my mind of it, because I spent so long in various kinds of treatment, and learned things about self-acceptance and self-worth, and what makes you a good person. Spoiler alert, it’s not your academic performance. I just passed two years, two months, two weeks, and two days clean and sober, and I’m actually very proud of myself.

But enough about me. I’m glad you got one things done, but that “file that won’t open” trick is as old as handing in assignments online. They will know what you did, and why. I was told at uni in Leeds, in hushed whispers, that you should only use it to buy yourself an extra day, or however long it takes your professor to notice, so you have something to turn in when they confront you. Deciding that something isn’t important enough to finish is a slippery slope, because you will start telling yourself that about all the assignments, which are, after all, meant to prepare you for the actual exam. I know that sucks to hear, but it’s the bitter truth. (That’s two Snicket references in two sentences, and I didn’t even plan it.)

You can always come to me if you need to vent in the future. Same goes for the rest of you! I may seem flippant and sarcastic at times, but I’m here for serious stuff as well.

#asks #anon

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peter-parcoeur · 5 years ago

Text

“When you’re gone” - part 3

Post Thanos snap, Peter has to live in a world where Tony Stark is gone. But what happens when Tony’s daughter enters his life...?

Summary + Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Going back to school felt weird.

Though Peter always seemed to struggle to find a balance between his ordinary teenager life and being an Avenger, this time, the wake-up call was hitting harder. His body was definitely walking across the High-School Hall, but his head was somewhere else.

All around him were familiar faces, some looked obviously different after what they all called “the blip” but most of his school seemed back to normal, which was harder to digest as he felt like nothing would ever be the same now that his mentor was gone.

How could he live in a world without Tony Stark?

Luckily, his best-friend was there to show some support and bring random chit-chats back into his routine. Even MJ had given him a hug as she seemed genuinely happy to see him back, but when it should have been the most amazing, unexpected moment of his day, Peter had felt nothing but comfort from catching up with a friend. No tingles at the pit of his stomach, no burning red cheeks, not the usual stiffness down his abdomen. Nothing.

It was like a part of him had died too.

They were all sat in history class when Ned tapped him on the shoulder from behind, his voice filled with some unusual excitement.

“Wow mate, check out the new girl!”

Peter had to roll his eyes and smile at his friend’s typical enthusiasm over the opposite gender. Every time a remotely ‘hot’ girl walked by, Ned turned into a little kid on Christmas Day with a massive sugar rush.

His smile faded as soon as he locked eyes with the girl sitting at the back of the class.

“God” Ned moaned “I would gladly let her step on my face, who’s she?”

“That’s Y/N Stark.” Peter stated as she looked away as soon as their eyes met.

“What do you mean--- Stark? As in...?

- As in Tony’s only daughter.”

Ned was left gobsmacked at this new revelation, quite oblivious to his friend’s sudden change of attitude. Peter looked like he had seen a ghost, writhing on his seat with complete nervousness. He could tell her anger was still running through her blood from the way she avoided his look, but for some obscure reason, he also felt relieved. Now that they had to spend an entire year in the same room, maybe they would get to talk at some point.

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When the bell rang, Peter wisely waited for Y/N to exit the room before he made any move. It had been the longest hour of his entire school experience and he had been sat in chemistry before, listening to Mr. Wyatt spreading bullshits about things Peter himself could teach better.

“You should talk to her” Ned said after being quiet for longer than anyone would expect him.

“I’m not sure she wants me to…

- When was the last time you spoke?

- Her dad’s funeral?

- Yeahhhh…. Ned winced, maybe not the perfect time to have a chat?

- I know, but she seemed so upset

- Dude, her father died, you think she’s gonna give you a lapdance?”

Peter rolled his eyes at Ned’s obvious answer. He couldn’t quite process how he felt about Y/N. Part of him wanted to avoid her at all costs to save himself the embarrassment, but mostly, he wanted to walk down the hallway as confident as possible and just… talk to her. There was this weird attraction between them that made it seems like, somehow, this reunion was meant to be.

“Alright, I’m gonna talk to her” Peter sighed as he caught a glimpse of Y/N grabbing a few books from her locker across the hallway.

His palms were sweaty as he tried his best to brush them to the sides of his pants, air caught in his throat like he was about to give an inspiring speech to a bored audience. Nobody had ever made him feel this way, not even his high-school crush, MJ.

“Hi, Y/N!”

Y/N turned around to see Peter standing there awkwardly, both his hands buried in his pockets.

For a second, it seems like she was about to speak, her eyes daunting him from head to toes. As he stood closer to her face, Peter realized just how much she looked like Tony. She had his eyes, his cocky expression but her slim nose and perky lips were definitely Pepper’s. Her long brown hair was tamed on a sid braid and her ankle boots made her seem taller than him, which was embarrassing enough if she had chosen not to talk to him.

But with the snap of her locker door, she simply turned her back and walked away, leaving him speechless and embarrassed once again.

“Well done, Don Juan!” MJ teased as she walked past him.

On the other side of the corridor, Peter saw Ned biting his lip so he wouldn’t laugh at his misery.

Things were going to be tougher than he had thought.

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Economics was the worst.

Peter and Ned usually discussed any other topic that didn’t involve money and budget throughout the whole course, but today, Peter was just lost in his own daydream, looking out the window with his chin buried into his palm. It was a nice autumnal day, the kind that brought him back to better times where he and his Aunt would start decorating their apartment with Halloween/spooky stuff, their favorite time of the year. It was hard to think that life would go on after the blip but Peter was willing to be an optimistic. Happier days would come.

“Alright, today’s class will be sorely about your final assignment… I want you to pay close attention because this will be half of your grade for the exam.” Mr. Andersen spoke louder so the distracted students could hear.

At least half of the class moaned in complete despair. Mr. Andersen’s assignments were known as chaotic and frankly awful. This one was no exception.

“You will be working as a pair”

Ned smiled brightly at Peter, knowing they would definitely team-up, as usual.

At least it would make it less horrible to be working as a team.

“But don’t get too excited” Mr. Andersen added abruptly as he watched his students stare at each other, building up the usual team partners. “I have written half of the class’s names on papers. These papers I have folded and put in this box so the rest of you can draw”.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Ned burped out.

“Mr. Leeds, since you seem so pleased, we’ll start with you!”

Mr. Andersen walked closer to Ned and offered him a chance to pick a name inside the tiny white box he was holding. Ned reluctantly picked a piece of paper and pulled a worried face.

“Betty Brant…”

Sitting at the front of the class, Betty Brant looked over her shoulder and gave him an unenthusiastic thumbs up. At least, she was smart, but her good looks would definitely make it hard for Ned to focus on their homework. Shivers ran down his spine at the thought of having a girl in his bedroom, his temple, the architectural equivalent of a Jedi farting the Game of Thrones theme song, aka the shameful natural habitat of the biggest geek.

Things went on as everyone picked a team partner with more or less enthusiasm and soon enough, it was Y/N’s time to draw a name into the box.

She quite obviously hesitated before she composed herself and spoke.

“Mr. Andersen, is there any way I can switch partner?”

“Well, Ms. Stark, what would be the point if anyone just decided who they’d like to collaborate with? I’m sorry you didn’t pick your crush’s name but I’m afraid things are what it is. Now, would you be kind enough to share your designated partner?”

There was a silence before she spoke again, her hand fiddling with the piece of paper.

“Peter Parker”

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“Dude, what are the odds???” Ned squealed as he sat next to Peter at the cafeteria.

It was lunch time and the whole room was buzzing with chatty students and cutlery grazes.

“Yeah, wow, I’m the luckiest guy in the world, am I?” Peter mumbled, still baffled at the complete humiliation he had been given in front of the entire class. The second one that day.

“Now she has no other option than talk to you, think positive!”

“Amazing, it must be as pleasant as being held at gunpoint somehow, I mean… did you hear what she said?” he sighed “Mr. Andersen, can I switch partners?” Peter was mimicking her disgusted tone when Ned gave him the big eyes, nodding towards a point behind him.

“Brilliant, why wasting your time here when you could have a one-man show?” Y/N bluntly stated. Her arms were crossed against her chest, her eyes glued to his face like she was trying to read his soul for some reason.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t mean—it’s just—

- Let’s spare us both this conversation, alright? It seems like we’ll have to do this assignment, so… your place or mine?”

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle at the ambiguous comment, but as Peter gave him the dead eye, it was definitely too late to take his nervous laughter back.

“What are you, 12?” Y/N pulled an unimpressed look, eyeballing Ned until he went slightly red. This time, it was Peter’s turn to contain his laugh. Her attitude and comebacks definitely reminded him of the great Tony Stark. In a weird way, it was comforting, like wrapping yourself into a warm blanket in a cold morning. She irradiated with that famous Spark Confidence.

“Whatever suits you best” Peter finally said after what seemed like an eternity of quietness.

“What suits me best is to not be doing this with you but it seems like this isn’t an option, so…”

“Okay, my place then? Peter blurted out all of a sudden

- What time?

- Six thirty

- Good” she turned to Ned “You got a pen?”

Ned fiddled with his backpack and handed her a black ballpoint pen.

“Text me your address” she simply said, writing down her number on a napkin.

She walked away without further word, leaving both Ned and Peter speechless for a while. Peter watched her sit at a table with a bunch of fellow classmates and for a minute, it felt like his brain had stopped to frame-freeze the scene in front of him. Everyone around her seemed captivated, whatever she was talking about. She had inherited that charisma from her father, that ability to catch everyone’s attention in the blink of an eye.

As he stared at her for a couple more minutes, Peter realized this weird, tingly feeling was back at the pit of his stomach.

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@eternaleviee

#tom holland #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland x reader #fanfiction #imagine #tony stark #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction

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its-pronounced-quoassoint · 6 years ago

Text

Power Rangers AU-Chapter 3

Pairings: romantic Logicality, Prinxiety, Demus, Remile

This Chapter Features: YouTuber!Patton, Patton centric story line

This Chapter Warnings: crying, angst, mentions of dead characters, reluctantcy, sympathetic Remus

Credit for this AU goes to @when-day-met-the-knight (specifically this post).

If you would like to be added to the taglist for this fic please let me know in reply!

First Previous Next

Chapter 3-Pink

Patton kept a diary. When he was younger he would stay up late at night, using pens to write in composition notebooks. Assigning different colors to different days of the week, doodling in the margins, dating every page in the top right corner, and taking time to think of a title for each day. At the bottom of every page Patton would rate how well the day was on a scale of one to five and doodle a little face that showed how he felt.

Keeping a diary was one of the few constants in Patton's life. After so much change and heartbreak, holding on to something, as silly as diary keeping, made Patton’s time a little more enjoyable.

When he received his first phone, Patton decided that a digital diary would be more convenient. He downloaded a simple note taking app, and began writing about his day there.

The advantage to a digital diary was he could write wherever he wanted. Patton sat on the bus to school, typing fervently. It was their first day back since the last attack and he had not gotten enough homework done as he would have liked. Patton was letting out some feelings onto his phone and listening to the chatter of the kids around him.

Patton is very aware of the fact that many of them were staring at him in awe. Especially the middle schoolers. Typically his audience on YouTube was middle schoolers. He knew having a few million subscribers got him attention and Patton had accepted that attention as part of his everyday life. It meant nothing to him now. A sort of bitter exchange. He didn’t feel the nervousness he used to when people approached him for pictures. The right feelings he got when young minds randomly appeared next to him and wanted to ask about being a YouTuber. However, that also meant he didn’t get the rush of happiness when some small kid praised or thanked him. He didn’t really feel that delighted feeling of pride anymore.

Patton typed on his phone until the bus pulled up to the high school. Patton stepped off the bus after almost tripping over several small kids in the bus isle. He began rolling up to the school, warm humid air hitting him. It had rained horribly the day before and him, along with several other fluffy haired people, were feeling the affects.

Patton opened the doors for a few high schoolers behind him and walked in. Heading for his locker immediately. After gathering his things Patton began taking his bag to his first hour.

“Hey Pat.” The familiar voice of Naomi, one of his close friends, greeted him.

“Hey Mi.” Patton smiled at her, moving a little in the hall so she could walk next to him.

“How was break?”

“Ugh, did not get any homework for Leed’s class done.” Patton rolled his eyes. “But, ya know, got some editing finished.”

“Well, I don’t think the teachers honesty expect us to have gotten anything done.” Naomi tried to soothe him.

“Yeah.” Patton sighed. They stepped into their shared first hour and continued to talk. A few more friends walked in and began talking with them, but Patton dropped away from them quickly.

He never felt particularly attached to the people in his school. It was hit or miss with people you talked to. Patton was very aware of his social standing as ‘the most popular person in high school’, but he attributed that to his YouTube channel’s success. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends. He certainly had people wanting to be his friend. However, it was never the type of connection that Patton would see on tv. No best friend sleepovers, skipping class together, eating cookies late at night while watching Netflix. Patton wasn’t proud of the fact that he didn’t have a close friend like that, but he figured he should take what he gets.

Besides, he still had friends.

Lunch was an easy time for Patton. He typically sat with Naomi in the library. Sure that’s not what one would expect from a popular socialite like Patton, but the cafeteria was simply too loud. Hectic and scary were adjectives Patton often described lunch as. He didn’t eat much at lunch either. He never really ate much. There wasn’t a lot of time to eat.

Patton often spent his time listening to his friends’ problems, studying, doing something for the array of clubs he was in, or editing for YouTube. There wasn’t much time for anything else, but that was okay. Patton enjoyed doing all of those-besides studying-so it wasn’t like he missed anything. There was nothing to miss when he didn’t know of much else he could do.

Mondays were usually not the favorite day of the week for any student, never mind any person. However, they were Patton’s favorite. Why? Well, Mondays after school, Patton got to go down to the freshman biology teacher’s room and run the QSA at his school. He loved the QSA. He had been going since 8th grade, when he couldn’t technically go because he wasn’t in high school.

However, he dedicated a lot of time to the QSA and had become the president of the club in junior year. He was elated to be in it and was able to get together a team to spread the word about it and set up fun activities. It was one of the only things about school that Patton documented in his YouTube videos.

Patton didn’t like to talk about school too much for fear of it interfering with him graduating, but he was able to take videos of everything that happened with QSA. Much to the delight of his viewers.

Patton sat anxiously in 6th hour, awaiting the final bell that meant he could head down to the club room. Sadly though, sixth hour was just getting under way, so he would have to wait.

“Welcome back to sixth hour!” Patton’s calc teacher, Mrs. Ryans began. “I know school only had been a few weeks in when the attacks hit, and it essentially feels like the next semester, but we’ll be doing a small project!”

The class cheered a little. Projects for her class were typically easier than usual class work. She would often pair up students to work on it together, making it all the easier on Patton. Usually Mrs. Ryans paired Patton with Logan, who was more than happy to help Patton on the project. Patton loved partnering with Logan, he was understanding of Patton’s schedule and never got frustrated with Patton’s inability to meet in order to work on the project. Though Patton had heard he was quite the opposite with other partners in different classes.

“So, I didn’t really have the time nor the care to make a list of partners, so, your table partners will do for this.” Mrs. Ryans sighed.

Patton met Logan’s eye with a disappointed look and shrugged. Logan returned the sentiment before looking toward Remus next to him. Logan smacked the snickering idiot.

Patton turned to his table partner Dee and gave him a warm smile that was met with a side smile, reserved for Patton alone.

“Donnie can you pass out the papers?” Mrs. Ryans asked.

“Sure!” Donnie smiled and stood, grabbing the stack of papers that explained the assignment.

“Mrs. Ryans! Dee and I need to be partners.” Kayley Holt said a few rows behind Patton.

“Uh, no.” Mrs. Ryans trailed off giving Kayley a questioning look.

“But we have to be. We have co-dependency anxiety and we’re both super anxious without each other! We have to be partners.” Kayley demanded.

Patton looked over to Dee who held a blank expression rivaling Lady Gaga’s ‘poker face’. Patton could tell he was not happy with the arrangement Kayley was trying to pull.

“You know what Kayley, I know you’re lying to me about this so don’t even try and pull this stunt again, but fine, you and Dee can be partners. Just don’t whine when you two both get Cs on the assignment cause you didn’t work.” Mrs. Ryans pointed at Kayley. Then pointed at her table partner. “Roman, you’ll pair with Patton.”

Patton smiled over at Roman who dramatically smiled back.

“This will be due on Friday and I expect it typed, nothing handwritten! Heck knows you people write in hieroglyphics.” Mrs. Ryans dismissively waved her hand. “You will have Thursday in class to work on it if you need but if you don’t you can just have this as a free hour.”

Patton received the paper and began reading over the project. Dee and Roman switched places and the two dove into the work. Dividing it between themselves and scheduling times to meet to work on it.

“Are you free tonight after QSA?” Roman asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Mhm. I don’t think Logan or Remus have anything going on either. We can all kinda work on it together at my place.” Roman turned to where Logan and Remus sat across the room. “Logan! Remus! Come here.”

Logan and Remus turned to Roman who was waving them over enthusiastically. The two look at each other before Logan shrugged and began walking their way. Logan and Remus sat down across from Patton and Roman, the four began talking about going to the twins’ home after QSA to work on the project.

“Well what am I supposed to do while you three are in your club?” Remus asked

“You can come if you want. We’re doing some stuff for the underclassmen for homecoming.” Patton told Remus.

“I though they called off Homecoming.” Roman looked at Pat.

“Well, they did,” Patton trailed off. “but the freshmen on the QSA group chat were so upset, I mean I couldn’t let them be so disappointed.”

“What did you do? Pay ‘em off?” Remus whispered.

“What?! No!” Patton whispered back. Not fully knowing why he was whispering, so he stopped. “I just argued to the superintendent that they deserved a Homecoming.”

“How? He never changes his mind.” Roman smiled.

“Well, I mean, I’m good at convincing people, I guess.” Patton shrugged. “But yeah, homecoming is back on.”

“None of us go to homecoming though.” Roman pointed out.

“Yeah, but the freshmen and sophomores like going and some juniors go and I know I don’t have time to go, but they deserve some fun. The town’s ten pm curfew doesn’t exactly give any kids the chance to hang out with their friends like normal teenagers.” Patton explained.

“Well, it’s nice for you to do something for them. Having experiences with their friends, like homecoming, will make it all the easier to deal the trauma of the attacks.” Logan finally said.

“Thank you Logan.” Patton nodded. “Now, is that all settled. We just head to your place after QSA?”

“Yep.” Roman nodded.

Patton smiled at him and began texting his foster mother the plan. Class ended a while after that and the four began their walk to the science wing of the school. Heading to Mr. Travis’s-the QSA faculty advisor-room. The room was already full of kids from every grade. Eager freshmen were talking nervously to their friends while the other two seniors looked around commenting on how they were used to it by now.

“Hey guys!” Patton said as he entered.

“Patton!” Jana, a sophomore, squeaked when he entered. “I passed the project!”

“I knew you would! You’ve gotta stop doubting yourself.” Patton congratulated her.

“I know, I know.” She giggled. “Camera?” Jana put out her hands expectantly.

“Here!” Patton walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out the camera he used for filiming. He handed it to Jana who giddily heded over to tripod and began setting up eqquipment. "Okay everyone, before I begin with what we're doing today can we set up the tables into one long table?"

The group got up from their chairs, still chatting, and began arranging the tables the way Patton had asked. Once done helping, Patton walked to the 'head' of their make-shift table and sat down. Jana started up the cameras and sound and Patton began.

"Homecoming is back on, which means another year of having to find a date, dress nice, and so on. So, what I’ve decided to do, is spend this week, next week, and however much longer making flower crowns.” Patton announced. “I know it’s a little childish, but pride flag flower crowns are so much fun to make and afterward you get really good at them”

“I love it.” Cami, one of the juniors said.

“Thanks Cami.” Patton smiled. “Make some for yourself, make some for our friends, make pride flag ones, make any color ones, doesn’t matter, just use all the flowers. I printed out a bunch of instructions on different types of crowns and other jewelry you can make with the flowers. Just have fun with it!”

Mr. Travis entered the room with loads of flowers in his hand and his daughter trailing behind, also carrying many flowers.

“Here we are.” He grunted, setting them down.

“Thanks Mr. Travis.” Patton smiled. “Let’s get started!”

The club dispersed into groups and began making crowns, chatting with their friends, and goofing around. Patton was pulled over to a group of sophomores and freshmen who wanted to talk.

He looked over to see Logan, Roman, and Remus talking quietly while making the crowns. Patton smiled, even Remus was making a pride flag flower crown.

After some time he walked over to Logan, Roman, and Remus. The three stopped talking quickly and focused a little too intensely on the flower crowns.

QSA ended far too quickly for Patton’s liking, but he and the three others left for Roman’s house soon. They talked the whole way, mainly Remus, and were very quickly entering the home.

Patton and Roman went to the living room and lazily began talking about the project. Logan and Remus went to the dining room and Logan attempted to make progress while Remus threw Cheetos in the air and tried to catch them in his mouth.

Patton looked around the house. It was huge. Large eggshell white walls and intimidating furnishings. It barely looked lived in.

“Hey Roman,” Patton started, “can you point me to the bathroom?”

“Yeah sure, the closest one is just down that hallway.” Roman pointed to a dark hallway. “I’m pretty sure it’s on the right. You’ll find it.”

“Thanks.” Patton smiled.

He got up and headed that way, not quite sure what he was doing. He didn’t need to go to the bathroom, but something about the house felt so familiar. He had to find out why. Why did being in the home feel off yet inviting. It didn’t make any sense. Patton has always been good at feelings. Knowing what they are in him and observing them in others. This though, this was different.

Patton walked down the hallway toward a door, feeling the pull even more intensely. Every step was pulling him forward. Why was it so familiar?

Patton opened the door and stepped into an extremely dark room. Patton’s eyes could barely adjust. Without realizing it he had entered the room and was running his hand along the objects in the room. The feeling grew to an overwhelming point and Patton tried to pull away and go back to the living room, but to no avail. Then something grabbed him. It wrapped around his wrist and tightened into a perfect fit. Patton was finally able to pull his hand back and looked at the thing on his wrist.

A bracelet. Glowing pink and swirling around his wrist.

Patton screamed.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Patton continued. He just stared at the bracelet in horror trying to get it off him as fast as possible.

Patton distantly heard Logan call his name. Pounding footsteps headed his way and the lights around him were flipped on.

Patton barely noticed, he just focused on tearing the bracelet off of him.

“Patton?!” Logan yelled for his attention.

“Get it off, get it off, oh please just get this thing off of me.” Patton cried out.

“What?” Roman started, but stopped when Patton turned and showed them the bracelet. “Oh.”

“Please just get it off, please, please,” Patton suddenly stopped, staring at Remus. “You-you’re-“

“Remus!“ Roman chided, noticing the mace he had in his hand.

“What? We didn’t know why Patton was screaming! It could have been a minion.”

“Jeez Remus.” Roman shook his head.

“You’re the Green Ranger?” Patton asked shakily. “Which one are you Logan?”

“I-uh blue.” Logan hurried out an answer.

“Logan! You can’t just tell every pretty boy you’re the Blue Ranger!” Roman smacked Logan on the shoulder.

“I’m not!” Logan’s face turned a bright red.

“Oh this is a disaster.” Roman sighed.

“I know.” Logan looked away.

“Look, I don’t care! I won’t tell anyone, I promise! You can trust me! Just please get this off of me! I don’t want to be a Ranger please!” Patton begged.

“Patton-“

“Can you take this off or not?” Patton asked, tears welling in his eyes.

“I-uh-no.” Logan stuttered. “We don’t know how.”

“Fine.” Patton stood and looked at Roman. His expression hard as tears began falling ever so slightly. “I need to borrow your car.”

“What?” Roman asked startled.

“I need to borrow your car, drive to Thomas, and get him to pull this horrible thing off my wrist.” Patton said, his voice steady.

“Patton we-“

“Please.” Patton broke down into a quiet sob. “Please just let me-“

“We’ll drive you. It’s unsafe to drive when you’re upset like this.” Logan said quickly. “Roman let’s go.”

“Ok-okay.” Roman turned and headed out of the room.

The four quickly ran out of the house and into a car. Roman started it up and began driving. Remus sat quietly in the passenger seat, looking at Patton nervously. Logan and Patton sat in the back, Patton silently crying into Logan’s chest. Logan wrapped an arm around Patton’s shoulders, holding him soothingly.

They pulled up to Thomas’s house and frantically ran to the front door.

“Thomas! Thomas! We need you open up!” Roman knocked on the door loudly.

The door swung open and a little kid stood there worried. “What’s going on?”

“Emile! Where’s your dad?” Roman asked frantically.

“Coming coming! What is it?! Is someone hurt! What happened?” Thomas asked. He looked at the four.

Remus and Roman stood awkwardly on the small porch. And a little ways behind them, Logan held a crying Patton.

“Wha-“ Thomas stopped himself. “Patton?”

“Thomas!!” Patton pulled away from Logan and raced to Thomas. He fell into Thomas’s arms and sobbed harder.

“Oh Pat. It’s okay I-I know.” Thomas tried soothing him. “Come on lets all go inside.”

Thomas led the four inside. Patton collapsed on the couch and looked around, drying his tears.

“Thomas, get it off of me.” Patton started shakily.

“Patton, you know that’s not how it works.”

“I don’t care. It needs to come off. I’m not breaking my last promise with Talyn. I won’t do it.” Patton shook his head. Once again grabbing at the bracelet and trying to pull it off.

Emile put a hand on Patton’s bracelet to stop him from tanking at it.

“Patton, you know Talyn would be proud of you no matter what. They knew that it wasn’t a choice you got to make. You were chosen. They would be so proud to know you’re the next Pink Ranger.” Thomas smiled.

“No!” Patton’s tears started up yet again. “I promised! I said I would never! I told them I would never become a Ranger. It’s dangerous and heartbreaking and it tore Talyn away from me! It took Joan and Talyn from me! It took them both and it almost took you!”

“Patton, I know.” Thomas sighed, stepping closer to Patton who only pulled away.

Roman, Remus, and Logan stood in the kitchen eyeing the scene and trying to understand whatever was going on.

“I can’t do this. I won’t do this.” Patton stated firmly.

“Patton, don’t you remember when you were younger and all you wanted to be was a Ranger? You were so excited to be everything Talyn was and more.”

“I was young. And stupid. And I still am. I’m not ready for this. Talyn didn’t want this.”

“Talyn knew that this would happen. They knew you would be Ranger. It was simply your destiny. You know that. We all knew that.” Thomas sighed. “Talyn just didn’t want you to feel pressured. Talyn knew the risks and didn’t want you to go through the pain.”

“If it weren’t for the morphers, Talyn, and Joan, and Valerie, and Terrence, and Dominic would all still be here! You wouldn’t have been the only Ranger for the past ten years! You wouldn’t be doing this on your own.” Patton cried.

“Pat-“

“Thomas, please just get it off of me.” Patton held out his wrist to Thomas. “Please. I can’t do this, please.”

"Patton. I-I-"

"Pat, please." Emile took Patton's jaw in his hand. "I know it hurts, but think about what you're doing. You know you can't take it off. Once it's on you, you can't just take the morpher off. It's there and there's nothing you can do. So, what you need to do, is live up to that amazing loving person the morpher chose. The morpher chose you because you bring heart and care and compassion to the team. You're made for this role and I know you can do it. Though you may not feel it now, it's still there."

"Emile-“

“When we were so much younger do you remember pretending to be Rangers together. You were always the brave Pink Ranger, swooping in your save me from the Dragon Witch. You just wanted to help me. You’ve always wanted to be a Ranger and you’ve always wanted to help people. Please don’t give up on that. You know for a fact Talyn only said that to try and keep you safe. No matter what you’ve promised them, or Joan, or Megan, you want to do this.” Emile stopped him. “You don’t have to be afraid. You’ve got a team by your side.”

They sat in silence. Patton’s tears had dried on his face and he desperately tried to talk but found no sound coming out. His chest heaved and ached. Patton could only squeeze Emile’s hand in his and sniffle.

“I’m sorry.” Patton squeaked. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Pat of course you’d feel this way. No one expects you to immediately want to be a Ranger. Especially after what happened with Talyn. No one blames you for feeling this way.” Thomas assured him.

“Thank you, I-I know. I know it’s okay. It just still doesn’t feel that way. It doesn’t feel-feel-feel-“

“I’m sure it doesn’t. But it’s okay.” Emile whispered.

Patton collapsed into Emile, just crying into the smaller boy. “It hurts so bad.”

Emile nodded and ran a soothing hand through Patton’s hair. As Patton continued trying to control his sobbing he felt more arms wrap around him. He shifted to see Roman, Remus, and Logan holding him gently, too gently. It was like they though one squeeze would break Patton in half.

“You’re going to be the best Pink Ranger to ever fight.” Roman told him.

“Thank you I-I’m okay.” Patton smiled sweetly at the boys hugging him.

They pulled away, but stayed close.

“I’m going to be okay.” Patton said a little shakily but calm.

I’m ready. Patton wrote late that night in his diary. I’m going to be okay.

Taglist:

@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors@maddarc@pheonix-inside-reblogs@thisismysanderssidesblog@almost-all-my-ships-are-gay@mostpeopleannoyme@the-smol-est@i-sexually-identify-as-a-mistake@nadja-chamack16@too-bi-too-function

#patton sanders #YouTuber!Patton #power rangers au #thatsthat24 #logicality #prinxiety #demus #remile

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ironfidus · 5 years ago

Text

Every Fifteen Minutes (1)

Summary:

“In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker,” the obituary reads. “2001 - 2017. Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony can't finish reading. He swears his heart stops. “FRIDAY,” he croaks.

He doesn’t have to finish the order; FRIDAY, as if reading his mind, activates his Iron Man suit and sends it to envelop his body. Tony is shooting through the skies before he even fully realizes it.

OR: Peter Parker was in a car crash—except... he wasn’t. One forgetful Spider-Kid, one sleepy best friend, and one misleading post on social media all lead to a disastrous turn of events, culminating in the arrival of an unexpected guest at Midtown High.

Read here on AO3 (@a_matter_of_loyalty)

:::

Chapter 1: count the ways I let you down

Every fifteen minutes, someone dies from an alcohol-related collision.

:::

“The worst day of loving someone is the day that you lose them.”

—L.J. Smith

:::

“All right, class,” Roger Harrington calls out over the sound of murmuring students. He is standing impatiently at the front of the classroom, leaning back against his desk as he flips through a pile of pamphlets in his hands. “Settle down.”

The students either don’t hear him or are simply content with ignoring him, continuing to chatter amongst themselves.

Did Ms. Warren assign us any homework for tomorrow?

Oh my god, did you hear about Lucas and Brooke? Apparently they broke up—

Can you believe what she’s wearing—

“I said settle down!” Mr. Harrington barks, restraint snapping in half. His students descend into a hush immediately, scrambling to attention with more than a little annoyance. Truthfully, despite his show of impatience, Mr. Harrington can’t find it in himself to blame them: it is their last class of the day, their “advisory period” as it’s named on their schedule, and it is typically the one period in the week where they can simply sit back and relax with their friends. He himself is dismayed by the disruption to their regularly scheduled programming (read: their “chill time” as Jason calls it)—he’s tired of dealing with students 24/7, damnit, and he needs a break, so sue him—but Principal Morita personally approached him with instructions earlier in the day, and he can’t exactly disobey.

So like any good teacher, Mr. Harrington shoves down his exhaustion and schools his face into a mild smile. “A few weeks from now, we will be participating in an educational program known as Every Fifteen Minutes,” he announces. “It is designed to teach students the severe, life-changing consequences of drinking and driving.”

The students burst out into hushed whispers. No doubt they all remember this program from the previous year, though it will be their first time participating. Mr. Harrington sends them all a pointed look, and they dutifully quiet once more.

“Now, for today,” he continues once he has their undivided attention, “all of you will be using this period to choose one person in your class who you admire. I will be passing out blank sheets of paper shortly. As soon as you receive one, please write down the name of your chosen classmate, and a short paragraph detailing your reason for picking them.”

Betty Brant’s hand immediately shoots up. Mr. Harrington stifles a sigh, giving her a halfhearted nod that signals go on, and she promptly asks, “What does this exercise have to do with the program?”

Mr. Harrington’s smile grows strained. “You’ll find out why we’re doing this later on in the program,” he replies vaguely. Before anyone else can come up with any questions, Mr. Harrington says stiffly, “Let’s get started.”

He sets the pamphlets back down onto his desk—they’ll come in handy later—and picks up another pile of paper; this time, the blank sheets he promised earlier. He hands the pile to the student at the front of the class, and immediately retreats to his seat as his students begin passing out paper to each other.

His part done, Mr. Harrington happily returns to grading last week’s tests, blissfully tuning out his restless students as they go about their task.

Once everyone has a blank sheet of paper in front of them, the voices recede to a trickle once more as they all rack their brains for a name. Some students steal considering glances around the room, appraising their classmates in their minds.

Peter Parker, Midtown High’s awkward disaster by day and Queens’ beloved Spider-Man by night, doesn’t need to give it any thought. He plucks a pen from out of his pencil case and immediately begins writing about his best friend.

Ned’s been my best friend since I was seven years old. I’d just transferred to Midtown after losing my parents, and as soon as I met him, he took me by the hand and invited me to play on the monkey bars with him. I wasn’t very good at it, but he kept inviting me anyway. It was the first time I smiled since my parents’ funeral. Since then, Ned has given me a thousand more reasons to smile. That is why I admire him: no matter what, Ned never loses hope or happiness. He always looks on the bright side, and…

Beside him, Ned is putting pen to paper just as easily, his choice coming naturally to him as well. He wishes he could write about Spider-Man—write about how his best friend is a real-life hero, how his best friend unhesitatingly puts his life at risk every night to fight crime, how his best friend swung into his room last night with a bleeding wound but also a blinding smile because there was this woman, Ned, and she needed my help, I couldn’t just do nothing!

But he knows Peter keeps his identity a secret for a reason, so Ned locks that desire away firmly. It’s not as if he can’t think of tons to write about, anyway, even with Spider-Man out of the question. After all, even before he discovered his best friend’s alter ego, he’s always known Peter is special. Because even before Spider-Man, Peter was already the strongest, most resilient, most selfless person Ned knew.

(Peter Parker was a hero long before Spider-Man was born.)

Peter’s had a difficult life. Time after time, life kicks him down and refuses to let him up. He lost his parents at such a young age, and then his uncle a few years later. But no matter what life throws at him, Peter always, always gets up. He never stops trying; he never stops fighting. I admire him because of his unyielding tenacity and his refusal to give in to life’s cruelties. Despite the hardships he’s faced, Peter is still the kindest, happiest person I know. He’s always willing to lend others a hand in whatever way he can…

:::

“Time’s up!” Mr. Harrington announces seconds before the bell rings. The students let out a quiet cheer as they drop their pens and gather their bags, and Mr. Harrington allows himself a small smile of his own. Still, he doesn’t let them run off quite yet. “I hope you’ve all finished writing your paragraphs,” he warns before they can rush out.

Their mumbled agreements make him roll his eyes. “All right, all right, I won’t keep you any longer,” he relents. “On your way out, please pick up one of these Every Fifteen Minutes pamphlets”—he taps the pile of pamphlets with his pen—“and make sure to read those over sometime during the next couple of weeks. That’ll be all, class.”

:::

The students had it easy, Mr. Harrington muses to himself as he shuffles through the papers with their choices. He, along with the other teachers, are required to stay after school hours and assess each student’s note to determine which of the kids should be selected to participate in the program as a “casualty.”

Principal Morita advised them to choose a popular, well-liked kid to ensure that the effects of Every Fifteen Minutes are profound and widely-felt. If it’s a popular kid you want, Mr. Harrington thinks, the choice is obvious.

As if to confirm his thoughts, his eyes fall onto the note at the top of the pile and zero in on the name Flash Thompson.

Eugene “Flash” Thompson, arguably one of the most popular students in his class due to his parents’ wealth and his own sophisticated attitude, has created a “following” for himself within the halls of Midtown High. His cronies tend to stick to Flash like glue, following their ringleader around like thoughtless ducks. But as popular as Flash is, Mr. Harrington feels reluctant to pick him. He doubts Flash fits the criteria of “well-liked” amongst the majority of his peers, despite his popularity. Flash is a bully of the “high school jackass” variety, and his snobbish attitude repels just as many people as it attracts, if not more.

Mr. Harrington shakes his head and tucks the note with Flash’s name under all of the other papers. He resigns himself to a long afternoon of sorting through the notes, keeping an eye out for any recurring not-Flash names. The faster he finishes, the sooner he’ll be able to go home.

Betty, Cindy, Charles, Flash again, Abe, Seymour, another Flash, Ned… Mr. Harrington perks up slightly. The note dedicated to Ned Leeds is noticeably longer than all the rest before it, and Mr. Harrington recognizes the handwriting as belonging to Peter Parker immediately.

Teachers aren’t supposed to have a favorite. That is the unspoken rule. But there is also an unspoken footnote to that unspoken rule that goes like this: Teachers might not be supposed to have a favorite, but they do anyway. As long as the students don’t know, well, it can’t hurt anyone.

Peter Parker is without a doubt Mr. Harrington’s star student. Friendly and polite to everyone, Peter is a beacon of light in his class, one that everyone—even those who resent him, like Flash—can recognize. Even without Peter’s conscious effort, his generosity and thoughtfulness draw his classmates to him like moths to a flame.

Besides his obvious goodness, Peter is also achingly smart. Ridiculously so. He is intelligent and creative and brilliant—but he never brags about it.

And sure, Peter has changed over the last few months, turning up to class later and later and sometimes even falling asleep in the middle of his lectures, but his grades never slack. Mr. Harrington can’t deny he’s worried about the boy. He’s heard all the rumors about Peter: he’s heard the other teachers discussing Peter’s sudden decision to resign from nearly all of his extracurriculars; he’s heard Coach Wilson muttering something about bruises and scars; he’s heard students in the hallway giggling over Flash’s proclamations that Peter is a liar pretending to intern for Stark Industries.

For the most part, Mr. Harrington lets the rumors flow in one ear and out the other. He doesn’t like judging his students or making assumptions, after all. But even he can’t ignore some of the signs. He sent Peter to the guidance counselor a few weeks ago after Peter fell asleep during Academic Decathlon and woke up screaming after everyone else went home, but the rest is out of Harrington’s hands. He isn’t allowed to pry, he knows that.

That doesn’t stop him from fretting, though.

He sighs and redirects his gaze to Peter’s note. Out of curiosity—wondering what kind of traits someone as pure as Peter Parker would admire—Mr. Harrington pushes his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose and reads the whole note.

…he never fails to make me laugh or smile. Ned is one of the best and brightest things in my life. I’m lucky to have him as my best friend.

Mr. Harrington exhales softly, the breath rushing out with an awed sort of wonder. Peter’s note about Ned is heartfelt and sentimental, nothing like the snatches of she's cute and she always wears the most fashionable outfits or I think he's really smart he caught glimpses of from the other notes.

Setting aside Peter’s note about Ned for now, Mr. Harrington flicks through the rest of the notes until he finds Ned’s note—unsurprisingly for Peter. He pulls it out of the stack, smoothing it out on top of the other notes.

…and even though he’s had it hard, Peter never takes it out on anyone else. He embodies compassion with everything he does. I know I am grateful for him, always.

Mr. Harrington will later swear, on his life, that he wasn’t affected by the notes. But here in the relative privacy of the empty classroom, as he bears witness to Peter and Ned’s mutual devotion to one another, his eyes begrudgingly start to burn.

These kids, he suppresses a groan, blinking rapidly. He is an adult, for god’s sake. He doesn’t get mushy over touching words anymore. They’re going to be the death of me.

It is undeniable, though, that the loss of either boy will leave a crippling impact on the other and the rest of the class. Even if no one else chose Ned or Peter, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind; he’s seen the two boys’ influence on their classmates. Sure, they can both be shy and quiet at times, reserved, but the two have become irrevocably entangled in the lives of their peers. Peter, for example, never fails to provide a spot of cheer during his classes with Mr. Harrington; more often than not, Peter would spend half the class maneuvering around the tables at his classmates’ behest, occasionally bending down to talk one of his peers through a difficult problem. Ned, too, is a bright presence in the classroom, never failing to coax his classmates into raucous laughter after one of his jokes.

One of the two will probably be the best bet for the program, Mr. Harrington decides. But which one? Peter or Ned?

Mr. Harrington groans, shooting the clock a backwards glance. 4 p.m., he acknowledges to himself. He’s already spent upwards of half an hour agonizing over this choice, and he just wants to go home.

Looking back at the stack, his eyes catch on to the note right below Ned’s. The name Flash Thompson peeks out, barely visible at the corner of the note.

Slowly, a smile settles on Mr. Harrington’s face.

Again, Mr. Harrington isn’t blind. He’s long since been aware of Flash’s tendency to pick on (read: bully) Peter. Unfortunately, when Mr. Harrington went to Principal Morita with his concerns, Morita simply dismissed him without a second thought, citing the Thompsons’ excessive donations to the school as an excuse to let it go. At the time, Mr. Harrington merely gritted his teeth and gracefully bowed out of the principal’s office, resigned to keeping his silence despite the regret sinking in his stomach.

But now…

Mr. Harrington is just a teacher. There is nothing he can do on his own, not against a pair of wealthy parents or the principal. But there is nothing to say he can’t indirectly teach Flash a lesson.

This, this he can do.

Perhaps if Flash is forced to imagine walking down their school hallways without a hint of Peter Parker anywhere for the rest of his school days, he’ll realize Peter’s value and the faults of his actions. Perhaps if Flash sees how short and finite life is, he’ll see his wrongs.

Mr Harrington can only hope so, anyway.

:::

‘Every Fifteen Minutes’

“The Every 15 Minutes Program offers real-life experiences without the real-life risks. This emotionally charged program, entitled Every 15 Minutes, is an event designed to dramatically instill into teenagers the potentially dangerous consequences of drinking alcohol and texting while driving. This powerful program will challenge students to think about drinking, texting while driving, personal safety, and the responsibility of making mature decisions when lives are involved…”

:::

Three weeks later, the program truly begins. The principal makes sure to issue a warning beforehand to prevent any genuine panic from breaking out (the teachers learned that the hard way last year). With the reassurance that it isn’t real, many students see the two-day period scheduled for the program as a chance to take a break from their classes and unwind.

They know what is going to happen. They know it will all be fake. No one is actually dying.

But sometimes, “knowing” doesn’t really equate to “understanding” or “believing,” and the subconscious tends to work in strange ways.

Despite the principal’s briefing, the students find themselves unprepared for the emotional upheaval that surges in them with each and every student’s "death". Every fifteen minutes, a participating deputy officer enters a different classroom and takes away one student. After the student’s removal, another police officer enters the classroom to read out a prepared obituary to the silence of the class. The obituary would be posted at the front of the classroom, and that would be that.

The chosen student wouldn’t return to classes for the rest of the day. Their notable absence from their usual routine is supposed to “simulate the feeling of loss that the other students would experience in the event of a real death,” or so the pamphlet claims.

And it works.

Some students cry, loud and blubbering, as their friends are pulled out of the room. Others are silent, disquieted, as they try to imagine what it would be like if their classmate were really dead, immediately feeling dread and tragedy seep into them.

They’re only kids. Most of them have never even felt the effects of death before.

(They’re lucky. So, so lucky.)

Finally, an hour before classes break for lunch, an officer enters Mr. Harrington’s classroom. “Peter Parker,” he calls out, eyes flicking briefly to the card he’s holding. “Mr. Parker?” he repeats in the ensuing silence.

“I’m here,” Peter replies, a little surprised as he stands up, inwardly fighting to ignore the stares of his classmates. He didn’t expect to be chosen. He likes to be invisible, to stay in the background and blend in, and this is the complete opposite of “blending in.”

“Mr. Parker,” the officer offers him a sympathetic smile. “Please gather your things. You won’t be returning today.”

The finality of the words you won’t be returning settles like a death knell in the classroom, and the hard edge is only barely softened by the comfort of today. Peter can already hear Betty, one of the most sensitive and empathetic of all his classmates, begin to sniffle.

Fighting the urge to glance back at Betty and reassure her, Peter nods politely at the officer. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledges with a respect that has been drilled into him by his aunt. He hurriedly shoves his pencil case and books into his bag and slings the backpack over one shoulder. He takes a moment to make sure his phone and his watch are both safe on his person –

Hold on. My watch. Peter’s eyes fixate on his wrist—his bare wrist—with growing horror. Where is it? Where did I leave it?

Mr. Stark will kill him if he’s somehow managed to lose his multimillion dollar StarkWatch. Make sure to keep it on you at all times, you hear me, Parker? Tony had threatened upon gifting it to Peter one rainy day. It cost me a fortune—I promise it’s more expensive than you. Just kidding. Not really, but that doesn’t matter. Just – wear it always, please? It’ll monitor your vitals for me, so I’ll be able to check that you’re alive and not, I don’t know, bleeding out in an alleyway or something. I have heart problems, you know.

Shoot, shoot, shoot, Peter thinks now. How the heck am I going to explain this one? He’d sworn to Mr. Stark that he’d never take the watch off except to—

Oh. Oh.

(“KAREN, remind me to put my watch back on tomorrow morning, yeah?” Peter says aloud to his AI, attaching his StarkWatch to the charging case it came with. It’s the first time he’s had to charge it so far—he doesn’t know how its battery has been able to last this long, but somehow he’s not entirely surprised, given that it is Tony Stark’s creation—and he’s more than a little concerned that his forgetfulness and Parker Luck are going to rear their ugly heads at the same time.

“Of course, Peter,” KAREN hums in reply.)

Peter calms down and resists the urge to facepalm. Of course he’d ended up forgetting it at home, even after making a genuine effort to remember to wear it. He briefly wonders how he could have missed KAREN’s notification before shrugging it off. He’ll just put it back on tonight, before going on patrol. Tony had designed the watch with Spider-Man’s trouble-magnet tendencies in mind, after all; he’s pretty sure Peter Parker can live without it for one day.

God, he must really be out of it if he managed to go half a day without realizing the heavy watch—not literally heavy, because it’s a StarkWatch and Mr. Stark is nothing if not efficient, but metaphorically heavy with the weight of Mr. Stark’s expectations—is missing from his wrist. Peter feels a yawn building in his chest and thinks, yep, still out of it. Between a long patrol spanning from late night yesterday to the early hours of the morning today, and back-to-back science and math classes with droning teachers who refused to let him nap, today has been hell.

Peter raises a hand to his mouth and stifles a yawn. Maybe I can rest my eyes for a bit now that I’m being taken out of class, he thinks hopefully. Worries about his missing StarkWatch abated and fighting drowsiness, he dutifully follows the officer out of the classroom without another word.

Mere moments later, a different officer enters the room, false obituary in hand. She stands behind Mr. Harrington’s desk as if it is a podium, and recites solemnly, “Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver. He was born on the 10th of August, 2001 in Queens, New York City, to Mary and Richard Parker. Peter is survived by his aunt, May Parker, as well as his close friends Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones.”

Betty sniffles louder. His aunt, she keens in a hushed whisper to any who will listen. The only family he has left is his aunt. If he – if he were really dead, she’d be all alone—!

Her best friend, Cindy, reaches out between their desks and grips Betty’s hand tightly, like an anchor, a lifeline.

“At the time of his death, he was enrolled at Midtown High, where he touched many lives with his generosity and passion for life,” the officer continues, moving on to the next part of the obituary. Even as she reads, she keeps one eye on the students, her heart twinging briefly; she isn’t a mother herself—she doesn’t have kids to call her own—but she’s had to face the devastated parents of child victims before. She’s had to face child victims, period. It’s never a pretty sight. “A member of Midtown High’s Academic Decathlon, he displayed an unparalleled knack for solving problems and thinking outside the box. Peter truly lived life to the fullest through chasing simple pleasures: chatting with friends and family, eating takeout with his aunt, and reviewing any and all sci-fi themed movies. Peter had an uncanny ability to reach people in a deep and positive way; he was bright and energetic, and he was known for his tendency to help others.”

She pauses, her words sinking into the room savagely, raking through the students like a claw.

A few more students have started to shake at the sound of her words, and the image they paint—a dark-skinned boy in the corner, blinking rapidly at the mention of Peter’s tendency to help others; an Asian girl with pin-straight hair, biting her lip at the allusion to Peter’s brilliance; another boy, squeezing his eyes shut and looking away at the memory of Peter’s enthusiastic personality.

She shakes her head to clear the hesitation and adds, trying to maintain a facade of ruthless indifference: “He will be deeply missed by his family, friends, and all who knew him.”

And that final sentence, punching into the stillness of the room, makes it all so real.

The tension in the room crumbles, much like Betty Brant does in her seat, dissolving into breathless tears. Much like Abe Brown does, burying his face in his hands and refusing to look up. Much like Cindy Moon does, trembling minutely in her chair as she remembers Peter Parker, his smile twinkling brightly at her like the north star.

The officer trails off at last, and the room is left in silence as she gathers her composure and posts the obituary at the front of the room. The obituary has been professionally forged, made to appear real and foreboding—indeed, the dark borderings of the paper, the official lettering, and the sharp, crisp black ink all drive a nail into the proverbial coffin.

Listen, the obituary seems to whisper at them, vicious. Pay attention. You could lose him.

Without another word, the officer exits the room and flees the morose stares of the students. With the officer gone, all that is left is the obituary. There is no other sign that Peter Parker’s alleged death ever occurred, except on the faces of those he “left behind.”

And in the empty space where he would have been sitting, smiling, laughing.

(Already, they are feeling the effects of loss, their usually boisterous gossip never starting up. Normally, Mr. Harrington would be glad for the reprieve. But today, he looks at his students, sitting dazed and numb in the midst of Peter’s stark absence, and just sighs.)

(Amidst the haze of sorrow, amidst the uncertainty, Ned Leeds slumbers on in blissful ignorance, having missed the entire scene as well as the principal’s disclaimer. Ned doesn’t usually sleep during class, he swears; he always tries to pay attention out of respect for his teachers, if nothing else.

But today, he can’t muster the energy to feign awareness. He’s tired, the liveliness sucked out of his soul after an exhausting night spent hunched above his computer, splitting his attention between listening to the police radio chatter and prattling on about any reported incidents to his web-slinging best friend.

He loves being Peter’s guy in the chair. That fact is uncontested. And he wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

So Ned figures that if he has to miss a few hours of class to catch up on his much-needed sleep, then it’s worth it. What harm can it do, anyway? It’s not like he’s missing anything important.)

:::

It isn’t until the bell rings, calling for lunch time, that the students finally snap out of their stupor and Ned finally jerks awake. He yawns drowsily and blinks the sleep from his eyes, turning to Peter’s seat beside him. “Hey, Peter—”

Ned falls quiet, frowning in surprise when he doesn’t find Peter. Mumbling in confusion, he looks closer and realizes that Peter’s bags have disappeared, too. “What the—? Did he go to the cafeteria already?” he ponders aloud and tilts his head in confusion; he and Peter always get their lunch together. He can’t think of any reason why Peter wouldn’t have waited for him, especially since MJ is out sick today, leaving Peter with no one else to walk to the cafeteria with.

But where else would Peter be?

Finally, Ned just shrugs, figuring he can ferret out the why of it all later when he catches up to Peter in the lunch line. He gathers his bags in his hands and leaves the room, still puzzling over Peter’s disappearance. In his distraction, he completely misses the other students’ conversation about the very person he is seeking.

“Wow, I didn’t expect to get so emotional,” Cindy is saying to Betty. “It feels like Peter’s really gone.”

Betty nods rapidly. “I know! I mean, I guess that’s the point—to make us realize how serious this issue is. But it feels – weird, y’know? It’s not as if Peter speaks a lot normally—it isn’t any quieter now than it would be if he were still here—but he’s still an important, integral part of this class. I can’t imagine our class without him.”

“Pfft.” The derisive snort comes from Flash, who scrunches his nose at them as he overhears their murmurs. “We’re better off without that loser, anyway,” he says viciously, cuttingly.

“Wha— Flash!” Cindy scolds, straightening in her seat in anger. She was usually shy and timid, preferring to keep to herself, but her emotions run hot. Whenever she snaps, she does so with explosive force. “For once in your life, try not to be such an asshole,” she fumes. “You wouldn’t be saying that if he were really dead.”

Flash just harrumphs at that, turning up his nose with a sniff.

Cindy’s eyes glint with indignation. “Come on, Flash, stop—”

“Cindy,” Betty interjects with a pointed hum, resting a hand on her friend’s forearm. She shoots Cindy a significant look and herds the other girl to her feet. “Forget Flash. Let’s just go.”

“What?” Cindy blinks. “Betty, didn’t you hear what he said? How can you just—?”

“He isn’t worth it,” Betty shakes her head, the words cruel and dismissive, but the coldness of her gaze gentles when it sweeps past Flash again. She doesn’t say it now—doesn’t expose Flash—but she can’t forget what she saw earlier, as the officer was reading out Peter’s obituary: Flash, hunched in on himself in his corner seat, eyes downcast and red-rimmed. Flash is far more rattled by this program than he lets on, but if he wants to pretend to be a jerk to feel better about himself, Betty isn’t going to stop him.

They all have a lot to think about, after all, after today.

Cindy grumbles in annoyance, but begrudgingly follows Betty out of the room.

Flash waits until they’re both gone and he’s left alone in the sanctuary of the classroom before he lets the sneer fall from his face. Without his permission, his eyes automatically dart back to the obituary on the board.

Goddamn Parker, he thinks, stomping down his guilt. He’s never bothered to make things right with Peter, never bothered to apologize and reach out and try, but…

No. What am I thinking? Don’t be ridiculous, Flash. He’s not dead. He’s not.

When he looks back up, grappling with anger at Peter and anger at himself, he realizes he’s subconsciously made his way to the front of the room, stopping only when he’s directly in front of the obituary.

He gazes at it critically. Peter looks... happy in the picture chosen for the obituary. Then again, Flash thinks, Parker is rarely ever not happy. The only times he’s ever seen Peter without a smile are – shit – when Flash is teasing him. Flash doesn’t even know why he does it, really.

Well, no, that isn’t true. He does know.

Somehow, some way, despite the background he comes from, Peter seems to have everything he wants. (Everything Flash wants.)

Peter doesn’t come from money, Flash knows this—he knows this in the way Peter’s shoes never change even as they begin to fall apart, held together only by duct tape; he knows it in the way Peter goes through the same rotation of science pun t-shirts every once in a while; he knows it in the way Peter’s jeans still have the same stains from months ago, from when Flash shoved his lunch into his lap; he knows it in the way Ned always offers Peter half of his lunch everyday.

Flash knows Peter’s aunt struggles to make ends meet.

And yet Peter is still so irritatingly cheerful, day after day. He has friends, too—real friends the likes of which Flash wouldn’t be able to recognize. Ned and MJ don’t stick by Peter because of his riches or his reputation, not like Flash’s friends do.

And most of all, Peter is frustratingly intelligent. He has the Decathlon position Flash yearns for, he has the teachers’ favor (Flash sees the way Ms. Warren and Mr. Harrington smile whenever Peter raises his hand and blurts out the correct answer with record speed, even if Peter had noticeably barely been paying attention beforehand), he has the effortless straight-As.

He even has an aunt who loves him. On nights where Flash’s jealousy gets really, really ugly, Flash can’t help but think that Peter has more family than he does, despite his losses. Peter may have lost his parents and his uncle, but his aunt genuinely adores him, in ways Flash’s parents never have. The disparity has become obvious over the years: every time they have a Decathlon competition, Peter always has someone to cheer him on—a familiar vision of long brown hair and Go Peter Parker! banners and excited squeals—even though Flash has no doubt that May Parker is endlessly busy paying off the bills.

Flash’s parents are nowhere near as busy, and yet they have never once shown up to one of his competitions. And sure, he’s just an alternate, but he’s still part of the team. He wishes his parents could appreciate that.

So. Flash is jealous. He hates it, but – he doesn’t understand Peter. He doesn’t get what Peter has that he doesn’t; what makes Peter better than him.

He can’t accept it.

(So he lashes out. He lashes out and lashes out and lashes out, using Peter’s shame and pain as a balm for his own wounds.

It doesn’t help, not really. But it makes him feel powerful. It gives him control, the sort of control he’s never had in his own home where his mother is always flitting in and out like a flighty butterfly attracted to shinier things and his father is always filling the silence with drunken shouts, and Flash can’t bring himself to stop.)

Malice and self-loathing burning within him in equal measure, the opposing sides of the same coin mingling until the lines are blurred and the two are indistinguishable, Flash pushes his guilt into a vault and locks it in, firmly. There’s no way I feel bad for Penis Parker, he tells himself sharply. He deserves it. Someone has to show him his place, after all. Besides, I have nothing to be sorry for. He’s not even dead.

And so Flash does what he does best: he lashes out again.

Without a word, he digs his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick picture of the obituary, Peter’s name emblazoned prominently under his picture. He logs into his Twitter account and attaches the picture to a new post, thumbs flying rapidly across the keyboard as he types out a pithy caption with harsh, angry jabs. By the time the photo has been uploaded (accompanied by the acerbic words as if anyone would even miss parker, lol), his fingers are squeezing the phone so tightly it feels like it will leave a permanent dent in his skin.

(There’s no way Flash could have known the domino effect his actions would spark. He has no idea the disaster he’s courting by posting that obituary—and without any sort of disclaimer, no less. He doesn’t even spare a moment of thought for the possible ramifications of his post.

Truthfully, Flash isn’t thinking at all when he acts, the only thing driving him his contempt.)

:::

Tony Stark is in a board meeting when it happens. He’s barely paying attention as it is, leaning back slightly and scrolling through his phone beneath the table with the ease of someone who’s done so a thousand times before. He can sense Pepper glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, but no one else seems to notice his distracted state, so he ignores her palpable annoyance. He can just get FRIDAY to replay the highlights of the meeting for him later, anyway.

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts with a smooth whirr, startling the board members. “Protocol: On the Web has been triggered.”

Tony jerks upright as if yanked by a leash, nearly losing his grip on his phone in his shock. Protocol: On the Web was designed to screen the internet for any mention of Peter Parker’s name, or any emergence of his face. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, sliding his phone into his pocket and swiping his hand across the air to signal FRIDAY to open whatever had flagged her systems.

The board members are murmuring amongst themselves by now, and Pepper’s glare has darkened, but Tony doesn’t even notice, his heart thundering in his chest. If Peter’s secret identity has been endangered—

Tony blinks.

It’s a Twitter post.

With more than a little confusion and wariness, his eyes take in the caption first: as if anyone would even miss parker, lol.

Tony’s gut churns at the callousness of the words, an intangible and unfathomable dread sinking its claws into his soul. He can’t quite understand why those words make his heart stutter in his chest, until—

Until he can.

There’s a picture of the kid above the heartless caption. Of his kid. Peter’s smiling up at him, curls as messy and unkempt as ever, freckles dusting his cheeks in a way that makes Tony want to squeeze. And his eyes—god, his eyes—are as wide and innocent as they always are, gleaming with the cheer of youth even from the other side of a screen.

And beneath the picture:

In honor of Peter Benjamin Parker.

2001 - 2017.

And Tony’s heart stops. His world starts to fall apart at the seams.

He can’t think. Can’t breathe. He collapses into his seat like the air’s been punched out of him, like he’s a marionette and his strings have been cut.

No. No no no—

Oh, god. Not him. He can’t be gone.

Please don’t take him away from me—

Blood roars in his ears, deafening him to all else as he stares blankly—uncomprehendingly—at the picture. Beyond the ringing in his ears, Tony can hear a broken, strangled wail—

It takes him a belated moment to realize the wail came from him.

“Tony—” Pepper’s voice is muddled in his ears.

Tony’s standing before he even realizes what he’s doing. He pushes his chair back, staggering away from the table of board members staring at him in confusion, as if Tony’s gone mad when Tony’s pretty sure they’re the ones who are insane, to act as if the world is still spinning, as if anything else matters. “I have to – I have to go—” he chokes out, fumbling with his wristwatch until the Iron Man suit starts assembling around his body in a familiar process that does nothing to ground him. “Pep—”

He turns to her in a panic, but he doesn’t have to worry: she’s already nodding in understanding and agreement as she leans in to see FRIDAY’s alert, her face pale and ashen, one hand clapped over her mouth as if to stifle a cry.

(Pepper has always loved Peter.)

“Go,” is all she says, but he’s never heard her voice like that before: like her reality is collapsing all around her and she’s helpless to keep it together.

(Maybe he’s the one who’s helpless.)

A few board members startle, exclaiming in protest.

Tony turns, ready to yell at them until they understand that his world’s just stopped, can’t they see, but Pepper is already on it. “Family emergency,” she says, hoarse.

And any other time, Tony would have flushed and immediately tried to deny the implications of him and Peter being “family” with a stammer, all the while feeling warm that Pepper recognized them as so.

(Why did he always deny it? Why did he never just tell Peter how he felt?

Now, he’s lost the chance to. Peter will never know how much he loved him, how much he still loves him, because nothing can take this from Tony—

Peter will never realize.)

But this isn’t any other time, because Peter is—

Tony grits his teeth. He can’t finish the thought.

Instead, he angles himself towards the window and shoots off the ground, crashing through glass and soaring through the air with one destination in mind: “FRI,” he says, voice wrecked and unrecognizable even to his own ears, “plot a course to Midtown High.”

(Because god, it’s midday on an ordinary, unremarkable Thursday and Peter is supposed to be in school. He’s supposed to be safe.)

:::

The first thing he does is order—implore—FRIDAY to call Peter, the command hoarse and shaky in his voice. Terrified.

The phone rings once—

“Please,” Tony mouths, the plea loud and deafening in the cavern of his mind. It’s all he can hear, but no sound leaves him. He’s breathless, the air stolen from his lungs, and he doesn’t know how to return himself to solid ground. “Please. Please please please pick up.”

He’s never felt like this before, like the fate of his entire world hinges on one thing, one person, one phone call—

—Twice—

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, almost like he’s too afraid to face reality, to watch the moment of its inevitable collapse. To watch the foundations of his universe crumble to ashes, just like—

No. He can’t be.

—It rings a third time—

A few days ago—mere days—Peter had sent Tony a flurry of memes, all punctuated by at least half a dozen exclamation marks and emojified laughter. Tony had indulgently gone through each meme, snorted a couple times, and then restrained himself to sending back one eye-roll and a disapproving don’t use your phone in class, kid.

Peter had sent back an eye-roll of his own.

At the time, Tony could never have imagined this—could never have imagined losing Peter. If he could have envisioned this, could have foreseen the unadulterated terror gripping his heart, he would never have told Peter to stop texting in class. He would have maybe sent a laughing emoji of his own and encouraged his rebellious use of his phone during school hours.

Maybe then, Peter would pick up now. Wouldn’t leave Tony hanging in the worst moment of his life.

But he can’t take back the text he’d sent, the reproving don’t use your phone, and now Tony’s helpless to do anything but hope against hope that—

—Ring—

Tony swallows. Don’t ignore me, he wants to yell, even though the call hasn’t connected and Peter can’t hear him. You’re not supposed to ignore me. You have to pick up—I need you to pick up—

I need you, period—

Please.

—his pleas go unheard, and the phone rings again—

The phone clicks.

“Hey!”

Tony’s heart lurches to his throat, hope soaring—

“It’s Peter here!” A familiar, shy giggle erupts on the other end of the line—the same giggle that typically sends a burst of warmth blooming across Tony’s chest. “Sorry I missed your call.”

Tony inhales sharply, finally recognizing Peter’s familiar voicemail greeting for what it is. Peter’s voice giggles again, but this time, it brings him no joy, no contented bliss; this time, it sends his heart crashing to the ground, hope withering like unprotected primroses in the blistering desert heat.

“Please leave a message at the beep. Or, you know, just send me a text like normal people. Unless this is Mr. Stark, in which case feel free to keep calling and prove your senior status.”

Normally, Peter’s voicemail message brings an amused smile to his lips, exasperation and fondness swelling within his chest in equal measure. Peter, he’d chide, how many times do I have to tell you to change your voicemail? I’m not ancient. I’m efficient.

Today, Peter’s teasing voice makes him choke on air, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Instead of affection, it is dread that pools inside him; he takes several deep breaths, trying hard to contain the fear, but as the phone beeps tauntingly, a vision of Peter flashes across his mind. He can almost imagine the wide, shit-eating grin that took over Peter’s face when he first recorded the voicemail greeting, lounging lazily on a hammock of webs hanging from his ceiling.

His tentative self-control shatters under the weight of that image, and his dread surges and spills over the edges, breaking through the dam that is his restraint.

“Peter,” he croaks, teetering on the edge of a cliff. Salvation on one side, damnation on the other. “Peter, where – where are you? You have to… you have to call me back when you get this. Please. I—please.”

The phone beeps again, mute in his ears, and Tony is empty. He has nothing left to give, nothing but fear and uncertainty and desperation and—

A dying hope. Please.

Silence. There’s no one to answer his calls, to reassure him and comfort him.

Tony falls and falls and falls. He watched the sharp, jagged rocks rush up to meet him, lets the tempestuous waves swallow him whole. There is no salvation here.

:::

It isn’t until he is only a few minutes away from Midtown High that Tony finally musters the courage to order FRIDAY to reopen the post. He doesn’t want to see it—he doesn't want to face it, Peter’s death—but he needs to know.

“Boss, are you sure?” FRIDAY asks, hesitant. Sometimes, Tony can’t help but think that she knows him better than he knows himself.

This time, he blunders on, ignoring her unspoken note of caution. “Do it, FRI,” he snaps, breathless, steeling himself for the worst.

After a beat, the picture pops up in his visor.

Tony bites his lip and lets his eyes drink in the words:

“Peter B. Parker, 16, died on the 5th of February, 2017, as a result of injuries sustained in a car crash involving a drunk driver…”

Tony’s heart stops all over again. He can’t see beyond those words—see beyond 16 and died and car crash and drunk driver.

“No,” he says, and it comes out as a broken moan. “No.”

(Tony prepared for the worst, but this—

Nothing could have prepared him for this.)

Please, no.

A drunk driver. Drunk.

Ever the masochist, Tony can’t help but flash back to years into the past, his past, filled with an endless stream of alcohol and an equally endless line of reckless actions. Tony had been stupid as a teenager. Young and wild and dumb.

What if he never stopped? What if he never put down the bottle?

What if it was him who killed Peter?

He’d never forgive himself.

(He already can’t forgive himself.)

Tony sucks in a harsh breath that scrapes against the inner walls of his throat like the serrated edge of a knife. A long, long time ago, the men in his life liked to say: Stark men are made of iron.

Well, if Tony were made of iron, then he is bending and twisting, caving in on himself, turning brittle and cracking and shattering beneath the vicious, unforgiving hammer that is the words drunk driver staring mercilessly back at him.

Tony closes his eyes and wills the obituary away with a whispered command; he’s seen enough. FRIDAY wordlessly obeys, for once quiet and unresponsive in the suit, lacking her usual sarcastic gibes. If he doesn’t know any better, he’d say she’s in mourning.

Tony mourns. He mourns Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, in the wake of the words car crash and drunk driver stampeding through his mind like a broken record. He mourns Peter’s awkward rambles and giggling laughter, Peter’s childish innocence and overeager attitude, Peter’s earnest eyes and beaming grins, so blinding in their brilliance that not even the sun can hold a candle to them—or to Peter’s radiance.

He wishes he could see Peter smile one more time. He’s always loved Peter’s smiles.

But he can’t. Now, stranded here in a world that has let him down in the worst possible way, all he’s left with are memories, memories that have been tainted by an unfeeling report and car crash… drunk driver. An accident.

An accident.

God, it was an accident. Just an accident. How strange—laughable even, in a sick, twisted way—that being Spider-Man hadn’t killed the kid (his kid, Tony thinks of him as his), but that a car had.

How strange, Tony thinks, that after years and years of torment and heartbreak, after wilting under his father’s cruel (loveless) gaze and Stane’s betrayal (a betrayal years in the making) and Steve’s deception (his eyes void of recognition and warmth, his lips downturned, his voice silent as he turns away from Tony Stark for the last time and walks out of his life), it is this that breaks the great Tony Stark.

Except it isn’t strange at all. It isn’t strange when Tony lets himself dwell on Peter and the exact curve of his smile—shy and sweet and true—the sound of his high-pitched laughter (you sound constipated, Tony mocks, like a beached whale, and Peter shoves him away with yet another constipated laugh), the way he’d tuck himself into the loop of Tony’s arm when he’s feeling anxious, his eager demeanor and unashamed declarations of you’ve always been my hero, Mr. Stark. On the exact shade of Peter’s eyes—a warm hazelnut brown, like a mug of hot chocolate by the fireplace amidst the winter storm—on the shape of his birthmark, on the nervous stammer that often befalls him.

On his kindness and his thoughtfulness and the way he lives and loves and laughs without fear. On the light that shines so effortlessly from within him, threatening to blind Tony with its virtuous incandescence.

If he weren’t Iron Man, if FRIDAY weren’t keeping him safe and engulfed within his nitinol confines, Tony doesn’t think he’d be able to keep himself upright.

(If FRIDAY didn’t auto-lock the suit whenever he’s in it, Tony would gladly let himself fall.)

(Funny how Tony planned for nearly every eventuality.

Keyword: nearly.

He built Peter’s suit to be strong enough to withstand anything. He built the suit to protect the kid—just a kid—from Captain America himself, from alien weapons, from hundred-feet falls, from even the relentless cold.

He’s never once imagined he’d have to protect Peter from a drunk driver. And, well—

And if you died, I feel like that’s on me.)

:::

(In the end, it takes less than half an hour to fly to Midtown High in the Iron Man suit.

It’s twenty minutes of flight.

It’s an eternity of torture.)

:::

Tony Stark has always known three things for certain:

One: Howard Stark is an asshole.

Two: He will never be able to repent for all the deaths his weapons have caused. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many more people he saves, it will never be enough to erase his sins or wash the blood from his hands.

And three: If Peter Parker were to die, a part of Tony would die with him.

:::

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

#marvel #mcu #iron dad #irondad and spiderson #spiderman #iron man #peter parker #tony stark #marvel fanfiction #iron dad fanfiction #ned leeds #flash thompson #irondad angst #trope: presumed dead #faye writes

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