#Sandro Cavazza | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

superwholock36 · 3 months ago

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~ A Little Taste of Heaven ~ (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader) (5/10)

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🎵🎶Hold On Me • Kygo, Sandro Cavazza🎶🎵

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Warnings:Angst/Sad/Pain/humour/Action Summary: "Peter, MJ, and Ned discussed Blackout’s recent attacks on criminal bases linked to alien tech, brainstorming ways to uncover his motives, while Ned hyped his mysterious neighbour. Meanwhile, [Name] and Megan analyzed footage of Spider-Man’s battle with Blackout, recognizing a green energy pulse matching flashes [Name] had seen while flying to Manhattan, suspecting Blackout had practiced his attacks. Megan suggested checking public records for overlooked patterns. Later, Megan teased [Name] about her relationship with Peter, who frequently disappears for “emergencies,” leaving [Name] feeling frustrated but still wanting to be a priority."

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Peter jogged quickly through the busy streets, dodging pedestrians and muttering to himself. “Really? Of course. Everything was going great—amazing food, [Name] was smiling, and now this. Just typical.” He ducked into an alleyway, his nerves jittering as the weight of the emergency settled on his shoulders.

Glancing around, he made sure the coast was clear before yanking his backpack off and unzipping it. He groaned softly as he pulled out the Spider-Man suit. “Yup, glamorous life, right here,” he mumbled, kicking off his shoes and stuffing his regular clothes into the bag. “One day—just one day—I’ll get through dinner without something blowing up.”

Webbing the backpack securely to the wall above a dumpster, he pointed at it with a mock stern look. “Stay put, buddy. Don’t let anyone mess with you. We’ve been through too much.” He sighed, pulling the mask over his face and launching himself upward in one smooth motion.

Swinging between buildings, the rush of air hit his face as neon signs blurred below. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he called, the usual adrenaline kicking in despite his frustration. “Hudson Yards—what’s the situation?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice chimed calmly in his ear. “Visuals incoming, sir.”

A projection flickered in front of him, showing aerial shots of Hudson Yards. As the images zoomed in, Peter’s stomach dropped—he knew that figure. Clad in black armour with glowing highlights, the villain stood atop a building, a twisted hoverboard at his feet. It was the same guy he’d run into that morning—a chance encounter that ended in a narrow escape and the promise of “next time.”

“Well,” Peter muttered to himself, his grip tightening on his web-shooters, “looks like it’s next time. Time to kick this guy’s butt.”

The projection shifted, showing the villain hurling something high into the air. The glowing orb detonated mid-flight, scattering sparks and debris across the street below. Peter winced as people scrambled to safety. “Bombs. Really? That’s his thing? Super original.”

Adjusting his swing, he narrowed his eyes as he approached the scene. “Okay, Parker. You know the deal—black armour, hoverboard, big scary bombs. You’ve got this. Just don’t let him blow up the city. Again.”

Landing on a rooftop nearby, he crouched low, his pulse quickening as F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice chimed again. “Hudson Yards perimeter is being evacuated. NYPD response en route.”

“Good,” Peter muttered, his focus narrowing in on the villain as another energy bomb shattered a nearby billboard. “Because I’m so done with this guy.” With one last breath, he shot a web toward the chaos below, diving headfirst into the action.

Swinging high above the city, Peter couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped him. “Man, Parker, you really outdid yourself tonight,” he muttered under his breath, flipping mid-air to shoot another web. “First date—uh, dinner! Not even technically a date or was it a date?—and you still managed to blow it. Well done.”

As he soared past the glowing city skyline, he groaned, feeling the guilt twist his stomach. “And I didn’t even think she’d say yes. Like, it took all my courage just to ask, and she actually said yes—and I somehow thought I’d get the evening off from all this Spider-Man stuff. But nooooo, Mister Tall, Dark, and Hoverboard just had to show up!”

He swung lower, catching sight of the gleaming Hudson Yards buildings in the distance. The weight of the evening pressed harder as the thoughts kept coming. “Okay, new plan: I’ll make it up to her. Flowers? Do people still do flowers? Or—oh! A bear! Like one of those big, fluffy ones. Would she like that? Probably. Who doesn’t like bears?”

He let out a sigh mid-swing, twisting to avoid a billboard. “Ugh, Parker. You’re overthinking this. Just survive this first, then figure out how to not be the worst dinner companion in the world.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s calm voice interrupted his spiralling thoughts. “Peter, updated visuals incoming.”

The projection reappeared in his field of view, zooming in on the villain perched menacingly atop a skyscraper. Another glowing green orb left his hand, arcing through the sky before detonating in a violent explosion. The blast lit up the night, scattering debris onto the streets below.

Peter winced, narrowing his eyes. “Okay. That’s enough showboating for one evening.” He adjusted his web-shooters, his grip tightening as he shot toward the chaos ahead. The humour in his voice was replaced with quiet determination as he muttered to himself, “Game face on, Parker.”

Landing on a nearby rooftop, Peter crouched low, gripping the edge tightly as his pulse quickened. Below, the villain launched another energy bomb, the blast rattling the glass windows of the building Peter was perched on.

“Hudson Yards perimeter evacuated. NYPD are establishing a containment zone,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him.

Peter nodded, his jaw setting as his focus locked on the villain. “Good. Let’s shut this guy down before he takes out the whole block.” With a deep breath, he launched himself into the air, heading straight for the fight.

Peter landed on a rooftop just a short distance away from the black-armoured figure, the soles of his suit's boots skidding slightly against the concrete. He straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his gloves with exaggerated nonchalance. “So,” he called out, his voice echoing against the surrounding buildings, “we meet again. Let me guess—you forgot to RSVP to the hero-villain convention this morning?”

The villain didn’t turn at first, seemingly more interested in adjusting one of the glowing green energy bombs in his hand. The hum of his hoverboard filled the air as it hovered ominously beneath him. Finally, he glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable beneath the dark visor. “You’re so predictable,” the villain said, his tone low and unimpressed. “Swinging in at the last second, cracking jokes no one asked for. Do you ever shut up?”

Peter put his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. “Not really my style. I’m more of a ‘talk through my problems’ kind of guy.” He gestured toward the energy bomb the villain was holding. “Speaking of, that thing? Not exactly neighbour-friendly. You planning to return your hoverboard to the store and call it a night, or are we doing this?”

The villain turned fully now, his armour glinting menacingly in the city lights. He tilted his head, almost as if amused. And hurled the glowing green bomb high into the air. It detonated with a deafening boom, sending shockwaves through the area.

Peter stumbled slightly from the force, steadying himself as debris rained down in the distance. He clenched his fists, his usual playful tone fading into quiet determination. “Alright, game face, Parker,” he muttered to himself.

“Let’s dance.”

The villain didn’t bother with a response, simply hurling one of the glowing green bombs in Peter’s direction with a sharp flick of his wrist. Peter’s Spider-Sense tingled, and he instinctively launched a web, catching the bomb mid-arc and yanking it upward into the sky. The explosion boomed harmlessly above the rooftops, scattering sparks like fireworks.

“Whoa!” Peter called, twisting to avoid debris. “Could we maybe not? I just got this suit cleaned!”

The villain tilted his head slightly, as though mocking Peter’s effort. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he shot forward, his hoverboard’s air compressors roaring to life. Peter barely had time to brace himself before the villain lunged, delivering a sharp kick aimed directly at Peter’s chest.

Peter crossed his arms defensively, blocking the hit and skidding back a few feet from the sheer force of it. But before he could recover, the villain flipped in mid-air, bringing his other leg down in a full-force axe kick aimed for Peter’s head.

His Spider-Sense blared like an alarm, and Peter ducked just in time, the villain’s boot slicing through the air above him. “Man, someone’s been watching too many kung fu movies!” Peter quipped, rolling to the side as the villain landed with precision.

Springing to his feet, Peter swung his leg out in a sweeping motion, aiming to catch the villain off balance. But the black-armoured fighter leapt gracefully over Peter’s attack, landing just a step away with eerie ease. The hoverboard hissed as it moved back into place, its faint hum filling the air.

Peter straightened, glancing at the board and raising an eyebrow under his mask. “Okay, first of all, that’s cheating. Second of all—seriously, do you come with an instruction manual? Because I’m gonna need a guide to keep up.”

The villain didn’t answer, simply reaching for another glowing orb, a faint chuckle emanating from his helmet. Peter crouched again, his web-shooters primed. His mind raced, every muscle tensed as he prepared for the next move.

"You can’t catch me, little spider,” the villain said, his voice distorted through the helmet, low and almost amused.

Peter narrowed his eyes under the mask, his jaw tightening. “Watch me,” he shot back, firing a web at the villain’s chest with precision. But before the web could reach, the villain surged forward, his hoverboard roaring to life as he darted through the air like a bullet.

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Peter yelped as the villain slammed into him mid-swing. Peter barely had time to register the hit before the villain gripped him by the arm and dragged him downward. They careened along the side of a skyscraper, the force of the descent leaving a trail of shattered windows and twisted metal in their wake.

Peter twisted desperately in the villain’s grip, glass slicing against his suit and sending sharp jolts of pain through his ribs. “Not cool, dude! NOT COOL!” he yelled, each impact against the building leaving him more winded. “Like, did I accidentally insult your hoverboard? Is that why you’re mad?”

The villain didn’t respond, his grip vice-like as the hoverboard tilted sharply to the side, angling them closer to the ground. Peter’s mind raced as adrenaline surged through him. Spotting the corner of the building ahead, he acted fast. A quick shot of his web-shooter latched onto the edge, the line snapping taut as he yanked himself free with a forceful pull.

The sudden jerk sent Peter tumbling through the air, flipping twice before he landed hard on a rooftop nearby. He hit the concrete with a grunt, the impact sending a sharp sting through his already aching ribs. Gasping for breath, he clutched his side, his chest heaving. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, trying to push himself upright. “This is fine. Totally fine. I just need to… not die.”

Above him, the villain hovered menacingly, his black armour glinting against the city lights. A faint hum signalled the activation of another glowing green bomb. With a casual flick of his wrist, the villain sent the orb hurtling toward Peter with alarming accuracy.

Peter’s Spider-Sense flared, and he rolled instinctively, the bomb detonating just inches from where he had been. The explosion rattled the rooftop, spraying debris and shards of glass in every direction. Peter scrambled behind an AC unit for cover, wincing as small chunks of concrete struck his shoulders.

“Seriously?” he called out, his voice muffled by the mask. “Don’t you have, like, hobbies? A Netflix account? Maybe a book club? Why all this aggression, man?”

The villain chuckled lowly, the sound distorted through his helmet. “The only thing I’m interested in is crushing you, little spider.”

Peter grimaced, shaking the dust off his suit as he stood. “Yeah, well, join the club. It’s getting kinda crowded these days.” He stretched his shoulders, rolling his neck as determination replaced the exhaustion in his posture. “Let’s do this.”

The villain wasted no time, darting toward Peter with a burst of speed, the hoverboard slicing through the air. Peter shot a web toward a nearby crane, pulling himself into a high flip to dodge the attack. Twisting mid-air, he fired two more webs at the villain in quick succession, aiming for his legs.

The villain twisted effortlessly on his board, evading the strands with a sharp turn. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” he taunted, hurling another bomb toward Peter. Peter spun out of the way, the bomb detonating against the crane he had just used. “Okay, first off,” Peter said, landing lightly on a rooftop ledge, “rude. Second—do you buy these things in bulk, or are you just, like, ridiculously rich?”

Ignoring the comment, the villain shot forward again, this time swinging his leg in a powerful kick aimed at Peter’s chest. Peter blocked the attack with his forearm, the force of it making him skid back slightly. Before he could counter, the villain flipped smoothly, bringing his other leg down in a deadly arc.

Peter’s Spider-Sense screamed, and he ducked low just in time, the villain’s foot whizzing past his head. “Okay, Karate Kid!” Peter quipped, rolling to the side. “We get it—you’ve got moves. No need to flex!”

Springing back to his feet, Peter fired another web at a nearby light pole, using it to slingshot himself toward the villain. As he swung past, he aimed a kick at the hoverboard, narrowly missing as the villain tilted it sideways to dodge. Landing in a crouch, Peter huffed in frustration. “Alright, Parker,” he muttered to himself, adjusting his stance, “third time’s the charm. Let’s make this count.”

Peter crouched low, keeping his eyes locked on the villain. “Alright, buddy,” he muttered under his breath, a determined grin creeping onto his face beneath the mask. “Let’s see how you handle this.”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he fired a web at the hoverboard, attaching it to the rooftop edge behind him. Then, with a deep breath, he bungeed himself forward, feet first, aiming directly for the villain. The impact hit hard. Peter’s boots slammed into the villain’s chest, knocking him off balance and launching him backward. The hoverboard wobbled violently before spinning out, crashing against the side of the building. “Yes!” Peter cheered, landing in a crouch. “How’s that for predictable?”

But his victory was short-lived. The villain twisted mid-air with unnerving grace, landing on his feet as if the ground had been expecting him. “You should know by now,” the villain said coolly, brushing off his chest plate, “I always land on my feet.”

Peter groaned. “Cool. Great. Love that for you.”

The two charged at each other, fists flying. Peter ducked under a brutal right hook, countering with a quick jab to the villain’s side. His Spider-Sense tingled as the villain swung again, and Peter twisted just in time, narrowly avoiding a direct hit. “Man,” Peter quipped, dodging another punch with ease, “you should really enter MMA. Or, like, one of those ninja obstacle course shows. You’d kill it.”

Feeling the adrenaline surge, Peter blocked another strike and managed to land a solid kick to the villain’s chest, sending him stumbling back. “This is going better than I thought,” Peter said aloud, his confidence bubbling up. He hopped lightly on his feet, throwing a playful jab into the air. “I mean, I don’t want to jinx it, but I’m kind of crushing it right now.”

But just as the words left his mouth, the villain’s armour bracer began to hum. Peter’s instincts screamed at him, but he was a second too late. The bracer pulsed open, unleashing a sudden, concussive energy blast that hit Peter square in the chest. The force was overwhelming, hurling him backward as the world tilted violently around him.

Peter’s body slammed into the edge of the rooftop, his head hitting hard against the concrete ledge. His vision blurred, black spots dancing in and out as his limbs went numb. “Ow,” he croaked weakly, his voice barely audible as the world spun.

As the spinning threatened to drag him further into the haze, Peter’s instincts kicked in. His left hand reached out blindly, fingers fumbling against the rough surface of the wall until they found purchase. With a strained effort, he clung to the wall, his breaths ragged and shallow. His ribs ached, his head throbbed, and his suit was scraped and torn in more places than he cared to count.

“Okay,” he muttered weakly, blinking through the haze clouding his vision. “That was… not my best moment.”

Above him, the villain stood on the edge of the rooftop, his silhouette framed by the flickering glow of the city lights. The hoverboard hummed softly as it hovered back into place beneath him. Peter squinted, his vision still swimming, as the villain turned his head slightly, almost as if to glance down at him.

“You’re persistent,” the villain said, his voice calm and cold. “I’ll give you that. But persistence doesn’t win wars.”

Peter groaned, fumbling to pull himself further up onto the wall. “Yeah, well, neither does being a total jerk,” he shot back, his voice strained but still laced with defiance. “Seriously, what’s your deal? Did someone steal your lunch money or something?”

The villain didn’t respond. Instead, he raised his arm, pressing a hidden panel on his bracer. A faint series of beeps echoed through the air, and Peter’s Spider-Sense flared to life, sharper and more urgent than ever before.

“Oh no,” Peter whispered, his eyes widening as he realized what was happening. From the corners of his vision, he caught sight of small, glowing devices embedded in the surrounding buildings—devices he hadn’t noticed before. One by one, they began to pulse with an ominous green light.

The villain stepped onto his hoverboard, his posture relaxed as he glanced back at Peter. “You should’ve stayed down, little spider,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “Now watch your city burn.”

With that, he pressed another button, and the explosives detonated in unison. The blasts ripped through the buildings around them, sending shockwaves that shattered windows and ignited flames. The night sky lit up with fiery explosions, thick black smoke curling into the air as debris rained down onto the streets below.

Peter’s heart sank as he watched the destruction unfold in slow motion. His body screamed in protest as he swung himself onto a nearby ledge, barely managing to avoid a falling chunk of concrete. “No, no, no!” he shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

The villain’s silhouette disappeared into the smoke as he ascended on his hoverboard, the faint hum of the engine fading into the chaos. Peter tried to focus, but his head throbbed painfully, black spots blurring his vision as he stumbled forward. His foot slipped and he tumbled over, the world spinning violently around him.

As he fell, the wind rushed past him, and his mind struggled to stay conscious. His head throbbed with the impact just moments ago, and his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. The last thing he saw before his vision flickered out was the skyline ablaze, the flames reflecting off the shattered glass like a twisted mosaic.

“Parker!” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. “Peter! Wake up! You’re falling—Peter!”

The sound jolted him just enough. His fingers twitched, and with the last ounce of strength he could muster, he fired a web toward a nearby art building. The line snapped taut, halting his descent just as the ground loomed dangerously close. The force of the swing sent him crashing into the side of 'said' building, but it was enough to stop him from falling further.

Dangling from the web, Peter gasped for air, his chest heaving as he tried to process what had just happened. The city around him was in chaos, the flames and smoke painting a grim picture against the night sky. “Okay,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. “That… sucked.”

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The city blurred beneath him, streaks of firelight and thick smoke painting the skyline in chaotic swirls. Peter swung through the destruction, his grip on his web-shooters faltering slightly as his vision swayed. Each swing jolted his aching ribs, and the throbbing in his head made the world tilt dangerously.

“Parker,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice chimed in his ear, calm but firm. “You may have a concussion. I recommend immediate medical attention.”

Peter hummed weakly in response, the sound halfway between agreement and resignation. “Yeah,” he mumbled, wincing as he shot another web to keep himself moving. “No kidding, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Feels like I got hit by a hoverboard or something. Oh wait—”

The AI didn’t respond to his attempt at humour, and Peter sighed. “Okay. New plan: Ned’s place. Closer than my apartment. Less swinging. Fewer windows to crash into.”

He adjusted his trajectory, forcing himself to focus despite the spinning in his head. His chest ached with every movement, and his web-shooters felt heavier in his hands than ever before. As the familiar outline of Ned’s apartment complex came into view, Peter felt a wave of relief—quickly overshadowed by the overwhelming weight of guilt.

He landed on a lamppost a block away, crouching unsteadily as he surveyed the scene. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving. The explosions still echoed in his ears, the sight of burning buildings and terrified civilians burned into his memory. “All of that,” he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse, “because I couldn’t stop him. Because I got cocky.”

Shaking off the thought, he swung the last few meters to the fire escape of Ned’s building. His grip on the rail slipped as he landed with a thud, and he had to clutch the edge tightly to steady himself. Climbing up felt like moving through molasses, each step sending jolts of pain through his battered body.

“Come on, Parker,” he muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself higher. “Just a few more steps. You’ve faced a vulture, a guy with drones, and now some hoverboard psycho. A fire escape shouldn’t be this hard.”

The world blurred again as he reached Ned’s window, his fingers fumbling against the frame. He knocked softly, the sound weaker than he intended. “Ned,” he called out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please be home, buddy.”

Peter slumped against the wall, clinging to the fire escape rail for support. The distant sound of sirens echoed through the city, a reminder of the chaos he’d just left behind. “Please,” he mumbled again, his eyelids growing heavier by the second.

Peter’s grip on the fire escape railing weakened further as the exhaustion pressed heavily on him. His eyelids fluttered, the world slipping in and out of focus. The city sounds faded into muffled hums, the distant chaos of sirens and crackling flames growing fainter by the second. He mumbled something incoherent, his head dipping forward as his vision darkened.

The faint sound of a window creaking open broke through the haze. Peter barely registered the gasp that followed, sharp and filled with shock. “Peter?! Oh my—hold on, buddy!” Ned’s voice came through, frantic and loud, slicing through the fog clouding Peter’s mind.

Before Peter could respond, he felt hands tugging at him—strong but trembling. Ned leaned through the window, grabbing Peter under his arms and pulling him forward with a panicked burst of energy. “Come on, man, stay with me! You’re not doing this right now, okay? Not tonight!” Ned rambled, his voice shaking as he struggled to pull Peter fully inside.

Peter’s body felt limp, his head lolling against Ned’s shoulder as his friend dragged him onto the apartment floor. His breathing was uneven, and his suit was a mess—scraped, torn, and faintly smeared with soot and blood. Ned knelt beside him, shaking him lightly. “Hey, hey! Peter! Say something! Anything! You’re freaking me out!”

Peter blinked slowly, his vision still swimming, but the familiar warmth of Ned’s voice anchored him just enough to mumble, “…Hey, Ned.”

Ned let out a shaky laugh, his relief palpable. “Okay, okay, good. You’re alive. That’s a start. But seriously, dude, what happened to you? You look like you went three rounds with Thor and lost.”

Peter hummed faintly, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. “Close enough… hoverboard guy,” he managed weakly, his voice barely audible.

Ned’s expression shifted from relief to alarm. “Hoverboard guy? What does that even mean? You—ugh, okay, doesn’t matter right now. You’re staying here, you’re not moving, and I’m getting you water. Lots of water. You look like you need an entire bathtub full of water.”

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Peter blinked against the intrusive brightness of the ceiling light, the sharpness of it cutting through the haze clouding his mind. His head throbbed relentlessly, each pulse a reminder of the concussion he hadn’t quite shaken off. Squinting, he turned his head slightly, the dull ache in his neck making the motion feel sluggish and weighted.

Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he shifted on the bed, the sheets tangled awkwardly around his legs. Pain radiated from what felt like every inch of him—his ribs, his arms, his back. His fingers grazed over a bandage on his cheek, and he winced slightly.

“Great,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse, barely audible even to himself. “Feeling… just great.”

He closed his eyes again, trying to let the pounding in his skull subside. That’s when he heard it—soft, muffled voices coming from the other side of the closed bedroom door. One of them was unmistakably Ned’s. The other… softer, familiar.

Peter furrowed his brow, his head swimming as he tried to focus. The edges of the conversation blurred, the sound too faint to pick up the words. The voice spoke again, clear enough this time to make his chest tighten. For one surreal moment, he thought he heard her voice.

“[Name]?” he croaked breathlessly, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound came out weak, rasped by exhaustion and pain. It wasn’t loud enough to carry, not through the door or over the voices in the living room.

Peter tried to push himself up, palms pressing against the mattress, but his arms gave out almost instantly. He collapsed back down with a sharp gasp, the sudden motion sending fresh jolts of pain through his ribs. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sitting up? Bad idea. Great. Awesome.”

As he lay there catching his breath, the faint hum of voices cut out, replaced by the sound of the front door opening—and then closing. Silence followed, save for the faint ringing in his ears.

Summoning what little strength he had left, Peter rolled onto his side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet touched the floor, and he swayed unsteadily as he stood, clutching onto the nearest surface for balance. “You can do this, Parker,” he whispered under his breath, shuffling toward the door. “Just… don’t fall over again.”

He made it to the living room, one hand braced against the wall to steady himself. Ned was perched on the couch, scrolling through his phone, but when he looked up and saw Peter, his eyes widened in pure shock.

“Peter! Dude!” Ned exclaimed, practically leaping to his feet. “What the heck are you doing up? You’re supposed to be resting! Do you have any idea how bad you looked last night? I mean, you still look bad now, but—”

Peter waved a hand weakly, cutting him off. “I’m fine, Ned,” he lied, his voice still strained. “Just… needed to see what was going on. Heard voices. Who was that?”

Ned blinked, his concern softening into mild confusion. “What? No, that wasn’t anyone important. It was just the woman from 4A. She brought me cookies as a thanks for keeping her parcel safe.”

Peter, still clutching the wall for balance, stared at Ned as though he’d misheard him. “Cookies?” he croaked, his voice raspy from the effort of standing. Slowly, he shuffled toward the couch, letting himself collapse onto it with a heavy sigh. “Man… you’ve got… great neighbours.”

Ned stared at Peter for a moment, his alarm quickly overtaking his earlier confusion. He rushed over, leaning down with wide eyes.

“Dude. Are you okay? You look terrible. No offense, but like… you seriously need medical help. I mean, I can probably Google stuff, but—”

Peter groaned softly, waving a hand to cut Ned off. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, leaning his head back against the cushions. “Just… tired. You know, whole… falling-off-a-building thing. Really takes it out of you.”

Ned frowned, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Tired? You have a concussion, and you’re covered in bruises! I think you’ve passed tired, like, ten exits ago.”

Peter chuckled weakly, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment. “I’ll heal, Ned. Perks of… spider powers and all that."

Ned folded his arms, looking skeptical. “Spider powers are great and all, but you also look like you’ve been run over by, like… a semi-truck with laser cannons. You’re not moving from that couch, man. Rest. Water. No superhero-ing for at least a week.”

Peter hummed faintly in response, too drained to argue. For now, staying on the couch wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later Peter sat on his couch, his phone balanced precariously on his knee as he adjusted the camera angle. His apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the background. He’d managed to recover enough to leave Ned’s place, but the bruise on his cheek and the cut on his nose were still stubbornly visible—a telltale reminder of the chaos he'd been through.

The FaceTime call connected, and [Name]’s face appeared on the screen, her expression instantly morphing into concern. “Peter!” she said, leaning closer as if she could reach through the screen to him.

“Are you okay? What happened to your face? You look—” she paused, her brow furrowing, “you look hurt.”

Peter felt the pang of guilt as her worried gaze lingered on him. “Hey! Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Totally fine,” he said quickly, though his voice lacked the convincing energy he hoped it would have. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose lightly, immediately regretting the sting it sent through his skin. “It’s nothing, really. Just a dumb accident—tripped at the tower. Floors are slippery, y’know?”

Her skepticism was evident in the slight narrowing of her eyes, but she chose not to press him. Instead, her tone softened. “If you say so… I just hope you’re okay. You scared me a little, Peter.” His heart sank at her words, but he managed a sheepish smile.

“Scared you? Nah, I’m fine. It’s just, uh, one of those days” He hesitated for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Actually, speaking of days… I was wondering if maybe we could have a do-over on dinner? Tomorrow night?”

The concern on her face gave way to a small, tentative smile. “Dinner?” she asked, her voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “You mean, actually stay in one place and not rush off?”

Peter laughed lightly, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s the plan. No work emergencies, no disappearing acts, just… dinner. I promise.”

She considered him for a moment, then nodded softly. “Okay, Peter. Tomorrow night it is. Just don’t trip over anything on the way there, alright?”

His grin widened, relief washing over him as he nodded eagerly. “Deal. No tripping. I’ll even wear my non-slip shoes.”

The night couldn’t have gone any better. Peter flopped onto his bed, phone in hand, the remnants of a grin still lingering on his face. Dinner had gone perfectly—for once, no sudden emergencies or hasty goodbyes. It had been… nice. Normal, even. He was still recovering from the chaos of the past few weeks, but tonight felt like a rare moment of calm.

The familiar FaceTime ringtone broke through his thoughts, and Peter quickly hit accept. [Name]’s face appeared on the screen, her smile warm as she adjusted her phone. “Hey,” she said softly, “made it home okay?”

Peter nodded, shifting slightly so the camera didn’t catch the faint bruise on his cheek or the cut on the bridge of his nose. “Hey. Yeah, I did. No trips or falls this time!” he joked, giving her a playful smirk. “How about you? Home safe?”

She laughed softly, her voice easing some of the lingering tension he hadn’t realized was still in his chest. “Yeah, no disasters for me either. Tonight was really nice, Peter. I had a great time.”

Peter’s grin widened, warmth blooming in his chest. “Me too. It was just… it was kind of perfect, honestly.” He leaned back a little, his tone softening. “I’m really glad we got to do this.”

Her smile softened in response. “Me too,” she said, her sincerity clear. “But… are you sure you’re okay?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, but his smile didn’t waver. “I’m fine, really. It’s just been one of those weeks, you know? Nothing I can’t handle.” He rubbed the back of his neck lightly, glancing at her with a slightly sheepish expression. “But tonight made everything feel better.”

She studied him for a moment before nodding, her concern giving way to a warm, understanding smile. “Alright. Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself, okay?”

Peter chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let her reassurance settle over him. “I will. I promise. And thanks—for tonight. It really was great.”

“Goodnight,” she said gently.

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as the call ended. He set his phone down and exhaled deeply, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time in weeks, things felt… steady. And for now, that was enough.

________________________________

Peter felt the irony hit him like a brick wall, as if the universe itself had overheard his moment of optimism and decided to mess with him. Saying there would be no more interruptions had to be the jinx of the century. The following week was a blur of high hopes, low apologies, and more chaos than he'd care to admit. Out of the five dinner dates he’d planned with [Name], only two had gone uninterrupted.

The other three? Well, those ended with hurried excuses about "work emergencies," sheepish smiles, and him disappearing before dessert. Blackout wasn’t just a media sensation; he was quickly becoming Peter’s personal arch-nemesis. Every time Peter thought he had a moment to himself, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice chimed in with another alert: Blackout activity reported. And every time, Peter knew he couldn’t ignore it—no matter how much he wanted to stay.

It didn’t help that the press was eating up Blackout’s antics, dubbing him the “Voltage Void.” Headlines splashed with photos of smouldering buildings and grim accounts of his precision strikes weighed heavily on Peter’s mind. Blackout wasn’t just a typical villain.

He was calculated, deliberate, and impossible to pin down. Every encounter ended with the same result: Peter walking away bruised and battered, while Blackout vanished into the night without a trace.

Peter couldn’t help but feel the guilt creeping in. Every time he saw the flicker of disappointment in [Name]’s eyes when he rushed off, it twisted the knife a little deeper. She never questioned his vague excuses—always said she understood—but he could tell the constant interruptions were starting to wear thin.

One night, after another missed dinner and another gruelling fight with Blackout, Peter sat on the edge of his bed, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. His fingers hovered over her number, debating whether to call. He wanted to explain—really explain—but the words felt impossible. How could he tell her the truth when it put her in danger? How could he keep this balancing act going without losing everything in the process?

His thumb tapped the screen, pulling up their recent messages. She’d texted him after dinner: It’s okay, Peter. We’ll figure this out. Simple, kind, and full of the understanding he probably didn’t deserve.

Peter let out a heavy sigh, tossing his phone onto the bed beside him. The city wasn’t going to save itself, and as much as he wanted to believe things would get easier, Blackout had proven otherwise. The real question was how long he could keep juggling Spider-Man, [Name], and the chaos without everything coming crashing down.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Peter sat cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, still in sweats and an old t-shirt that he probably should’ve retired years ago. He leaned against the couch, a pillow hugged tightly to his chest. Ned was sprawled on the couch above him, munching on a handful of chips, while MJ sat perched on the armrest, scrolling through something on her phone with her usual nonchalant expression.

"Okay," MJ started, breaking the comfortable silence, "we need to talk about this Blackout guy. Like, seriously. Because, no offense, but you look like a punching bag that fought back."

Peter sighed, glancing down at the faint bruise still visible on his forearm. "I’m fine, okay? It’s just… he’s tough. And the disappearing act thing? Really not helping."

"Not helping you stay in one piece, that’s for sure," Ned chimed in, tossing a chip into his mouth. "Every time you come back, it’s like… ‘Hey, guys, I fought Blackout again, and oh, look!, here’s another bruise for the collection.’"

Peter frowned, though there was no real sting to Ned’s teasing. “It’s not like I enjoy getting tossed around, okay? The guy’s good. And that suit of his? It’s insane.”

MJ leaned forward slightly, her usual deadpan expression softening with concern. “Pete, it’s not just that you’re bruised up all the time. You’re exhausted. You look like you haven’t slept in, I don’t know, ever?”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, his phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table. The sound cut through the conversation like a knife, and both MJ and Ned immediately looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Uh…” Peter reached for the phone, fumbling slightly before glancing at the screen. “It’s just a quick call,” he said, standing up and backing toward the kitchen. “Be right back.”

“Sure,” MJ said dryly, exchanging a glance with Ned. “Just a quick call. Super casual. Totally not suspicious.”

Peter ignored the comment as he answered the call, keeping his voice low and disappearing around the corner. Ned and MJ stayed behind, sharing a look.

"You think it’s about Blackout?” Ned whispered, leaning closer.

MJ shrugged, though her gaze lingered on the spot where Peter had stood. “I don’t know, but I’m guessing he won’t tell us unless we press him. Which, for the record, we should.”

When Peter finally returned a couple of minutes later, they pounced.

“Alright, spill,” MJ said, crossing her arms and fixing him with an expectant look. “Who was that?”

Peter blinked, glancing between the two of them before awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, uh… yeah, about that… I, uh, kinda forgot to mention something,” he said sheepishly, his voice trailing off.

MJ raised an eyebrow. “Forgot to mention what, exactly?”

Peter sighed, running a hand down his face. “You guys remember a couple of weeks ago, when I um.. webbedthatgirltothewall-”

Ned’s eyes went wide, a mix of disbelief and excitement lighting up his expression. “-No way. You found her?”

Peter sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, well remember where I had a moan about it.. then I had to bail on our hangout because Tony messaged me to head to the tower?”

Ned paused mid-chip, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course."

Burying his face in his hands. “Okay, well… on the way there, I kinda—ran into someone. Literally. Like, full-on bumped into her because I wasn’t paying attention.”

Ned perked up, already sensing where this was going. “Wait, wait, hold on. Are you saying that... The same person you bumped into is the same woman you WEBBED to the wall!?”

Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced down at the floor. “Yeah. That’s her. We’ve kind of, uh…” He coughed awkwardly, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Had a few dinner… dates.”

MJ quirked an eyebrow, her smirk bordering on mischievous. “Dates, Parker? You’re actually managing dates in between getting tossed around by Blackout? That’s ambitious.”

Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face

“Don’t make it sound like I’m juggling circus acts, okay? She’s nice. I really like her. But every time we’re actually having a good time, F.R.I.D.A.Y. decides to chime in with Blackout activity. And then I have to leave. It’s like clockwork!” He flopped back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, gotta go deal with… my work emergency.’ It’s the worst.”

Ned leaned forward, frowning slightly. “And you feel guilty about it? Like… you think she’s gonna stop saying yes?”

Peter nodded, his frustration clear. “Yeah, obviously. I mean, she says she understands, but I can see it, you know? That look. The one that says, ‘Why do you keep doing this?’ She’s never said it, but I know it’s there. And I don’t blame her. I mean, who wants to go out with the guy who keeps bailing during dessert?”

MJ crossed her arms, her tone leveling out as she gave Peter a pointed look. “Okay, here’s the thing. Either you figure out how to juggle this better—without ditching her half the time—or you’re gonna have to be upfront with her about why you keep disappearing. Not the whole truth, obviously. But enough that she doesn’t think you’re running off to, like, join an underground poker game.”

Peter stared at her, wide-eyed. “What do you mean, be upfront? Like… give her details? That’s… I can’t. You guys know I can’t.”

Ned shrugged, trying to balance sympathy with practicality. “MJ’s got a point, man. If she’s sticking around after all these interruptions, she probably likes you enough to want answers. And you don’t have to tell her the Spider-Man part. Just… come up with something semi-believable.”

Peter groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “Like what? What even sounds semi-believable?”

MJ smirked faintly. “Anything’s better than ‘work emergency.’ Seriously, Pete. You’ve used that excuse like a hundred times. At this point, she probably thinks you’re secretly in the mafia.” Peter snorted despite himself, glancing between the two of them.

“Thanks for the help, guys. Really. You’re making me feel so much better.”

Ned grinned, nudging MJ lightly. “Hey, we’re just saying—you’ve got options. Just don’t overthink it. She likes you enough to keep showing up, right? That’s gotta count for something.”

Peter sighed, his expression softening as he nodded slightly. “Yeah. You’re right. She does.”

MJ gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Then don’t let Blackout mess this up for you. Figure it out. That’s kind of your thing.”

Ned perked up, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Hey, you know what might help? Flowers. Like, big gesture, totally classic. Everyone loves flowers.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a faint smile despite his frustration. “Flowers, huh? You think that’ll make up for me running off three times in the middle of dinner?”

MJ shrugged, smirking. “It’s a start. You’ve got this charming, awkward thing going on, Parker. Pair that with flowers, and it might buy you some goodwill.”

Peter laughed softly, shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll think about it. Thanks, guys. You’re oddly invested in my love life.”

“Of course we are,” Ned said enthusiastically. “You’re living out the rom-com none of us knew we needed.”

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was about to change the subject when MJ turned to Ned with an inquisitive look. “By the way, how’s everything going with your cool neighbour? You’ve mentioned her, like, twice now.”

Peter perked up, lowering his hands. “Wait, the one that leaves you baked goods?"

Ned nodded, grinning widely. “Yeah, that’s her! She’s awesome. Like, super clever. She wants to be a journalist, and she totally gets all my geeky jokes. Honestly, you guys have to meet her one day. I’ll organize a games night or something—you’ll love her.”

MJ raised an eyebrow, her intrigue growing. “A future journalist who laughs at your jokes? Sounds like she’s got the patience of a saint.”

Peter chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Sounds like you’ve got the best neighbour, Ned. Definitely beats mine. My neighbour just complains about my music being too loud.”

As laughter echoed between them, Peter’s phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the light-hearted moment like a cold knife. He froze mid-chuckle, his stomach twisting instinctively at the sound. Before he could reach for the device, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s calm voice filled the room. “Alert: News headline regarding Blackout activity detected. Showing details.”

Peter’s phone screen lit up as a notification popped up, the headline stark and urgent: “Voltage Void Strikes Again—Third Target in String of Mysterious Attacks”

MJ and Ned leaned forward, their expressions shifting from amused to serious as the headline caught their attention.

“Voltage Void?” MJ echoed, her brow furrowing. “Seriously, who picks a name like that? Not exactly subtle.”

Peter sighed, his tone weighted with frustration as he scrolled through the article. “The media’s going with it because he’s leaving places in the dark—literally. But this is the third place he’s hit, and no one knows why. It’s too scattered to figure out a pattern.”

Ned frowned, leaning closer to the screen. “Three places already? And these aren’t just random spots, right? What’s his deal?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded evenly, her tone crisp and professional. “The three locations targeted so far have been identified as bases operated by criminal entities. These groups are believed to be trafficking alien technology abandoned after the Chitauri invasion, as well as other unregistered tech.”

MJ crossed her arms, her expression sharp. “Wait, alien tech? That’s not your everyday street crime. This guy’s got a goal—something specific. He’s not just blowing through these places for fun.”

Peter nodded, his jaw tightening. “Exactly. He’s looking for something, but I can’t figure out what. Whatever it is, he’s doing everything in his power to get it.”

Ned leaned forward, excitement battling with concern. “Okay, okay, so if we know where he’s been, we can maybe figure out where he’s going next. Like, triangulate or something. What kind of tech was being trafficked at these places? That might give us a clue.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. “I don’t know. It’s all rumors—Chitauri tech, bits and pieces of who-knows-what. F.R.I.D.A.Y., is there any intel on this?”

“Reports indicate that the bases were believed to house various alien artifacts, alongside unconfirmed mentions of older Stark technology,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

MJ raised an eyebrow, her skepticism flashing. “Older Stark tech? That’s… interesting. But it still doesn’t explain what he’s after or why.”

Peter let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head. “I need to dig into this more. Maybe if I can figure out what tech was being moved through these places, I can piece together what he’s looking for. Right now, the locations are too random.”

Ned grinned faintly, his enthusiasm unshaken. “You’ve got this, dude. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

MJ smirked, though her tone carried an undercurrent of concern. “Just don’t forget you’ve got backup, Parker. You don’t have to face this guy on your own.”

Peter glanced between them, a small, grateful smile crossing his face. The stakes were growing, and Blackout—or Voltage Void, as the papers were now dubbing him—was still one step ahead. But with Ned and MJ in his corner, Peter felt a flicker of hope.

_________________________________________________________

The soft glow of warm lighting illuminated [Name]’s cozy apartment, where the coffee table was strewn with papers, clippings, and a well-worn notebook. Two glasses of wine sat amidst the organized chaos, one in Megan’s hand as she reclined in the armchair, the other next to [Name], who was cross-legged on the couch.

Megan plucked a new stack of clippings from her bag with a triumphant flourish. “Alright, you’re gonna love this—I dug up some fresh intel for the Spider-Man file.”

[Name] arched an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “Oh boy. More of your ‘in-depth investigative reporting’? Let’s see what you’ve got.”

With a smirk, Megan leaned forward, spreading out the clippings on the table. “Mock me all you want, but look at this—new reports from his recent battles. This guy, Voltage Void—or Blackout, whatever they’re calling him—has been giving Spider-Man serious trouble.”

[Name] frowned slightly, picking up one of the articles. “He’s hit three places already? That’s new. And these are… gang hideouts?”

“Apparently,” Megan said, swirling her wine thoughtfully. “The media doesn’t have much to go on yet, but Spider-Man’s involved every time. This Blackout guy seems like bad news, though. He’s methodical."

[Name] set the clipping down and shifted to her laptop, which was already open on the coffee table. Various tabs were running, ranging from news articles to conspiracy forums. She clicked on one, her expression thoughtful as she scrolled. “If Spider-Man’s crossing paths with him so much, then it’s not just random. Blackout isn’t just stirring up trouble—he’s looking for something.”

Megan tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “Looking for what? Like, some kind of treasure hunt for villains?”

[Name] shook her head slowly, her fingers drumming against her glass. “No, it’s more deliberate than that. Three bases hit—three criminal groups taken out—and no clear connection between them. He’s tearing through them like he’s searching for… something specific.”

Megan leaned back, sipping her wine thoughtfully. “Something specific, but what? Weapons? Money? Giant glowing space rocks?”

[Name] cracked a faint smile but didn’t look away from her laptop. “It’s hard to say. But if these bases had alien tech, like the articles are saying, then it’s got to be connected to that somehow. No one risks this much for nothing.”

Megan gestured to the screen. “Okay, so say you’re right. How does Spider-Man fit into it? You think he’s just trying to stop Blackout from wrecking everything?”

“Maybe,” [Name] said softly, her gaze fixed on a freeze-frame of Spider-Man from one of the recent battles. “Or maybe he’s trying to figure it out, just like we are.”

[Name] pushed herself up from the couch, the weight of the conversation lingering as she began to pace the length of her apartment. Her hand gripped her wine glass loosely, her gaze distant, like she was sifting through fragments of memories that refused to slot into place.

Megan, still lounging in the armchair, raised an eyebrow as she watched her. “You okay over there? You’re starting to pace like one of those cops in a detective show.”

“I’m fine,” [Name] muttered, more to herself than to Megan. She stopped mid-stride, staring out the window with furrowed brows. Her voice was quieter now, contemplative. “It’s just… I remember something.”

Megan tilted her head, curious. “From what?”

“That morning a few weeks ago,” [Name] said slowly, turning to look at her. “When I ran into all that chaos on the way to work. Blackout was there… throwing those bombs around.”

Megan straightened slightly, her interest piqued. “Wait, you never told me you were actually there for that! What happened?”

[Name] resumed pacing, her words coming more as muttered fragments. “The bombs weren’t… normal. I mean, they were loud and destructive, but when they went off, there was this green pulse. It wasn’t just light—it felt wrong, like it didn’t belong. I’ve seen that pulse before, but… I can’t remember where.”

Megan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Green pulse? That’s weird. Maybe it’s part of that alien tech everyone keeps whispering about?”

[Name] shook her head, frustration crossing her features. “I don’t know. But if I’ve seen it before, then it’s out there somewhere. Maybe there’s footage… something I missed.”

Setting her glass down, she grabbed her laptop from the coffee table and linked it to the TV. The screen flickered as YouTube loaded, rows of thumbnails displaying conspiracy videos and news coverage of Spider-Man’s battles. Scrolling quickly, her eyes landed on a video of J. Jonah Jameson, the title obnoxiously screaming: “Spider-Man FAILS AGAIN—Blackout Bests the Webhead!”

“Great,” [Name] muttered with a mix of sarcasm and annoyance as she clicked on the video. “Just what we need—Jameson’s two cents.”

The screen filled with Jameson’s animated gestures and grating voice, his commentary cutting through the room with its usual bombast. “…And look at this, folks! Your so-called hero, Spider-Man, getting tossed around like a rag doll! Courtesy of this new menace, Blackout—who, I might add, seems to have more brains and brawn than Spidey here could ever dream of!”

The clip showed Spider-Man mid-fight, narrowly dodging an attack before being flung back by a powerful blast of energy. [Name] ignored Jameson’s relentless ranting and paused the video, her finger hovering over the playback controls.

“There,” [Name] said, leaning forward as Megan inched closer to the screen. Her hand hovered over the trackpad as she slowed the video down further, frame by frame. The energy blast rippled out, vivid green pulses cutting through the smoke, lighting up the debris before Spider-Man was violently flung backward into a crumbling ledge.

Megan’s eyes widened as she pointed at the screen. “That’s the pulse, isn’t it? The same one you saw with the bombs?”

[Name] nodded slowly, her voice hushed. “Yeah… exactly the same. But this one—this one’s different. It’s stronger. Look at the way it shifts through the smoke—it’s almost… amplified.”

She replayed the moment again, her finger dragging the playback slider over and over as both women focused on the eerie green pulse. The room was quiet, save for the faint, distorted sound of the slowed footage echoing from the TV speakers.

Megan frowned, her brow knitting as she studied the image. “Stronger how? You think he’s testing something new?”

[Name] didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze remained locked on the screen, her mind racing, fragments of memory flickering like static.

The way the light from the blast danced through the smoke—sharp, vivid flashes of green. It tugged at something buried in her thoughts, something she’d seen before but couldn’t quite place. Until suddenly, it hit her.

Her breath caught, and she shot upright, her heart hammering. “Wait. I’ve seen this before.”

Megan blinked, startled by the sudden shift. “What? Where?”

[Name] barely heard her. She was already rushing to grab her phone from the coffee table, swiping frantically through her gallery. “When I was flying to Manhattan—when I was moving here. There were these… flashes outside the plane window. Green, just like this. I thought it was lightning at the time, but now…”

She found the video she’d taken, her fingers trembling slightly as she mirrored her phone to the TV. The screen lit up with grainy footage, the faint hum of the airplane audible beneath her voice narrating in the background. The shaky camera focused on storm clouds outside, but as the video played, the flashes of green light became unmistakable. Pulses, eerily similar to the ones in Blackout had, illuminated the sky for brief, haunting moments.

“There!” [Name] said, her voice breathless with realization. She paused the video on one of the brightest flashes, pointing to the screen. “Look! It’s the same. The same kind of pulse.”

Megan leaned closer, her eyes wide. “Oh my God. You’re right."

Her breath hitched as the realization hit her. “Wait. If he did this 2 months ago—over Manhattan—then maybe he’s practiced at other times too. What if no one’s connected the dots before?”

Megan sat up, her interest fully piqued. “Practicing? Like, he’s been testing whatever this is for months? That’s… actually really creepy. But if he’s done it before, there has to be something we missed, right?”

[Name] grabbed her glass from the table, her gaze shifting back to Megan. “That’s what I’m thinking. If he’s been doing this for a while, there might be a record of it—reports, sightings, even odd weather patterns.”

Megan’s eyes lit up with determination, and she leaned forward, setting her own glass aside. “Public records! If he’s been practicing, maybe there’s something buried in reports somewhere—complaints, power surges, weird sightings. We just need to dig through it.”

[Name] exhaled, the hint of a grin tugging at her lips despite the tension. “Alright, then. Let’s dig.”

Megan leaned back into the armchair, an amused smile dancing on her lips as she picked up [Name]’s near-empty wine glass. “Okay, detective, before you dive headfirst into a conspiracy deep-dive, let me at least refill this for you. You’re gonna need it.”

[Name] glanced up, momentarily pulled from her thoughts, and handed over the glass with a small, distracted smile. “Thanks, Meg.”

As Megan poured, she leaned slightly to the side, studying her friend with curious eyes. “So… I’ve gotta ask. What’s going on with you and the mystery guy up to these days? I feel like we haven’t had an update in, like, forever.”

[Name] sighed, running a hand through her hair before flopping onto the couch. “Oh! Where do I even start?”

"Uh-oh,” Megan said, her tone teasing as she handed back the full glass. “That’s not a great start. Is this about the ‘emergencies’ he’s always running off to?” She even threw in dramatic air quotes for emphasis.

[Name] let out a dry laugh, taking a long sip of her wine. “Ding, ding, ding! You guessed it. It’s just… frustrating, you know? I really like him—like, really like him. We FaceTime, we call, and when we’re actually together, it’s amazing. But then he always disappears, like clockwork, because of these ‘emergencies.’ And I get it, life happens, but…”

“But you want to be a priority,” Megan finished, nodding sympathetically. “Makes total sense.”

“Exactly,” [Name] said, setting her glass down with a faint clink. “It’s not even like I’m asking for much. I just want to feel like I’m worth staying for—just once.”

Megan gave her an encouraging nudge on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t sell yourself short. If he doesn’t wobble that head of his and realize how lucky he is, we’re going out, and I’m getting you laid. No arguments.”

[Name] burst out laughing, shaking her head as she tried to compose herself. “Oh my God, Megan. Subtle as ever.”

“What can I say?” Megan said with a smirk, raising her glass in a mock toast. “I’m a woman of action.”

_________________________________________________

Hey! Sorry this took so long to post! I hit a bit of a block because I knew where I wanted to take it, but I ended up rewriting it twice. It went in a completely different direction than I originally planned. Also, I didn’t mean to hurt Peter—it wasn’t intentional! Let me know what you think!

Also let me know if you want to be tagged!

Tag List: @elianamarie-blog @melgolbach

#peter parker #peter parker smut #reader imagine #spiderman #reader insert #tom holland imagine #peter x reader #marvel #fem reader #marvel insert #action #angst #sadgirl #tom holland x reader #tom holland

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