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#andrew garfield fanfiction
astranva · 1 year
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Andrew Garfield talking about his girlfriend for 8 minutes video
Word Count: 1.2k
Category: Fluff
Warning: None
Summary: A fan makes a YouTube video of Andrew Garfield talking about you for 8 minutes straight.
..
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When the news of you and Andrew dating got out three years ago, fans and the media had a field day.
It wasn’t because you were anyone famous—quite the opposite. Being someone with a normal job, you and Andrew had basked in finally going outside as a couple, and it was how adorable the pictures looked that had everyone freaking out.
One picture was of you laughing, Andrew’s arms around you from behind as he wrapped his coat around you as he wore it, a grin on his face.
Another picture was of you looking at him, eyes set on one another with his hands tangled in your hair, while the other was of him kissing you and despite the photo not being one in high quality, everyone could still see the small smirk he had as you kissed.
It was no surprise when fans posted edits of you together, and although the content they got was minimal, considering your lack of presence in interviews and public press, it was always a field day when you appeared beside him on a red carpet or when you both did as little as grab yourselves some coffee.
Andrew Garfield talking about his girlfriend y/n for 8 minutes straight
The 8-minute and 29-second video started with lofi music over an advertisement for marvel hoodies that everyone seemed to promote, before a sound of glitching television sounded and the video started.
The video started with Andrew and Zendaya’s Actor on Actor interview when they first started talking about Zendaya’s performance on Euphoria.
“Makes me want to cry. I didn’t feel like there was any acting. It felt like you were living through something in such an authentic way,” Andrew said, “And I remember I watched episode 5 with Y/N—with my girlfriend, and she was just like, ‘Andy, can you check up on Zendaya?’”
Zendaya smiled, being her usual self who got flustered at any compliment or praise, “She did text me that night, I remember.”
“She did,” he nodded, “She was so heartbroken over the episode.”
The video then moved to show Andrew during his Wired Autocomplete interview, the foam board in his hand as he took off the sticker that hid the question.
“Does Andrew Garfield sing in Tick, Tick…Boom?” He read, “So, Andrew Garfield does sing in Tick, Tick…Boom, yes. Thank you,” he answered, “I worked very, very closely with an amazing vocal coach, Liz Caplan, and all of Lin Manuel Miranda’s amazing musical direction team. They enabled me to open my voice up to the point where I could honor Jon’s songs and feel confident enough to belt them out as he always did when he was doing his one-man show,” he nodded slight, “It was a privilege to be able to learn a skill that I’ve always wanted to attain but my girlfriend wouldn’t really agree,” he chuckled, looking at the camera, “Y/N’s had enough of my singing, because every time I’d learn something new, it’d be the only thing I’d be doing around our home and she’s incredible, she has a job that she needs to focus on and rest from, but I was always there singing and annoying her,” he laughed, “She’s a gem for putting up with me.”
Another clip then played as Andrew read Buzzfeed’s thirst tweets, headphones on his ears.
“Andrew Garfield if you see this on your secret Twitter account, I’m free this weekend if you want to get lunch or drinks or something, just let me know. If you want to do it earlier, I can do dinner during the week,” he chuckled as he read the tweet, “But I’m usually busy before six,” he finished with a laugh, leaning back in his seat, “I love that. That’s very, very—I like hyper-vigilance. I like specificity of plans,” he said, “But I’m going to have to give you a rain check on that because I’m actually busy on the weekend, unless you want to join in on my girlfriend and I’s date, then it’s fine by me,” he laughed, “I can do lunch during the week though, but we’re going to have to have that at Y/N’s office because that’s where you’ll usually find me having my lunch.”
The clip then moved to Andrew on the Ellen show, getting asked about Spider-Man: No Way Home, and having to lie to people.
“Who knew? Beside your agent, who knew that you were doing this? I mean, how hard is that? To keep it to—I mean, your family knew?” Ellen asked him.
“Yeah, my dad, my brother, and my mother at the time,” he answered with a smile, “Yeah, just kind of us. It was fun to keep it secret,” he grinned, “Because you know when you’re planning a surprise birthday party for someone, and then you’re like, tell me, you know I hate surprises, but I can see it on your face that you’re just like ‘I’m not gonna tell you’,” he shook his head with his wide grin, “So it felt like I was part of organizing a surprise birthday party for a bunch of people whom I knew would appreciate it.”
“Did your girlfriend know?”
Beaming even more, “Y/N had no idea,” he said, laughing, “And—lying to the media, to the fans, that was easy and fun, but lying to my girlfriend has got to be—it was one of the most agonizing and terrible things I have ever done.”
“You lied to her for what? Two years?”
“Technically, it was a year and a few months,” Andrew pointed.
“And how—how did she take that? I’d be pretty offended.”
He laughed, shaking his head, “She wasn’t, she wasn’t. I knew she’d appreciate it because she knows how I feel about my experience with the character, and it was—I’ll tell you something,” he sat up, smiling, “It was worth every single moment where I had to tell her I was shooting for another movie when I saw her reaction when we went to watch it together,” he said, “We had to watch it again because she couldn’t really focus after I was on screen,” he laughed, “But yeah, it—it was definitely hard having to lie to her, and it definitely made her tease me about trust for a while, but she supported me throughout without even knowing.”
The clip then moved to the last one, being from a recent interview with GQ of 10 things Andrew can’t live without.
In a t-shirt and sporting a full beard, he held a silver necklace with a compass on it.
“This is a necklace with a compass on it,” he said, holding the necklace in his hands before the camera zoomed on it before it showed him again, “My girlfriend Y/N gave this to me in a period where I needed to trust the direction I was going, even if I didn’t know where I was going,” he chuckled, looking at it, “It’s become such a symbol of our relationship because in a way, to me, it feels like it navigates us both back to where we have always met, toward our common interests and our differences that initially made us attracted to each other. But she’s always been very persistent on her support for me and my journey in my career, and my journey as a person, so this necklace is just a reminder from her that the direction I’m headed in is always one I can find value in,” he smiled, “My relationship with Y/N is very essential to me. She’s just—She’s truly my person, and this necklace is a symbol of the deep connection we have with each other.”
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ash5monster01 · 1 year
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Request for Andrew Garfield: he introduces the reader to his closest friends and they tell him she’s a keeper
She’s a Keeper
Pairing: Andrew Garfield x FemReader
Warnings: fluff, mentions of alcohol, implied smut
Summary: meeting Andrews friends seemed terrifying, desperate to make a good impression, and when you finally get the chance to meet them it goes much better than planned. (sorry this took forever, I kept getting distracted starting different requests but this one was to cute to forget about)
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Andrew had met all of your friends. They all loved him and you were content spending time with them in a group setting. You still had yet to meet Andrews friends but you were extremely nervous. Your friends were simple people, friends from college, people you’ve seen make stupid mistakes. Andrews friends were famous, older, and they’d probably look at you and wonder what the hell was wrong with their friend for dating you.
Of course you couldn’t avoid it forever and Andrew had made plans that you couldn’t back out of. You already planned to spend the night with him when he informed you that you were going to get drinks with Jamie Dornan, Charlie Cox, and Eddie Redmayne. If you had any chance of survival you weren’t sure. The thought of you sat around a table with well known famous actors almost made you laugh, surely onlookers would laugh at you too.
You prided yourself on being a very controlled and out going person but as you stared back at yourself in the mirror not even you could ignore the slight shake of your hands as you brushed the blue fabric of your dress. Andrew thought it was adorable that you were nervous about making a good impression on his friends. So he walked up behind you, his large hands covering your shaking ones as he pulled you back into his chest, his face nuzzling into your neck, his beard tickling you.
“You look beautiful baby” he spoke the words into your neck, kisses pressed lightly to your skin.
“Are you sure I’m not overdressed?” your head tilted in concentration as you continued to look over yourself. Making a good impression and not making a fool of yourself was top priority. Andrew thought it was adorable and he chuckled as he spun you around so you could stop obsessing over how you looked.
“The dress is perfect, you’re beautiful. Not even a hair out of place, well at least until I get my hands on you” your cheeks flamed red as he pushed your hair out of your face, his hand trailing along your neck.
“I just want them to like me” you told him as you grabbed the ends of his blazer, pulling him into you.
“They’re going to love you, just like I do” he whispered before pressing a kiss flush to your lips. The hard kiss made your head spin and you grinned for such a distraction. A faint imprint of your red lips sat on his own and you weren’t going to tell him.
“Let’s go before we’re late, they’d probably blame me if we were” you said slipping out his grasp as you pulled him out of the apartment. Getting a cab wasn’t difficult and soon enough you were pulling up outside of the bar, a bit fancier than your usual taste but you figured they picked it to have less chance of being overwhelmed in public.
“Ready?” Andrew asked and you nodded as he offered his hand and helped you out if the car and onto the sidewalk. Before he could pull his hand away you tightened your grip and locked your fingers with his, your nervousness showing. Andrews heart fluttered at the fact this meant so much to you.
“There he is” a booming voice called as you stepped through the doors of the bar. You looked over the see the three very recognizable men sat at a table, empty glasses and new drinks in front of them.
“Always late” Jamie chuckled and you felt your heart drop slightly, wanting to avoid that.
“I bet he drives you nuts, he can never be on time to anything” Charlie said as his eyes flitted to you and your nervousness eased that they didn’t blame you.
“Probably to busy putting his lipstick on huh?” Eddie teased with a wink and Andrews eyes widened as he realized you had left your mark, him quickly wiping at it with his sleeve.
“If I didn’t drag him out of the door we would’ve been later” you teased and the three men laughed.
“Guys this is Y/N” you smiled and quickly shook all of their hands before Andrew pulled out your seat for you to sit.
“It’s nice to finally meet you guys” you beamed at them, trying to remind yourself they’re still just people.
“How’d a pretty girl like you end up with this guy?” Jamie asked and a deep crimson blush covered your cheeks, because well, Christian Grey just called you pretty.
“He practically begged, I finally just got sick of him asking” the group laughed including Andrew especially because everyone at the table knew you said yes the first time he asked.
“He’s a very determined guy” Eddie said as he clapped his hand to his shoulder. Andrew shook his head, realizing he was in for an afternoon of teasing.
“And stubborn” you pointed out and the boys laughed again. You started to feel more comfortable especially when you realized you were all there because of someone you love which meant you all already had something in common.
“Speaking of stubborn, I have a story for you” Andrew was quick to lean forward and wave a hand in Charlie’s face.
“Alright enough of that” he quickly spoke and you shook your head as you slapped a hand over your boyfriends mouth.
“Shut up baby I want to hear this” you told him and he groaned as he fell back and away from your hand.
“Few years back we went out to this club, and Andrew got wasted. I mean like stumbling around, slurring speech wasted, and we just wanted to go home. Yet this guy somehow still wanted to party, I mean no one was even out anymore and we couldn’t drag him away from the table. So I did the only thing I could think of” Andrew recoiled into his seat, shielding his eyes with his hands as if it would lessen the embarrassment. “I told him Anne Hathaway was at the apartment and she was looking for him. The guy couldn’t control himself as he ran out of the club”
“Anne Hathaway huh?” you rose your eyebrows at your boyfriend and he shook his head.
“I went through a Princess Diaries phase” you and his friends laughed loudly at his defense.
“It’s okay baby, I went through a She’s The Man phase, Channing Tatum man” the boys continued to laugh, able to picture them both in their young obsessions.
“We all had our phases. Avril Lavigne has had my heart since 07” Jamie said and the group continued to share their laughs.
“I’m happy to know he’s still the same, we came home from a night out the other night and he cried while watching Ratatouille” the boys chuckled as they imagined their friend crying over the cartoon.
“Look he found out it was his Dad, and Remy won the heart of the food critic. I don’t think I have to defend myself here” Andrew held his hands up in defense and you giggled while reaching to grab his hand.
“It was cute, I just wanted to cuddle him for hours because of how sweet he was” Andrew blushed and you smiled. You were no longer nervous to be around his friends.
“Yeah I oddly remember feeling that way about drunk Andrew too” Eddie said which caused more laughs.
“I’m gonna use the rest room, I’ll be right back” you stood and left the boys at the table. Once you were out of sight they all turned to the brunette boy.
“I like her man” Jamie quickly said and the other boys nodded.
“Me too, she’s funny. I’m glad you didn’t bring another dud to drinks” Eddie spoke and Andrew rolled his eyes before smiling.
“I love her man, she’s so full of life. I can’t get enough of her” the grin of adoration was evident on Andrews face as he spoke about the girl.
“We approve dude, she’s a keeper” Charlie told him and Andrew felt his heart warm. He knew you’d win them over, you were just that kind of girl.
After some more chat about how much his friends liked you, you returned to table with drinks for the both of you in your hands. The rest of the night full of more laughs and fun. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you both left, you hugging each of the friends, as you moved to return home. The minute the apartment door shut behind you Andrew wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back into his chest.
“What’s this about?” you asked as his face nuzzled into your neck and started pressing soft kisses into your skin.
“I just love you so much” his hot breath fanned over your neck as he spoke, causing you to recoil away because it tickled.
“You’re in a good mood” you told him as you turned around to press a kiss to his lips.
“Of course I am, my best friends love my girlfriend” he quipped before kissing you hotly again.
“Oh so it’s confirmed, I’m the favorite” you teased and Andrew chuckled before scooping you up and starting towards the bedroom.
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sincericida · 9 months
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Hey do you have any reblog drafts or saved links i can use on the wayback machine to find the "Velvet Haze" fic? I'm trying to find it since the author deactivated. plzzzzz helppp
Hello dear! I tossed and turned around and reviewed all the fanfic reblog tags, and found almost every chapter of this amazing fanfic called "Velvet Haze". I couldn’t find chapter 2, I'm so sorry. The others are here:
Chapter 1: Green Green Dress
Chapter 3: Sweet Disposition
Chapter 4: A Sufficiently Clear Admission
Chapter 5: Tortured By The Expectation Of Pleasure
Chapter 6: Pure Honey
Chapter 7: Definitely Absolutely Certainly
I hope I helped you in some way. ✌🏼
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mrshipsmcgee · 1 year
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Golden beams of sunlight peek through the drapes, the warmth of a new dawn dancing across your face - the sounds of the insomnolent city wake you.
Quiet snores cause a smile to spread across your face as you turn to the beautiful man sleeping beside you, his cheeks squished against the pillow underneath his head, his hair wild. Despite the box fan being directly pointed at him, sweat beads lay across his forehead like a crown.
A human space heater, that man.
“Peter,” you breathe, your fingertips caressing his warm cheek before planting a tender kiss on the tip of his perfect nose.
He stirs, inhaling sharply as his eyes blink open - those honey eyes sleepily staring back at you through squinted lids.
He smiles, still blinking away sleep, “Morning, bug.” Peter’s voice is scratchy and deep.
God, you loved his morning voice.
“Good morning,” you say as Peter’s strong arms quickly snake around your waist, pulling you into his warm and sweaty chest.
“C’mere, it’s a Saturday morning - I’m not moving,” the bass of his voice vibrates against your cheek now pressed against his sternum. “I’m not going anywhere, especially because I have such a beautiful human in my arms.”
“Beautiful human?” You retort, pulling back from his embrace to look up at him - his eyes golden from the sunlight pouring into the room. A wide smile spreads across his handsome face as he giggles, shyly hiding his face in the pillow, kicking his leg over you and resting it on your hip, pulling you back into him.
“We should get breakfast delivered,” Peter says. “We should stay here all day, right here in this bed.”
“No Spiderman Delivery Service?” You ask, still wrapped in his arms. “He’s the fastest this side of town.”
“No no, Spider-Man is sleeping,” he says as he rolls himself on top of you.
“Ah,” you say, squished underneath the weight of Peter. “Well, I guess I’m just stuck here then.”
“Oh, I’ll stick you with something,” Peter smiles as he lazily ruts his hips against you.
“Peter Parker!”
Peter lets out a laugh, “oh, don’t Peter Parker me - I know you want this.”
“I do,” you smile.
“Yeah, you do,” he nuzzled his face into your chest.
—-
A/N: I don’t know what this is LOL I just felt inspired this morning. It may suck, but who cares because fanfiction is supposed to be fun :)
Anywho -
Happy Saturday! Love you guys <3
- Cait
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cherriesforhim · 8 months
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Ok, Superhero.
Pairing: peter parker x ballerina!fem!reader
Warnings: if there are any pls let me know i have terrible critical skills. Also english is not my first language so if there are any grammatical mistakes lmk and sorry in advance.
Summary: After an exhaustive ballet practice you decide to take a shortcut on your way home, but your decision might mess with certain superhero's plans.
A/N: just something i had on drabbles and thought it was really good to leave there, couldnt finish tho, willing to try depending on the feedback! Hope yall like it, its really short..
Words: 215
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This is it.
I guess thats how it ends, you think.
You should have never taken that alley to get home early, you knew it was risky, especially for a girl, but your feet hurt so much it was affecting your brain function, you just wanted to get home faster, clearly a mistake that lead you to this very moment.
"Hey look, i wont hurt you, okay?!" he says quickly, like a loud whisper. Its kinda hard to believe it when the person saying that has their hand covering your mouth and is pressing you against the dirty wall of a stinky alley.
And wears a fucking mask, seriously, this is so fucking stupid, dying by the hands of a delusional serial killer.
So you let out an useless muffled scream, with wide eyes and anger, you're not even scared, you're just mad at your fucked up decision making skills.
"Y- oh Jesus! Im sorry- im not the bad guy, im a superhero" oh god, it gets even worse "see the uniform?" he takes a step back without letting his hands off of you and looks down as a sign for you to do the same.
You eye him head to toe. In red, deep blue and spider web patterns, stands the self-proclaimed superhero.
...
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hemmingsleclerc · 3 months
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Love at first drink ┃Andrew Garfield
a/n: I wanted to write something abt andrew bc I love him sm so here it is 🤎
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Within the chaos of New York, Andrew Garfield was captivated by the enchanting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through a quaint little coffee shop in a small area of the big city. It became a daily ritual for him to visit, every morning at the same time without fail, not only for the coffee they sold, but also to visit the lovely girl behind the counter.
Her name was Y/N (he knew it from the small pin she wore on her uniform that said that name, clearly at that moment he didn't have the courage to ask her that) and she had a smile that could light up the room. Andrew couldn't help but be drawn to her warm and welcoming presence. Every day he found excuses to strike up conversations with her, whether it was her talking about the weather, the latest movies, or strangely delicious coffee combinations.
As the days passed, Andrew realized that his visits were no longer just for coffee; They were about Y/N. Every day he anxiously waited to cross the doors of that coffee shop to see her smile, hear her voice even for a short time and touch her hand when he grabbed his coffee.
Andrew discovered that Y/N had a passion for photography and art, a hobby she pursued outside of her job at the café. In the other hand, he had confessed her that they shared the same hobbies and that he had the privilege of working on something similar.
One morning, he decided it would be that day or he would chicken out again, so Andrew mustered up the courage to ask Y/N out on a date.
''Here you go'' she said handing over his coffee with the little note she always left in his cup.
''T-thanks y/n'' he smiled, taking his coffee and walking away from the counter, but in less than 2 minutes he returned.
She was a little surprised to see him again, had she missed something in his order?
Andrew looked into Y/N's eyes and in a nervous voice asked her what he had wanted to ask her for the last two weeks.
''Y/N, you are an amazing girl and I really really like you, could I have the honor of taking you on a date?''
Y/N's eyes widened with surprise, but a warm smile spread across her face. "I would love to, Andrew," she replied.
He smiled, relieved and excited. "However, there is one thing I want to mention," he added, a hint of apprehension in his voice. "I am in the public eye and sometimes people can recognize us. There may be times when someone wants to take photographs and I would like you to know that and keep that in mind, privacy is really not something I can have 100% and if you don't feel comfortable, I would understand that you would reject the date."
Y/N nodded understandingly. "Andrew, I don't care at all. I like you for who you are, not just the actor that people know. I may not get used to it at first but I don't want that to stop me from being able to date the amaizing guy I have infront of me. Let's enjoy our time together, and if photos come our way, we'll handle it together."
With those words, any lingering tension melted away. The couple went later on a lovely date, exploring the city, sharing laughter, and taking funny photos of each other. Y/N's genuine affection for Andrew was evident and her calming presence assured him that their connection was real.
As their relationship deepened, they faced the challenges of public scrutiny together. Y/N's support and understanding made Andrew appreciate her moments even more. Through the ups and downs, they stood by each other, a testament to the power of love that transcends fame and ordinary life.
Having started a relationship did not mean the end of his little ritual before starting his day. Every morning without fail, Andrew continued to go for his daily coffee to the small cafe where Y/N continue working.
And she would receive him with a kiss and his special order along with her little note on his cup.
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babyflorencee · 3 months
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P.s I love you
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Peter Parker x fem!Reader
It was around midnight and I was sitting down at my desk, trying to complete my English paper that's due in the morning. I was finishing up the 3rd paragraph when I heard the sound of light tapping noises on my window. Knowing it was most likely my boyfriend Peter, I got up and walked over to the window, opening it for him.
When I pulled back the drapes, a light gasp escaped my mouth at the sight that was in-front of me. Peter was in his spiderman suit, which was littered with rips and stains. He had a black eye, a busted lip, and his entire body was stained with what I believe, and in the back of my mind, what I hoped, was his own blood.
I quickly unlocked the window, helping him in. "What the hell happened to you?" I whisper shouted.
He lifted his right leg over, stumbling into my room. I quickly grabbed onto his arm, trying to help him stabilize. I dragged him over to my bed, kneeling down in front of his legs, to examine his current state.
He had his head down, trying to not make eye contact with me. I let out a huff of annoyance as I got up from my kneeling position, "Wait here," I said, leaving my room so I could get some supplies.
Once I came back, he was sitting down on my bed, with the top of his suit off, revealing his toned abs. I walked over towards him, crouching down, giving him my best disappointed look. "Look—" He started, but I cut him off.
"I don't want to hear it."
Was that a little harsh? Yes, yes, it was.
But in my defense, he promised me that he'd take a break from fighting today, since he was already badly injured from a fight he had lost a few days ago. It hasn't even been 4 hours and he has already broken his promise.
Once I finished cleaning the blood off his face and chest, I left the room once again to dump out the blood-soaked water and to wash my hands. "Y/n, please don't be mad at me," Peter said, giving me his puppy dog eyes.
I ignored him, walking over to my dresser, pulling out a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt, which originally belong to Peter. I tossed it at him, sitting down at my desk so I could finish my essay.
A couple minutes go by and I hear him shuffling around. I assume, so he could change out of his suit. "Y/n—" He whined, hugging me from behind, and sticking his head into my neck.
"What?" I replied, harshly.
He spun my chair around so I was facing him. "I'm sorry," he said, taking my face into his hands and pressing a light kiss to my lips.
"Please forgive me?"
"Fine, but you better not show up at my window tomorrow all bloody," I said, pointing my index finger at him and giving him a jokingly stern look.
"yes ma'am," he laughed, pressing another kiss to my lips.
"Can we cuddle now?" He opened his arms wide, giving me a goofy smile.
I laughed at his expression. "I got to finish this." I said, showing him my computer.
"I'll do it for you if we can cuddle right now." He offered, raising an eyebrow.
"Fine," I gave in, knowing that if he did my assignment, I would most likely get a higher grade on the paper than I would if I did it.
I stood up from my chair to be immediately thrown over his shoulder. He walked over towards my bed, throwing me harshly on it before he got in as well, laying down on top of me and burying his head into the crook of my neck, his hair tickling me a little. "Good night Petey," I said.
He took his head out of my neck, giving me a disgusted look, making me laugh once again at his face expression. "Night," He mumbled, falling asleep on me.
*** The next morning, I woke up to be greeted by an empty bed. I groaned, sitting up as I looked at the clock. A small gasp escaped my lips when I realized that I was about to be late for school. I got up, sloppily putting on my outfit, before walking over towards my desk, praying that Peter hadn't forgotten to do the assignment. I scrolled down, feeling my heart flutter at what he had written. Not only did he finish my paper, but he also wrote a brief note at the bottom.
'Sorry, I had to leave. I didn't want to deal with Aunt May. Meet me under the bleacher at lunch. PS. I love you.'
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the-amazing-simp · 1 year
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congrats on 500 followers! for 📸 can you write tasm!peter x reader where the reader is baking and peter is just there to sit and look pretty
Thank you so much for requesting this! I'm so sorry it took so long <3
My 500 celebration is now closed!
Sweet Tooth | TASM P.P.
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“Please, I promise I’ll be careful.” Peter pleaded, giving you the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. 
“Peter, for someone who’s Spider-Man, you managed to almost burn down the apartment twice. Both times you were in the kitchen.” You said, swatting him away with a wooden spoon.
“I won’t even go near the oven.” He kept on trying.
“How about I make you a deal?” You dragged him to the stool at the end of the counter, “If you sit down and cause as minimal damage as possible, I’ll let you lick the spoon.” 
Ever a child at heart, your boyfriend nodded with a smile, eyes lighting up with delight. 
While Peter was snacking on a bowl of chocolate chips and you were whipping the batter, he suddenly contemplated, “What’s with you and Aunt May getting on my case about domestic stuff?” 
You shook your head, silently telling him that you had no idea what he was talking about. 
“First, when I did the laundry, Aunt May goes all laundry sheriff commando on me and I’m basically banned from doing laundry at her house. Now, you ban me from the kitchen.” Peter practically pouted.
“Well, when you did the laundry everything turned pink. It was like something from the set of Mean Girls.” You laughed.
Your boyfriend jokingly rolled his eyes at you, “I forgot to separate the Spider-Man suit.” 
“Yeah then when Aunt May interrogated you, you washed the American Flag.” You said, going to preheat the oven.
“That’s a perfectly good reason. It has red and blue and white.” Peter argued.
Placing the cookie tray in the oven, you turned to him, “If that’s the case, then congratulations! You will be put down in the Guinness Book of World Records as the first ever person who washed the American flag.” 
“Whatever.” He huffed, “But there’s still the kitchen matter.” 
As promised, you handed him the bowl and spoon to lick, “Peter if you wanted to commit arson, then do it at an abandoned house where they will be zero casualties.” 
“You’re quite on a cheery strike today.” Peter teased.
“Keep going and you’ll lose the bowl and spoon and you won’t get any cookies and you’ll be banned from stepping into the kitchen altogether.”
General Taglist: 
@rogueharrington, @hunnybunimdun, @andrewgarfield2022, @jasmin7813, @andrewgarfieldsbae, @spxiiee, @shaded-echoes, @holy-macncheese-balls, @mcugeekposts, @dwindlinghaze, @anonyymoouussssss
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hauntedwitch04 · 6 months
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Leaves
Andrew Garfield x reader
Words: 0.7k words
Warnings: none, just fluff and idiots totally in love with each other
Author’s note: Hi everybody! Sorry to be this late, life is just being crazy right now.
Requests are open I Ask
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🎃Halloween party 🎃
DAY 6: “I got some leaves on my way here for you, they are really pretty”
Ever since I was little, I have always collected leaves in the fall. It sounds kind of sociopathic, but my mother and I and then with my sisters, for as long as I can remember we have collected the strangest and most beautiful leaves that we found on our walks in the park during the fall.
Although I am no longer a child, I wanted to keep this tradition alive because it makes me feel closer to my family members who now live far away from me.
When I told my fiancé, Andrew, I thought he would think I was crazy instead he told me it was one of the sweetest things he had ever heard and asked if he could participate in this tradition as well, understanding perfectly well if I didn't want to because it was a very personal thing. I had not been able to help but throw myself at his neck, saying that I would love to share that thing with him, because after all for me and for my whole family it was now part of us, but until today he had never done anything to help me with my collection.
I am baking another pan of cookies, to the tunes of "Nightmare before Christmas," when I hear the front door open and close.
"Hello love!" I hear Andrew shout as he hangs up his jacket and takes off his shoes. "The cold weather has finally started!" He says sarcastically as he enters the kitchen, knowing that I was waiting for nothing more, as I hate heat and summer, while loving to death autumn and the cold it brings. In response I tongues at him as I keep humming the songs and then remember what I was supposed to tell him.
"Althea called me, you know about the surprise party for Iara's birthday, and she told me that it will be around three o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday, but that if we want to get there the night before she has a free room." I tell him, while I am still intent on checking the cookies that I am now taking out of the oven to make sure they are ready. I see him go wide-eyed and run off, and immediately I cannot understand his reaction so abruptly to what I have said.
After a few minutes I see him come back with a book, which he rests on the table. I open it and he proudly shows me a bright red leaf, with a few hints of orange, that seems to be almost heart-shaped.
I feel my heart melt inside my rib cage, seeing with how much love and dedication he is showing me what he has found, and I refrain from kissing him there his moment.
"I got some leaves on my way here for you, they are really pretty. This is my favorite, though. Do you like it?" He asks looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes of his, and I can no longer stop myself from leaving a sweet kiss on his lips. He is caught a little off guard, only to immediately return that gesture of affection from me.
"So am I to take it to mean that you liked it?" He says once we break away, giving me that sly little smile that I so badly want to wipe off with a slap.
"I would say yes, in fact I would say he deserves to have his own frame and a place on the fireplace." I reply, before going to get a photo frame, where there is already a picture of us in a park taken by one of our closest friends. I open the frame and place the leaf next to our figures, and close it all up, before putting it back on the fireplace where it was before. We both stay staring at that frame for what seems like hours, him with his arms around my waist and his chest against my back, while I keep my hands on his, hugging a little and enjoying the perfume he is wearing, which I gave him last Christmas. We don't say a word, but there is no need because we can both feel each other's happiness.
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bi-bard · 10 months
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Jonathan Larson Songs That Describe a Relationship with Peter Parker - Peter Parker Imagine [The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)]
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Title: Jonathan Larson Songs That Describe a Relationship with Peter Parker
Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader
Word Count: 2,930 words
Warning(s): Peter's commitment issues/past trauma, mention of potential break-up
Summary: Three songs by Jonathan Larson that would describe a relationship with Peter Parker [The Amazing Spider-Man (aka Andrew Garfield's Peter Parker)]
Author's Note: I am so fucking funny.
**Not intentionally written in chronological order**
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Johnny Can't Decide
Johnny has no guide Johnny wants to hide Can he make his mark, if he gives up his spark? Johnny can't decide
I had grown used to just finding Peter in my apartment.
At some point, I just started to expect it more than anything. Whether he used the key that I gave him or the window into my bedroom, it was normal for him to be there.
What wasn't normal was to find him looking through my computer.
"Peter," I said, furrowing my eyebrows. "What are you doing?"
"What's this," he asked, pointing at the screen.
I walked over but stopped when I could fully focus on the screen. My heart dropped as guilt washed over me.
"(Y/n)-"
"They're apartment listings," I answered.
"These aren't in New York," he pointed out. "You want to leave the city completely?"
"I... I've been looking at jobs," I shrugged. "I started looking at places to move if I get the offer."
"Why," he asked. "I thought you liked it here."
"I did," I replied. "For a long time. But these last few months... they've been pushing me to leave."
He turned in my chair fully. "When were you going to tell me?"
"I was hoping to tell you once I got an offer, but... I don't know if I would've."
"What?"
"I know that you wouldn't want to leave."
He scoffed. "You couldn't know that-"
"Peter, you love this city. You love being Spider-Man. I would never ask you to leave it. Spider-Man has been in your life a lot longer than I have."
"You didn't even ask me."
"So, you would leave? If I asked?"
Peter paused.
I saw the weight of the choice actually setting in.
He would be leaving the city that he loved. He would either have to give up being Spider-Man and face being accused of not caring about the city, start protecting a different city and still be faced with the same accusation, or find some way to kill Spider-Man without getting himself killed.
"I want to be with you, Peter. I love you," I said. "But I won't let this be some reason you resent me later. I won't do that."
"You're leaving," he asked. "No matter what?"
"I think so," I replied.
I never told him about the fear that sat in my stomach every night when he wasn't there.
Whether or not he was on the news for his actions, I knew that he was out there. He was dealing with threats that the city wasn't aware of most of the time. I would sit up and wait for him. When I'd hear the familiar thump on the fire escape outside or- on rare occasions- hear the door open, I'd lay down, slow my breathing, and pretend that I had fallen asleep hours ago.
Whether or not he ever believed my little act was a mystery.
And I wasn't just leaving because of that. It just made me less hesitant.
"I'll leave the choice to you," I explained. "You can think about it. Whatever you want is fine. But I am leaving. Your choice is just whether or not you're going with me."
He nodded. "Okay."
I walked forward and kissed his cheek. "I love you."
"I love you too," he muttered. "Do you... Do you want me to leave?"
"Up to you," I shrugged. "I won't be hurt if you don't want to stay here tonight."
"No, no, I want to," he said. "I want to be here."
"Okay," I smiled at him.
I know that he didn't fall asleep that night. Mostly because I didn't either.
I think we both pretended to in the hopes of comforting each other. As some silent sign that everything was okay. But it wasn't. We both knew that there was this impending end on the horizon. We knew that everything between us had shifted and was going to continue to shift.
Realistically, I couldn't imagine Peter choosing me over his work here. I knew that I was fighting a losing battle.
But I don't know if that made it easier or harder to cope with.
Another Day
The heart may freeze Or it can burn The pain will ease If I can learn There is no future There is no past I live this moment as my last
I never thought about how bad I could be at reading signals.
I hated making assumptions about people's feelings, but there were a few moments when I was certain that I was right.
Like now.
Peter and I had been friends for a while. We had grown close. I developed feelings for him far faster than I wanted to admit. It just felt so easy with him. He was funny and smart and sweet. He felt too perfect to exist, but I couldn't find the drive to search for some flaw in the image.
I should've. Maybe that would have helped me in the long run.
He had come over to my place after work one day. We had both been talking about this movie that we wanted to see and I had found it on DVD. It almost felt like fate pushing us into the same place.
I was coming back from grabbing the pizza that had been delivered to find that Peter had disappeared. I furrowed my eyebrows set the pizza down and looked around.
I found him standing in my small hallway, looking at the pictures that I had on my wall.
"Peter?" I said.
He looked over at me. "Sorry."
"Don't be," I shook my head as I walked over. "If I didn't want them to be looked at every once and a while, then I would've hidden them."
He chuckled. "They're nice... the pictures."
"Thanks," I grinned. "My mom sent me a whole bunch when I first moved out. Something about keeping me close to home in a way."
"She sounds nice."
She would have to be to listen to me talk about you as much as I do, I thought. "She is."
Peter just nodded.
"She actually had them already printed out," I chuckled. "Something about knowing that I wouldn't stick around."
"Always running?"
"No, no, just running here," I corrected. "I wanted to be in this city for as long as I can remember. I always had some semblance of what I wanted for my life. I just sometimes have trouble acting on what I want."
"I see," he replied, looking at me. "And what exactly is it that you want now?"
I paused for a moment. I had a thousand thoughts jumping around my mind, but all of them trailed back to him. It felt silly. Ridiculous.
But then, I looked back at him.
I couldn't explain it, but there was something. Something just behind his eyes that made me feel like my thousand thoughts weren't as ridiculous as I thought they were.
I slowly stepped closer to him. I hesitantly leaned closer to him, waiting for some sign to fill the gap or pull away and act like it never happened. I couldn't find either. I stopped, maintaining just a few inches between us.
"We shouldn't," Peter muttered. He didn't pull away. He just let the words hang in the small space between us.
"Why," I asked, also not moving. I had been craving this moment for too long for that.
He paused as if trying to make up some excuse that satisfied him as much as it did me. "Work."
"Work?" I chuckled a bit at the answer.
"People will talk," he explained. "And if we don't work out, it could get so much worse."
"I'm okay with that risk," I shrugged. He didn't respond. He didn't pull back or talk or anything. "Life is simply too short to spend all of our time worried about every single thing that could possibly go wrong."
I leaned forward, nose brushing his.
"I want this... with you. And if you want it too, then I see no reason for us to hide from it."
I saw something. In his eyes. There was something that he wanted to say. Something sitting on the very edge of his tongue that he couldn't force out. Something that would make the moment too scary or too real.
I just watched his eyes jump from my eyes to my lips.
"Peter," I muttered.
He hummed back.
I leaned in and closed the remaining distance. I wrapped my arms around him as he kissed me back.
It was a few moments. A matter of seconds before he pulled away again.
I furrowed my eyebrows are he stumbled back from me. "Peter?"
"I... I need to go. I need to leave. I'm sorry."
"What," I asked. "I thought... I thought that we were..."
"I'll see you at work tomorrow," he muttered.
"Can we please just talk about this, Peter-"
"No!" he snapped. "There's... There's nothing to talk about. I'm leaving."
"Peter, wait-"
"Bye."
The door slammed behind him as he walked out. I felt my heart drop when it did. I felt like I should have heard it based on how fast it fell.
I wanted to follow him but I just couldn't. I just had to stand there with this sudden realization that everything that I thought was wrong. Every feeling that I was convinced had been shared was wrong.
It was a scary thing to think about.
I took one huge risk and it backfired greatly.
And now, I had no way to fix what I had broken.
As far as I was concerned, I had just lost Peter forever.
Swimming
Out, don't think Out, out, let it out Keep the shoulder down, down Easy, not too hard Find the movement's origin
I hadn't always been used to seeing Peter sitting on my fire escape in his full Spider-Man gear.
In fact, the first night that it happened, I almost shit myself.
I hadn't known about Peter's true identity. It had been a matter of days since he had rejected me outside my door and run away. I didn't know why at the time. I was still hurt and just trying to accept it. I couldn't force him to change his mind or process his grief faster than he was.
I just had to accept that I had no control over the situation. The only thing that I had control over was whether or not I would wait for him.
I had decided not to. I knew how my mind worked. If I stayed in contact with him, then I would just be reminded of the hurt every day. I would never be able to move on.
So, I ignored him.
If he noticed or cared, then he did a very good job controlling himself. He never confronted me. I took that as a sign.
I had just gotten back from work, entirely exhausted both physically and emotionally. I threw some stuff onto the table before going to walk back to my room and get ready to shower.
I switched on my light and looked out the window, only to find something looking back at me.
It took me a moment to recognize it, but anyone who had been watching would know the Spider-Man mask when they saw it.
The figure picked up its hand and waved at me. Then, it motioned for me to open the window.
I slowly reached over and grabbed the letter opener that my dad had insisted I own. I had no proof that this was the real Spider-Man and not some psycho in a fake suit. I would've been convinced by the mere presence on my fire escape, but if it was someone from my building, they could probably find a way there.
To put it simply, there were too many risks.
I walked over to the window and paused when I got there.
The figure motioned for me to open the window.
I paused for a moment before leaning forward and letting out a puff of air so the window fogged up a bit. I did my best to write 'Why?' backward.
The figure seemed to laugh and shake its head at me. I thumped the window as a way to tell it off.
After holding its hands up for a moment, it looked around and moved to pull its mask off.
I was met with Peter's face. My eyes went wide as I scrambled to push the window open.
"Lead with that," I scolded him.
"Sorry," he replied. "Can I come in?"
I moved so he could climb inside. I pulled the window shut again and locked it. It was strange to turn around and see Spider-Man standing in the middle of my room. Weirder when it felt like it was just Peter's head on Spider-Man's body.
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
"Just don't sneak onto my fire escape-"
"It's not about the fire escape," he cut me off. "I meant about everything. Pushing you away and lying to you. You deserved answers and I was too much of a coward to actually offer those to you."
I took a moment to collect my thoughts. "This is your explanation for rejecting me... being Spider-Man?"
"Well, there's a bit more to it than that."
"How am I supposed to believe the initial information?"
Peter sighed before sticking out his arm. I jumped as something shot right by my head and stuck to the wall behind me.
I looked at it for a moment before reaching out to touch it. I cringed a bit at the texture and shoot my hand back. "Gross."
"It's not meant to be pleasant," he replied, dropping his arm.
"Okay... what's the rest of your reason?"
"Gwen," he explained. "We were together for a while. She knew about... this. She was trying to help and then... I couldn't save her. I tried. I did. But she fell and I didn't catch her in time and she... she died in my arms."
I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like I was forcing him to tell me all of this. It was wrong of me to demand information that he didn't seem ready to tell me. I was going to stop him, but he didn't let me get a word in.
"I pulled away from everything for a while," he continued. "I... I stopped pulling my punches. I just... It felt like I just went dark. For a long time. And then... I met you. It felt like I was returning to normal.
"When we kissed... I just... I thought of every single way that I could get you hurt."
I took a deep breath. "Then why come back here? Why tell me this?"
"You were avoiding me and I was scared and- and confused and... all I wanted was for us to be okay but I didn't know how to fix it. I- I only knew that it was my fault. And then, I was out tonight, working, and I couldn't think of anything but you. You and how I messed things up and how badly I needed to talk to you. I was just constantly reminded of you."
I didn't have a response. There wasn't one that would explain my thoughts or say something that I hadn't already said or feel like I wasn't being disrespectful about everything that he had just told me.
Peter stepped forward, slowly reaching out to cup the sides of my face. His thumb traced my cheek as his eyes jumped around my face.
"I... I want you. I want to be with you," he muttered. "I just knew that I couldn't admit that without being completely honest with you about everything."
I didn't feel physically able to respond until I felt his hands pulling away. I frantically reached up to hold them in place. I stepped even closer to him.
"Kiss me," I murmured. He didn't react for a moment. "I... I'm willing to deal with all of this... with anything that comes with this. I just need to know that-"
I was cut off by Peter leaning forward and pressing his lips to mine. I slowly kissed him back, my hands moving to his sides. I felt a smile creeping onto my lips as the kiss continued.
Peter pulled back first.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For everything."
"I forgive you," I mumbled. "I promise."
He slowly smiled back at me.
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, hearing a heavy sigh escape him as his shoulders finally dropped and his muscles relaxed. I leaned back again, feeling his hands move down to my sides.
There was a small pause.
"Can I start with the dumb questions now," I asked quietly.
"Sure," he chuckled, nodding at me.
"The webs... where... where are they coming from?"
He tilted his head back for a moment as he laughed. "That's what you want to know?"
I nodded.
"You could ask any question that you want... and you ask that?"
"It's a very good question."
He nodded. "You're right."
"Are you gonna answer it?"
"In a minute..."
I furrowed my eyebrows at him. Another chuckle escaped him before he leaned forward and kissed me again. Once I realized why he was avoiding my question, my eyes fluttered shut.
And with each passing second, I could see myself accepting every ounce of danger that could possibly come after this moment.
All of it was worth it as long as I got to be with him.
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Author's Note: Not gonna lie, "Swimming" feels like it's the story that follows what was actually inspired by the song.
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maladaptiv3 · 1 year
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i have found what you are like
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I mean...how could I not?
Content: A nice lazy, rainy Sunday morning reading on the couch.
Warning: age gap, a little possessive, it’s kind of cheesy but I don’t really care! lol 
I started this piece a long time ago and I am just hitting a wall...so here is what I have so far. I don’t know if I will finish it. 
Word Count: 1174
*original content by maladaptiv3* please do not repost my work
(new screen name hey)
The soft patter of the rain on the roof was the only sound that filled the house for most of the day. The back door was open slightly and there was a now damp towel near the opening that had been placed to catch the bouncing raindrops from the patio outside.
Your Sundays were a ritual—his eyelashes on your cheek beckoning you to wake up, eyes still heavy with sleep as you lift your cup of coffee to your lips, arranging farmers market flowers as he finishes carrying in the rest of your treasures—but it was raining today. The rain was a welcomed distraction, it shifted your routine in a way that you had been craving. It had been a long while since you had enjoyed each other's silence. Silence seemed to be rare in his world. You only experienced pockets of it, stolen away from everyone's eyes. He woke you up that morning, pulling you into him, and melting into you, "It's raining, love." You hummed, "My favorite." The rain made the morning move in slow motion. There was no early morning coffee or having to find parking at the already getting crowded farmers market. "Let's have coffee in bed. I'll go make it," his smile was sweet. You scrunched up your nose, "I wanna watch the rain." He was amused, "Of course you do." 
Your mind wandered back to the current moment. Your back was against the arm of the couch and your legs were bent at the knee. A warm blanket was in your lap, covering one-half of you. You had a book in one hand and the other was running its fingers through his hair. He was settled between your thighs, slightly propped up on a throw pillow. His fingers were tracing lines on your shin as he turned the page of his book with the other. You mused, wondering how you had the privilege to live in this perfect moment. If you could bottle it, you would. His hand would occasionally ghost up your leg and settle on your thigh, his arm stretching slightly so he could grip it. You would slightly tug on his hair, playfully of course, "Shh...I'm reading." He would squeeze your thigh once more before going back to the words on his page, "I didn't say anything." He didn't have to say anything. This was a game you knew all too well. The rain was still falling outside and you wanted to bask in this feeling for as long as you could. The comfort of just merely touching each other was enough to keep you going for days. 
After a while, you heard him sigh. You put the business card posing as your bookmark back into your book, "Something on your mind?" He laid his book down flat on his chest, "You've been reading that book for years, you think you would have finished it by now." You rolled your eyes, "I've been finished. I just like to revisit it. It's one of my favorites." He sat up to face you, his legs crossed in front of him, "Well, what about it makes you revisit it?" You were astonished, "You're telling me that Mr. Booksnob himself has never read Jane Eyre? It's a classic." "Hey! I am not a book snob." "You kind of are." He took the book from your hands and examined the cover, "So, what is it about?" You took a minute to think, "It's about a homely governess who falls in love with the older man she's working for." His fingers were drumming against the book, "What's with you and older men?" You snatched the book back from him, "That's just what's on the surface. It's a story of painful love, independence, and feminism." He nodded, "Now, that makes more sense. Read me some." "Like what?" "Read me something that reminds you of me." You had it highlighted. It was a new quote you liked. The spine was not yet used to the continuous flipping to the page every time you pulled out your beloved copy. You licked your lips and cleared your throat a bit, "All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever." He blinked a few times and seemed to be entranced by the words you just spoke, "You belong to me?" You swallowed hard, "This book isn't about us." Your breathing was shallow as you waited for him to say something. His eyes were fixed on yours, "Do you belong to me?" You were quick to nod your head up and down, "Yes." He ghosted his lips over yours, "Good answer. Kind of anti-feminist, though?" You pressed your lips against his, "Is it?"
You pulled back, "Your turn to share. What are you reading?" He took his book from its place on the coffee table, "Poetry." You wiggle the thin green book out of his grip, "I've never really been a fan." His jaw dropped, "You? Miss I Buy A Book every time I leave the house, doesn't enjoy poetry?" "I guess not." He took his book back, "Well, it's only fair I read you something." You reached out trying to take the book from him, "Can I choose?" He clutched onto it, "Absolutely not." He began to flip through the pages, "You at least know who E.E. Cummings is, right?" You shook your head, almost offended, "Obviously." He found the page he was looking for, "I think you'll enjoy this one."
You pulled back, "Your turn to share. What are you reading?" He took his book from its place on the coffee table, "Poetry." You wiggle the thin green book out of his grip, "I've never really been a fan." His jaw dropped, "You? Miss I Buy A Book every time I leave the house, doesn't enjoy poetry?" "I guess not." He took his book back, "Well, it's only fair I read you something." You reached out trying to take the book from him, "Can I choose?" He clutched onto it, "Absolutely not." He began to flip through the pages, "You at least know who E.E. Cummings is, right?" You shook your head, almost offended, "Obviously." He found the page he was looking for, "I think you'll enjoy this one."
His lips parted and he set down the book:
i have found what you are like the rain,
      (Who feathers frightened fields with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields
easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike
the air in utterable coolness
deeds of green thrilling light                               with thinned newfragile yellows
                  lurch and.press
-in the woods              which                stutter                      and
                           sing
And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost,                your kiss
You guys just stared at each other for a second. 
Your chest was tight and tears started to well in your eyes, "That was beautiful." He look worried and cupped your face with his hands, "No, no, no -- why are you crying?" 
Your chest was tight as you tried to keep the tears from welling in your eyes, "You memorized that?" He nodded and took your hands in his, "I find myself searching for it when I'm thinking of you. Sometimes I get asked what it's like to love you and I always tell them to read this poem. I never understood what Cummings meant when he wrote about someone being like rain until I fell in love with you." You just looked at him, your thumb brushing his, "I wouldn't believe that coming from anyone else, but for some reason, I believe it from you. I also think you kind of want to get laid, but I still believe it." 
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blooming-violets · 27 days
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CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER SEVEN: MURDERER
[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]
Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.
Chapter Seven Warnings (spoilers): this chapter contains a SA scene and a depiction of a murder
[link to chapter index]
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Aylin leaned her shoulder against the stone wall and watched with a placid detachment as Kraven carried the naked wolf girl over to the table. He laid her limp body down with a sort of tenderness Aylin wasn’t used to seeing from him. The wolf girl’s eyes remained closed. Though, her dark, wet lashes clumped together as if she had been silently crying only moments ago. Through the thick layers of dirt and caked over blood, her body was painted with a myriad of scars. Old and new. Knife slices, whip slashings, bruises, bite marks. Aylin could make constellations out of the red marks of abuse hidden among her black and purple galaxy skin. Whatever she had experienced down here, the wolf girl had experienced much, much worse. 
Her death was the last piece of the puzzle for Aylin to gain her freedom 
Her life would amount to nothing more than a final sacrifice. One life traded for another. Her death meant Aylin could live again. 
And Aylin didn’t even know the girl’s name.
Kraven took a step back from the table and observed the young girl with a quiet contemplation, “Don’t ever mention this to Calypso but I think I’ve grown a bit fond of the wolf. She was a fierce fighter for being such a little thing but, alas, everyone gets broken in the end. Look at her now. Wasted away to nothing. Her blood has served me well. Even now, it still courses through my system. They only last a few hours inside of you depending on how much you drink before the effects start to wear off. I tell you, it’s like a power you’ve never felt in all your life, Aylin. Truly an addicting substance. It’s no wonder the wolves fight so hard to stay alive. They must feel incredible all the time.” He paused to glance down at the girl, rethinking his statement. “Well, not all the time.”
Aylin pushed herself off the wall and padded over to where he stood. Each step shot an agonizing, fiery pain up her thigh. She had to position her legs further apart than usual so her thighs didn’t rub together. Even with Calypso’s special salve covering her brand, it still seared red hot and angry. 
“Why are you telling me this?” She muttered, standing at his side. “What you and Calypso are doing is a direct betrayal to the guild. You’re consuming the blood of the enemy. You’re drinking wolf blood. Does that make you a werewolf, too? Are you one of them now?” 
The guild had no prior knowledge on how Lycan were made as far as she knew. Wolves kept their secrets close to their chest but the Colt’s always assumed it had something to do with consuming their blood. Peter only mentioned that a person could be turned or born into it. He never stated how that transformation took place. It seemed like blood would be a key factor in it, though. 
Kraven gave her a side eye and shrugged, “Who are you going to tell? You’ve been branded with the Kravinoff emblem. You’re one of mine now. If I go down, you go down.” 
Kravinoff emblem. This symbol of the sun belonged to the entire Silver Colt guild. It wasn’t something only for him to claim. Her mother wore a golden sun pendant around her neck. Her father had it tattooed on his shoulder. She had it embroidered into her hunting jacket. That didn’t mean they were all claimed by Kraven. The sun united them together against the moon worshiping Lycan. It didn’t claim them. Her brand meant nothing to her except a physical reminder that she lived a lifetime of lies. Her sun, charred into her skin like a farmer’s cattle, did not signify anything other than a sun. She gave it no power over her. No matter who manipulated her body, her mind would never belong to anyone but herself. 
Unless he managed to sever what little grasps of sanity she was still desperately clinging to down here.
“We’re not werewolves,” he stated. “Neither Cal nor I have experienced any change besides feeling stronger and more youthful than usual. We’re not one of them. We’re just enhancing our bodies to be better hunters. Clearly, blood isn’t what transforms a person. We were wrong in our assumptions.” 
The Silver Colts were wrong about a lot of things. 
The broken, naked wolf girl laying half unconscious in front of them was one of those things. 
They were two abused, degraded women confined to a torture chamber with a hot-headed narcissist and his psychopathic wife. It didn’t matter where either of the girls originally came from, only that they ended up in the same place, at the same time. While one’s story was going to end in this room, the other’s was just about to begin. 
Aylin stepped forward when she noticed the girl shivering. She had no comfort to offer her, no blanket, or clothes for warmth. All she had was herself. Aylin placed a hand over the girl’s forehead and gently stroked it over her hair like her mother used to do for her when she was ill. She could tell the girl had a high fever from the heat radiating from her skin and the cool, clammy sweat clinging to her forehead. Her body was starting to shut down. 
"Give me your shall, Sergei,” she demanded. 
Kraven shrugged it off and passed it over. Ever since he branded her, he’d been much more compliant to her wants. It seems she had him fooled. When he told her she would want for nothing if she agreed to his terms, she didn’t think it would happen so quickly. As long as he still believed she would give her body over to him, he seemed to adhere to her. 
Aylin draped the Lycan shall over the girl’s torso. She was so petite that it nearly reached from her shoulders to her ankles. Aylin rubbed her hands down the girl’s arms to help warm the chill in her bones. She hoped that maybe the feel of Lycan fur against her skin might be of some comfort to her. She was so out of it that Aylin hoped she wouldn’t take much notice of the morbidity of the pelt. 
“You’ll be home soon,” she leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’ll be welcomed home by the ones you love. Think of your mother. Your father. Anyone who brings you comfort. Imagine their faces smiling back at you. They love you so much and they’re so excited to see you again. Your pain is all gone. It’s all over. You did so well. You were so strong but now it’s time to rest. You’re ready to go home.”
The wolf girl gave a quiet moan, her brows scrunched together, and then relaxed as a small smile graced her chapped lips. It wasn’t much but it’s what Aylin would have wanted to imagine as her last thoughts on this plane of existence. She’d want to be thinking of the people she loved most in her world. In times like these, she missed her big brother. He would have noticed she was missing. He would have come searching for her. She wondered what Emir’s last thoughts were as the bullet lodged into him and blood poured from his stomach. She wondered if he thought of her or their mother right before the wolf’s teeth sunk into his flesh. 
Peter’s teeth. 
She couldn’t think about that. She had to push that thought away. All this time she had been searching for reasons to hate him to make killing him easier. Here it was. Right in front of her. The perfect answer to all her problems. And, still, she couldn’t find a single ounce of hate left in heart to aim at him. He was too soft. Gentle. Caring. Sad. Those big, grief-stricken solid brown eyes. 
She didn’t hate him anymore than she hated the girl in front of her.  
Aylin could feel Kraven’s stare burning a hole in the back of her skull but she refused to turn around. This was between her and the girl. If she was going to kill her, she was going to do it her way. Her freedom came with a heavy price and she wasn’t going to pay it lightly. 
“What’s your name?” She whispered down to the girl. 
The wolf mumbled out some pained, unintelligible sounds. Her dulling emerald eyes cracked open into tiny slits to look up at her. 
“Stop delaying the inevitable,” she croaked out. “My name will not save me. You don’t deserve to know it. It’s all I have left that is mine and only mine. I’ll take it to my grave.”
She was right. Her name would not save her but it would soothe a piece of Aylin’s frantic mind. It would give the girl an identity she could hold onto after her death. A name to remember her by when she thought of her in the future. She would not have to be the nameless Lycan ruthlessly slaughtered at her hands. She was also correct in saying that Aylin didn’t deserve to know. Knowing that bit of personal information would only be used to serve Aylin, not the girl. She would be dead whether Aylin knew it or not. She didn’t care how her memory stuck around with a Silver Colt. She had the right to keep the last of her secrets even if it left a heavy weight of guilt and unsolved answers on Aylin’s mind. 
She reached her hand behind her back, “Give me your dagger, Sergei. Let’s finish this.” 
She felt the hilt press into her hands.
“I don’t want blood all over my sh-” Kraven started to speak but Aylin cut him off. 
“It will wash out.” 
She was hyper focused, zeroing in, on where she assumed the forever nameless wolf girl’s heart was under her chest. She wanted to be as precise and quick as she could to make it as painless as possible. 
This was going to happen. She was going to take her life. Right here. Right now. It was suddenly too real. 
Aylin’s vision blurred but she fought off the tears. In another world, it could have been Peter laying here, half dead, with her dagger raised above his chest. This was what he wanted from her. He wanted her face to be the last he saw. He wanted this death at her hands. In another world, she would have never hesitated. Now, she couldn’t see past the haze of tears clouding her sight. The lump in her throat grew heavier with each passing second. 
All she wanted was to go home. 
“Once I do this, I can go?” She asked, her voice thick with heartbreak, seeking assurance that this won’t all be for nothing. “I get to walk out of here and go back home to my mom?” 
Kraven paused for a beat too long. His silence was deafening. 
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as all the alarm bells started ringing in her head, “Sergei? Answer me.” 
When she got no response, Aylin whipped around to face him, overcome with dizziness at how fast she spun. Whatever numbing drugs were in that tea earlier had all worn off. She could feel every twinge of pain branching out through her entire body. Her knees felt weak like they were struggling to hold her own weight. Her rapid heartbeat sent shockwaves of anxiety penetrating through her chest. Kraven’s dark eyes bore into her with a look that told her all she needed to know. 
She was not going home. 
Ever.
“After you complete the ritual, I will bring you upstairs. I will bathe you, Calypso will reclean your wounds, and then I will bring you to bed to rest for the remainder of the night. While there, I will have you tied. You are not to be fully trusted. Not yet. You will not experience this basement again, as long as you behave, but you will not have the freedom you seek. You are mine now, Aylin. You made a promise to me. We will care for you, treat you kindly, but you will not leave until your deal is done. You have promises to keep and debts to fulfill.”
There was no freedom in her future. She was still a prisoner. She was naive to think she’d ever be anything other than that after experiencing this basement. This was going to break her mother. She wouldn’t ever be able to understand the weight of what Aylin did to get in this position. She would never understand where her daughter went or why she disappeared. Peter would think she abandoned him. He’d think she chose her guild over him. He’d never know just how alike they really were or how much comfort the memories of him brought her down here. He’d never know how much she fought just to keep him safe. She trimmed off parts of her soul for him and she’d only be remembered as another disappointment in his life. All the pain she suffered through was for nothing. All hope was lost as the reality of her situation took over. 
A single tear slipped through her tight hold to carve a path down her bruised cheek. 
She swallowed at the lump in her throat threatening to send her into hysterics. She was so weak, in so much pain, and so tired that her willpower to keep upright was draining. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from quivering and turned around to face the girl. 
Her death would truly mean nothing when there was no hope left to be had. There was no escape in sight. 
Aylin wished they could trade places. Death was better than what Kraven had in store for her. She wished she was the one on the table instead, waiting for the dagger to hit, waiting for it all to end. Death was the only escape from Kraven. The girl had helped to grow her fire and give her hope when Aylin was at her lowest. Now, there was only darkness. For both of them. 
Give ‘em hell. 
The time for hell giving had passed. She had missed her shot. Even with Kraven’s dagger clutched tightly in her hand, she knew she couldn’t overpower him. The drugs had worn off. She could hardly hold her own arm above her head. Her shoulder muscles trembled as she wrapped both hands around the hilt and hovered it over the wolf girl’s chest. 
At least she could end the girl’s misery before Aylin’s own life was lost to Kraven. She’d be a murderer but at least the girl wouldn’t have to suffer any further at the hands of a Silver Colt.
She could have the freedom Aylin dreamed of. 
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, mostly as an apology for herself since the girl’s eyes were closed. 
I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry I was a part of a life that caused you so much suffering. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to get either of us out. I’m sorry it was all for nothing. 
A massive portion of her carved up soul would be shed with this futile murder. 
She wasn’t sure how much soul she had left to hand over. 
Kraven placed a steading hand against Aylin’s hip, “We’ve wanted her dead for some time but something about having her blood in our system made it impossible to kill her ourselves. It was like that with Parker, too, all those years ago. Like it’s their last defense against death. We figured we might as well keep her around until someone took care of it for us. Your failed solo hunt was a perfect opportunity for that. Or so we thought.” He grazed his nails up her side as he molded his pelvis against her bottom. “All will be set right soon enough. Pierce down with enough force to break through her sternum then use the curve of the dagger to pull downwards towards her stomach and rip her open.”
Aylin could feel his cock twitching against her ass as he spoke. He was getting off on the thought of mutilation. She let her hatred for him blaze through her and push out the hopeless numbing that had taken hold. He ruined her life. He had a hand in her every move even before her own conception. He had lied and manipulated and murdered and tortured until he got what he wanted.
Well, he did it. He got his prize. Here she was, branded and claimed by him, doing exactly what he wanted like his obedient, little pet. She’d kill for him. She’d spread her legs for him. She’d birth his children. She’d lose every bit left of herself because he gave her no other options. Groomed until she was nothing but a shadow of who she once was. She wasn’t just killing the wolf girl today. She was killing herself along with her. 
Aylin steadied her shaking breath and closed her eyes. She mentally placed herself on the table instead. She looked down into her own hazel eyes and hated the woman she saw staring back. Her hair was clean and waved around her soft, rounded cheeks. There was no blood or bruising painting her skin, only an air of innocence written all over her face that she no longer recognized. There was sadness and grief too but nothing like the hollow emptiness she felt now. This was the woman she was before she left on her solo hunt. This was the woman who she had been before she found Peter and learned the truth. A woman kept in the dark and living a life of lies. 
She could never be this woman again. She could never go back. That Aylin was gone. Forever. 
With a rage driven, exasperated, feral scream ripping from her throat, she drove the dagger straight down with every bit of declining strength she had left in her body. Her stab landed true. The wolf girl never even opened her eyes to watch the incoming blow. She never cried out in pain. Her body simply jerked into itself at the sudden attack but quickly collapsed, listlessly, back against the table. 
A spray of warm blood splashed against Aylin’s face. It splattered across her clenched mouth. Without thinking, she instinctively licked at her lips to remove it, tasting the copper there. She stumbled backwards into Kraven in shock. Her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the floor. She couldn’t finish the job. Not yet. She was too weak. It had taken everything she had in her to make sure she killed the girl with a single strike. Her body was failing her as the adrenaline flooded through her veins. The clotting wounds on her back ripped open. Her blistering thigh rubbed with a searing fire against her other leg. A flash of horrified agony ricocheted through her body. She was unsure if the pain was physical or mental. 
It didn’t matter. 
The wolf girl was dead. Aylin was dead. She had killed them both. 
Murderer. 
Kraven was crouched by Aylin’s side. He was scooping her limp form into his lap as he sat on the floor. His hands were all over her. Grabbing at her ass. Groping her chest. Pushing against the thin fabric protecting between her thighs. Pulling back her underwear to probe his finger inside of her. His tongue was bathing over her blood splattered lips. Lapping it up. Licking along the blood on her cheeks. Pushing his blood stained tongue back into her mouth to forcefully tangle with hers. She could taste the metallic as it mixed with the salt from her flowing tears. She couldn’t move to stop the assault on her body. Her hands were shaking as she openly sobbed, losing all control, while he molested her. 
He was moaning into her mouth, “You look so sexy covered in blood. I’m doing everything in my power not to fuck you over the table but you need to finish what you started. Soon…soon…I can have you soon.” 
He was collecting her in his arms and pushing them to a stand as the basement spun around her. She couldn’t catch her breath as the whirlwind of spiraling emotions overtook her. Her vision fuzzed black around the edges. She felt like she might vomit except there was no food in her stomach to bring up. All that was there was the taste of acid burning up her throat. 
Kraven steadied her in front of the dead wolf girl, holding her upright by clutching onto her hips. There was a desperation of longing in his voice, “Now finish the job. Get her heart. Throw it in the fire. And we can finally put this behind us.”
She could never put this behind her. She would never shed herself from this guilt. 
Murderer.
Aylin stared down at the dagger sticking from the wolf girl’s chest. Dark, fresh blood soaked over her small breasts and trickled in thick, slow lines down her side to pool over the table and sink into the cracks in the wood. There was no name to remember her by. Nothing to memorialize her with. There would be no loved ones to mourn for her. No happy memories shared between old friends. No last goodbyes. They would burn her body until there was nothing left but the polluted memories Aylin held. She was gone with nothing to show for her sacrifice. 
Peter was right about the Silver Colts. 
They were a bunch of violent murders. She included herself in that group. She deserved everything Kraven did to her. She deserved to be punished for her crimes. 
Her slack hands were being placed back on the hilt of the bloody dagger by Kraven. He wanted her to finish this quickly so he could get to fucking her. 
She couldn’t move anymore. She was only remaining upright because his arm was wrapped around her waist. Everything about her was limp. 
“I know you’re weak but just a little more. We’re almost done. I’ll help guide yo-”
He was cut off by an ear splitting shriek from upstairs. 
They both froze and whipped their heads towards the sound. 
“Sergei!” Calypso was shouting. There was fear evident in her voice. It was an unusual, alarming sound to hear from her. From the look on Kraven’s face, it was one he didn’t hear often. They listened to her hurried footsteps banging above their heads as she ran towards the bookcase door to throw it open. “We’re under attack! Fire!” 
His brows furrowed with confusion and he pulled away from Aylin, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
She tumbled against the table, holding herself upright with her forearms, and watched as he leaped up the stairs and disappeared from view. 
A hushed, breathless silence fell over the basement.
Aylin stared down at the wolf girl then back to the stairs. She was alone. Uncuffed. 
Her heart leapt with a sense of hope she thought was long lost. 
She could hear a frenzied commotion happening above her. Lots of bewildered shouting. Lots of stomping footsteps back and forth. 
Aylin pushed herself up and away from the table. She took a few stumbling steps towards the stairs before collapsing at the bottom. Her knees cracked against the concrete floor but she was shocked to find that there was hardly any pain as her bones made contact with the hard surface. She stretched out her back, waiting to feel the terrible sting of her wounds, but felt merely a light tickle. 
Her breath began to grow rapidly as a wave of warmth spread throughout her veins. She could feel the liquid fire traveling down her arms and into her finger tips. It spread throughout her chest and coursed down her legs as it consumed her entire body in its bathing glow. Aylin squeezed her eyes shut then reopened them, searching around the basement as if she was taking in an entirely new sight. What was once dark, damp, and dreary was now exploding with colors she never noticed before. She could make out each varied speckle of gray and brown and tan in the cobblestone walls. The light from the still burning fire raged in beautiful hues of deep orange and vibrant yellows. Light danced across each surface like a delicate ballet for her eyes to savor. 
A strength flowed through her. A power unlike any she’d ever felt. Aylin had never been a weak person apart from when she’d been tortured into submission. She had always been physically strong and capable. But this…this was different. This was an inhuman type of strength. Something was happening to her body. A change was taking over. 
She stared down at her bloodied hands in front of her, able to make out every line of her skin with a rapidly improving vision. She focused in on the different tints of red, some dark, some lighter, that stained her fingers. It wasn’t her blood. It was the wolf girl’s. 
Lycan blood. 
Aylin’s eyes widened as she staggered to her feet. She had tasted Lycan blood. It had only been a few drops but clearly that was enough for it to have an effect. It was morphing the very fabric of her being with each passing second that ticked by. Her strength returned to her in a way she never thought possible. 
The unmistakable smell of smoke reached her nose to drag her attention away from her shocking, new developments. Her sight darted up the stairs. The bookcase had been left open. Thick, gray and black smoke was starting to billow through the door and creep along the ceiling down the stairs. She could hear the blaze of roaring fire as clearly as if it was in the room with her. She could hear Kraven and Calypso moving in a panic above her. The accuracy of her acute hearing allowed her to place them directly in the kitchen. They were distracted. 
This was her one chance. 
Aylin paused for only a moment to take one last look at the Lycan girl, nodding her head in her direction as a silent sign of respect, before she darted up the stairs with a remarkable agility for someone who could hardly stand only moments ago. The last gift the girl had given her was that of her blood. It was a gift she would not waste. She would get out of this hell. She would regain back control. She would enact revenge on both their behalf. The Lycan would not die in vain. Aylin would make sure her death was not wasted. 
She burst across the Kravinoff hallway, emerging from the basement like a gazelle escaping a lion. Her elbow slammed into the opposite wall to break her stride. She wasn’t used to being able to run this fast. Her body surged with power and speed. It electrified her skin. Vibrant colors flashed across her vision, swirling around her, as she stumbled down the hallway. She could hear every panicked breath the couple took in the room beside her. The heavier, deeper one was Kraven’s, panting in anger, as he tried to douse the growing flames. The lighter, more birdlike breathes were Calypso, desperately spraying water from the kitchen sink hose. She could hear their every breath even over the sounds of the roaring fire. Through sound alone she could visualize the fire crawling up the kitchen curtains and licking at their house made of wood. If they weren’t fast, it would quickly eat up everything in its path. Smoke rolled out into the hallway and slithered with thick layers of black over her head. She crouched down to keep under it. Whatever had started the fire had been her saving grace. She may have killed off her old self in that basement but she would be reborn again thanks to the flames. A phoenix emerging from the ashes. 
Aylin made her way down the hall with a near silent stealth in the opposite direction of the kitchen fire until she landed at their backdoor. All it took was a quick switch of the lock for the door to push open. 
She leapt into the chilly night air and broke out into a sprint back towards her house. 
Running for her life.
Running for her freedom. 
Her lungs expanded and filled as she drew gulps of air into them. It tasted sweeter than honey. The night had never looked so bright like she was gifted with her own personal night vision. She would have guessed it was morning if it weren’t for the explosion of stars plastered in the sky through the treetops. They were brighter than ever before as she neared a clearing in the overhead branches. Beautiful. Stunning. She could have been looking at a photograph straight from the Webb Space Telescope. The sight was so mesmerizing, her frantic sprint slowed to a light jog. She couldn’t pull her eyes from the vibrant milky way splitting across the sky. 
She could stare at its hypnotic beauty for hours. 
The sounds of screams drew her back down to planet Earth. Her head darted around to search through the woods for the alarms. Through the trees she caught sight of another blazing fire down the dirt road from Kraven’s cabin. Behind that fire was another breaking out. Three different houses were ablaze. Distraught shrieks of chaos erupted in their little town. She could hear people running into the woods, running towards the destruction, all trying to extinguish the flames before their entire forest went up like a box of tinder. The Silver Colts were under attack. This was no accident. Those fires were intentional. They were being targeted. Houses were being set to burn while everyone slept. 
Her newly eagle eyed vision set straight towards her own home. They lived on the outer edge of town. It was quiet and dark in that direction. Her mother would still be safe. Aylin left the chaos behind her and sprinted, barefoot and nearly naked, through the forest towards her chance at freedom. 
The mossy ground under foot hardly touched her soles before she was pushing off again. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Her hair blew out from behind her like a cape as she took flight. She sprinted like her life depended on it. She ran from that basement with every ounce of strength the Lycan blood allowed her to have. Every smell consumed her, every breath felt like ice in her lungs, every sight swirled in pools of color around her until she no longer felt human. 
The spirit of the wolf soared beside her and carried her in record time to the one place she thought she might never see again. 
Her charming, humble cabin with its peeling, painted brown wood and faded, white trimmed windows. It had never looked so perfect, so dreamy, so inviting in her life. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she jogged towards her safe haven. Pine needles softened her tread under her bare feet to welcome her home. 
She slammed open the front door, accidentally ripping it from its hinges, and stumbled inside. She was drunk from the overwhelming power flooding her body. 
“Mom!” She screamed into the quiet house. “Mom! Wake up! We have to go! We have to get out! 
A small, black shadow darted out from under the couch and past her ankles in reaction to her cries. She jumped back with a shocked yelp, ready to pounce and attack the intruder until her sights settled on the frightened cat lurking under a table leg and eyeing her suspiciously. 
“Fuck, Kedi. Scared the shit outta me. Fuckin’ cat,” she mumbled, holding her hand over her chest.
Her breath was catching in her throat. Her heart was racing. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe the longer she stood still. Her body needed to run. Move. Jump. Climb. Fight. Anything. Her emotions all tumbled together along with every new smell. She could smell the sweet scent of lavender vanilla from her mother’s body lotion clinging to every surface. She could smell Kedi’s dander in his fur. She could smell the spinach and feta filled gözleme her mother had eaten for dinner still lingering in the air even though hours had passed since it was last cooked. 
“Mom!” 
The sound of her own voice was too shrill in her ears. She could hear a battering ram chorus of moth wings hitting against the porch light. Every pur rumbling inside Kedi’s chest, as he slinked out from under the table to rubbed his side across her legs, vibrated in her own head. Her heart beat was thumping in her ears at an unnaturally rapid pace. 
“Mom! Wake up! We have to…have to…go…” 
It was too loud. Her skull was cracking under the pressure of her own voice. The smells were making her dizzy. Colors blurred together and swirled in front of her spinning eyes. 
Aylin stumbled through the living room towards her mother’s bedroom door, shoving it open, and collapsing onto the cold, hardwood floor. 
Her bed was empty. The sheets were pulled back and tossed to the side like she had run from a sound sleep. Her slippers and robe were missing. She must have heard the commotion in the village. She must have heard the fires and gone to help. 
Except that Aylin would have met her along the way. She would have seen her running in the opposite direction. 
Something wasn’t right. 
Aylin’s breath was picking up speed into quick, short bursts. Her knees and forearms dug into the wood under her as she pressed her throbbing forehead down to the floor. Her entire world was shifting, tilting back and forth, until she felt like she couldn’t hold on any longer. What was left of her fingernails, clawed into the wood in a desperate attempt to try and keep her balance. 
There was too much stimulation piling on and suffocating her from every angle. There was no place she was safe, nowhere to hide, when it was her own body fighting against her. 
She clasped her palms tightly over her ears and let out a deafening shriek, curling tighter into herself, and begging for it all to be over. 
An arm snaked around her neck and a warm, strong hand tightened over her mouth to silence her.  
Her eyes shot open. She could hear everything but she couldn’t hear her attacker approaching.  In an instant, she scrambled out of the hold, flailing onto her back, to violently kick up at her assailant. 
Kraven had found her. He was going to drag her back. He was going to hurt her. He was going to-
Peter caught her ankle in his grasp before she could make contact with his chest and lunged on top of her. He pinned her to the ground, hand covering her mouth to keep her from screaming, and fastened his knees over her arms as he sat on her chest to stop her from striking him. 
“Shut up,” he hissed. “It’s just me.”
Aylin blinked up at him in confusion. All her senses that had been launched into overdrive, redirected themselves onto him instead. The edges of his outline waved in front of her bloodshot eyes but his face was as clear as it could get. His chocolate brown eyes had always seemed so dark and solid of color to her before. Now, they were flecked with specks of lighter caramels and circled his pupils with a honeyed bronze. They were nearly as bewitching as staring into the night sky. 
Her lips parted as she stared, wide eyed, up at him. Frozen in place. Mesmerized by the details of his face. His thick eyebrows raised in confusion. The way his nose dipped into a perfect slope. His succulent bottom lip peeking out from under his scraggly mustache. Every freckle over his tanned skin and every soft hair on his head was crafted with a transcended beauty. 
He was back. 
He was still here. 
He hadn’t left her. 
“We don’t have a lot of time,” he hurried her. “We have to get out of here. We have to-” He paused as he focused down on her face. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head ‘no’, still unable to pull her attention away from his eyes. They were like a cup of steaming hot coffee on a cold, rainy morning. Comforting and safe. If she dared to look away, the overwhelming senses would flood her again. He was her anchor keeping her from getting lost in the thrashing waves.  
“Your pupils are blown out. Your heart is racing. I can smell the adrenaline sweating out of you. Your skin is on fire,” he rolled off of her in horror, taking in the sight of her injuries and dried blood, slowly connecting the dots, “You look like…are you…” 
“Lycan blood,” she breathed. “I can feel everything and nothing at all. I’m falling and flying at the same time. I’m broken and whole. My brain is on fire. I feel like…like….’m gonna…” 
“Have a heart attack? Because that’s exactly what’s about to happen,” he hissed through worried, clenched teeth. “Your heart is about to explode if you don’t calm yourself. Not everyone is built to handle wolf blood, Aylin. It’s going to kill you if you can’t calm down.”
Her skin was tingling and breaking out a cold sweat. An uncomfortable, squeezing pressure gripped at her chest as her heart raced. Her breath felt constricted in her throat. Waves of panic rocked over her. 
Kraven was going to find her. 
Her mother was missing. 
She killed the Lycan girl. 
Murderer. 
“Peter,” she whimpered. “‘M don’ feel good.” 
“Fuck,” his distressed eyes darted around the room before landing back on her paling face. “Okay. I need you to listen to me, Aylin. You need to calm your body. You over stressed yourself. Pushed yourself too far. I’m gonna sit ya up, ‘kay?” 
He wrapped a protective arm behind her neck to avoid the wraps covering her back and helped her into a sitting position. He carefully leaned her back against her mother’s bed. He knelt down between her open legs and gently grasped her face in his large hands, covering her ears to help muffle the overpowering noises hitting her from every direction. 
“Follow my breaths,” he whispered. Even with her ears covered, she could still hear him perfectly. “Breathe with me.”
Peter pressed his forehead against her sweat drenched one, locking his eyes with her, as he demonstrated taking a deep, long breath. She held onto the intoxicating color of his eyes like a drowning person clings to a life preserve and followed his lead. 
Deep inhale for four seconds. Hold it for seven. Exhale for eight. 
Repeat. 
Inhale. Four. Hold it. Seven. Exhale. Eight. 
Peter continued the process until the sounds of her pounding heart started to slow back to a normal rhythm. The adrenaline leaving her body caused her to slump over with her cheek resting on the cool floor as he gently released her from his hold. She curled herself into the fetal position. 
The weight of Peter’s heavy hand, his palm pressing against her forehead, feeling her temperature, gave her the tiniest warmth of comfort. She let her eyes close and leaned into his touch. He would protect her. If Kraven came calling, he would keep her safe. 
He belonged to her. That’s what she had told him right before she dragged him from his confinement. Peter Parker was hers. She was safe with her Lycan but he wasn’t safe in the Silver Colts territory. They had to leave before the fires were put out. They had to get out before Kraven noticed her missing. Their time here was limited. 
The fight was leaving her body. She felt like her entire soul was draining out of her pores as exhaustion replaced the adrenaline. 
“I have to find my mom,” she muttered through sleepy breaths. “I have to get us out of here.” 
He swallowed, his attention flashing between his concern for her wellbeing and keeping an attentive eye on what was happening outside of the cabin, “I think the Lycan blood is leaving your system. Your heart has calmed down. You’re going to be okay. The worst of it is over but you’re going to crash once it’s completely gone. It’ll suck out every last bit of energy you have left. I have to get you out of here before you’re out cold.” 
He wasn’t listening to what she was saying. 
“My mom-” 
“How much blood did you get?” He asked, interrupting her. 
“Jus’ a drop or two,” she murmured. “Peter. My mom. Hafta find her. Gotta get’us out. All of us.” 
“Well, she’s not here, is she? We can’t go looking for her or wait for her to come back! There’s no time!” He shot angrily in her direction. He pushed himself up to his feet and paced anxiously around the room. “Where are your car keys?” 
Aylin tried to lift her head off the floor but was overcome with a nauseating dizziness.
“Left ‘em on the table on the porch before…before…he…”
She let her words trail off, unable to finish her sentence. 
Peter darted from the bedroom in search of the keys. She groaned. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t going to look for her mother. He couldn’t be seen out there. She couldn’t be seen here. There was no time. Nesrin would have to find her own way out but she knew nothing of the true horrors lying under the surface of this guild.  
Aylin pushed herself onto shaky legs. She clutched onto her mother’s mattress as the room spun. Her eyes squeezed shut until she was able to steady her vision once more. When her eyes reopened, they focused in on Kedi sitting quietly on the mattress in front of her, gazing at her curiously with wide, amber eyes. He got up and headbuttted the top of his head into her arm as if willing her to keep moving. 
“Thanks, bud,” she whispered down to him. “‘M okay. I’ll be okay. Jus’ hafta go away for a little while. I got’ta warn mom.” 
She gathered what was left of her strength to shuffle towards the door and out into their small kitchen. Through the smudged, glass window over their sink, she could see out into the dark forest. Her sight wasn’t as vivid as had it been when she first ran from the basement. It was already settling back to its normal state. A blazing fire in the far distance illuminated through the dark trees. There was only one now. She couldn’t tell who’s house it belonged to but, whoever it was, there wouldn’t be much left once it burned out. The entire village would be focused on helping their neighbors but, once the fire was under control, they would be out for blood. A hunt like never before would begin. The village had never been directly attacked like this before. The Silver Colts would not take this lightly. Her and Peter needed to be as far away as possible. Any Lycan within the area, or anyone seen conspiring with one, would have their head on a spike. Literally. 
She wondered if it was Peter who started those fires. 
It must have been. 
With a surge of unmistakable devotion, Aylin reached for the empty grocery notepad left hanging on the refrigerator. She grabbed a pen from the kitchen drawer and scribbled a quick note. 
“Take dad’s truck and get out. Don’t speak to anyone. Trust no one. Pack as little as possible and run as fast as you can. Go to a hotel. Somewhere with people. Not safe here. I love you. I’ll find you again soon. -A” 
Peter had saved her. He had given her a way to escape. He had taken her from the clutches of her prison just like she had done for him. He did not abandon her and showed up when she needed him most. Her infatuation for him was growing. 
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he didn’t belong to her. They belonged to each other. 
Aylin took a step away from the note and stumbled backward. The pain was starting to return. She was so tired. So broken. Her legs couldn’t hold her up any longer. Everything was draining just like Peter said.  
Her sight blackened around the edges as her knees gave out. 
Before she could hit the kitchen floor, Peter wrapped her up in his muscular arms. The last thing she felt was the feeling of safety as he cradled her to his chest, his voice echoing in her drifting mind. 
“I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
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[CHAPTER EIGHT]
Tag List Requirements: 🌒A reblog of this chapter will automatically put you onto the next chapter tag list. If you no longer wish to be put on the next list, simply don’t reblog this chapter. The list is updated with every chapter depending on who reblogged.🌔
TagList: @theorgansarerotting @sincericida @moonyslove78 @lazyxsquirrel @101maverick
A/N: Please remember that writers love to listen to every tiny, little thought you’ve had about their work. If you liked something in particular, let us know! We love to hear it!
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petersvenom · 2 years
Note
Hi lovely, i think youre an incredible writer! TY for all you do!! I was wondering if i could request an Andrew x actress reader? Shes younger (24) and they're doing the actors on actors interview and ppl are just commenting on how Andrew looks at the reader throughout the interview? I imagine the actress playing MJ from Spiderman No way home so then they can talk about that one scene 🥺 and the chemistry between the two during Andrews entrance scene in the movie. No hate on Zendaya shes literally perfect just for this request reader is MJ 🙈
absolutely no hate on zendaya, you’re right she is the perfect mj!! this is such a cute idea tho!
this blurb is unedited, by the way!
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“…And we talk about Spider-Man, but the amount of joy that brought people, is like, so cool!” you emphasized, Andrew nodding along and letting out a grateful sigh. “To see you guys have that moment together was special, but then also, it made people happy. I think that’s really cool.”
The conversation you were having with Andrew was for Actors on Actors for Variety. You’d both been invited to talk to each other about your recent shows, but since you’d both acted together in Spider-Man No Way Home, you just had to bring it up.
You met Andrew on the set of No Way Home. Although he didn’t play your Peter, and your MJ wasn’t his MJ, you and him had amazing chemistry together and connected instantly.
By the time you’d wrapped filming, you’d mustered up the courage to ask Andrew out on a date. After weeks of amazing interactions and a hell of a lot of sexual tension, you convinced yourself that you couldn’t pass up the opportunity before you didn’t see him again for who knows how long.
Luckily, he’d said yes, and you officially became his girlfriend two months after filming. Due to your age gap that might’ve caused a stir over ignorant people on the internet, you kept your relationship away from the public. But all of your friends, and surely the cast of No Way Home, all of them knew you two were a match made in heaven.
A few fans had speculated you were dating, but since you and Andrew were so private (and had figured out how to hide from the paparazzi), you’d been able to disguise your relationship for a friendship.
It’d been a breeze talking with Andrew for this interview. Conversation came easily with you two, falling into new topics as time flew by. You both held back heart eyes and adoring smiles as you listened to the other talk about their passions and career.
“And also, like, about brotherhood—I love the idea that maybe Tom’s Peter would’ve suffered the same fate as Andrew’s Peter if Andrew hadn’t come into that universe and learned from the mistakes of the past..” Andrew widened his eyes and flailed his hands as he tried to explain the multiverse aspects of the film, “And made sure that my younger brother and his love didn’t have the same fate. That’s kind of cosmically—“
You nodded, mimicking his facial expression of bemusement. “It’s so cool, so cool. Meant to be, I would say.” You insinuated, noting the smirk Andrew sent you subtly in response. “And that was fun, I loved shooting that with you so much.”
When you shot that falling scene, it was the day you met Andrew for the very first time. You’d spent an hour together filming that once scene over and over again. He was attracted to you from the start, but that day he had to remain professional and cry like the scene required.
“It was pretty intense. It went like that,” he snapped his fingers together, “and then suddenly we were kind of done, and it was like this huge moment that we just did like a few takes of.”
“But I guess it was good to get the more emotional stuff out of the way, ‘cause the rest of the time was just—“
“Just giddy, joyful.” he completed, nodding along with you. He fondly remembered spending time with not only you, but also Tom and the rest of the cast during breaks and even messing up takes. Those were the best moments, when it felt fun and everyone on set was having a good time. It’s where you got to know more about Andrew as a person, not just a costar.
“We were just having a good old time.” you smiled, fiddling with your fingers as your eyes shared a look. You could tell he was thinking of the same moments on set as you.
“Just being so dumb.” he added, to which you let out a belly laugh in agreement. You both continued talking about filming No Way Home, sharing random anecdotes, like how your friend and costar Tom Holland was nervous about having Andrew and Tobey on set. Even you were nervous about having them show up, something Andrew was surprised to learn.
The interview was posted to YouTube just a week after you filmed it. Now, you and Andrew were sitting together cuddled up on the couch, scrolling through the comments on the computer.
“I think they’re catching on, my love.” Andrew cheekily smiled, pointing to one of the comments on your screen. While you read them, Andrew pulled you further onto his lap and buried his face into your neck.
When will i find someone who looks at me the way Andrew looks at Y/N🥲
“That’s your fault for being so flirtatious.” you rebutted, reaching up to scratch his scalp lightly, “Especially with your eyes, most of these comments are about the way you stare at me.”
“Sorry for being so romantic, I didn’t know it was a crime to stare at my girlfriend.” he mumbled into your shoulder, his tone feigning hurt and offense.
“It’s not a crime, it’s creepy.” you chuckled, turning your head to the side and lifting Andrew’s face to meet yours. “You’re my costar to them, not my boyfriend, remember?”
I ship them so hard. If they’re not dating, then they’re definitely soulmates. I hope they figure it out soon
Andrew hummed, absentmindedly staring at your lips. You weren’t even sure he was listening to you anymore with how distracted he was.
Leaning in, Andrew slowly pressed his lips to yours. He took his time kissing you, as if he hadn’t done it a million times before. He cradled your face with his large hand, making you lean into the warmth as you sighed into the kiss.
They’re so dating. They’re not fooling anyone.
Feeling your tongue swipe his bottom lip, Andrew pulled away before you got too distracted. At the sight of your pouted lip, Andrew pecked your lips lightly.
“Would it be so bad if we went public?” he whispered, pushing a hair behind your ear as you slowly processed what he was saying. Flickering your eyes back and forth with each of his, you smiled softly and let him continue. “I love you, and I want to be able to look at you with as much heart eyes as I want without people questioning it.”
“I love you too, baby.” you promised him, grabbing both of his cheeks to hold his face in your palm. “If you want to, I want to do it as well. As long as you’re prepared for all the comments on our age gap and all that.” The all that being the people who have been shipping you with your costar Tom Holland since the first movie, Spider-Man: Homecoming. They would definitely be mad that you were dating Peter Parker, the one that they weren’t hoping for.
“I don’t think they’ll be too upset.” Andrew reasoned, bringing the laptop back onto your lap, his fingers grazed the touchpad, slowly scrolling until he landed on another polite comment. “Look here, IconicY/N says we are “totes adorbs” and would make cute babies. See? Totally fine.”
Giggling, you pushed the laptop aside and brought Andrew’s face closer to yours, kissing him softly. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Garfield.”
“Is that a yes?” Andrew inquired, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Yes, baby. Let’s go public!”
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fivelakesinwriting · 1 year
Note
i LOVE your andrew pure series and i was wondering if you could do like a wedding night smut with andrew garfield?
Author's Notes: Thank you so, so much. That series means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this just as much. This was actually part of the first Pure story, but was edited out. I hope this is something close to what you had imagined, my friend. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment - messages, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Thank you! xoxo
Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of drinking, Sexual references - sexual innuendos
Requested? Yes. Requests are closed for the time being.
*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. And you do not have permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo
Blessed was a really good word. While he wasn't an overly religious man at this point in his life, he definitely had beliefs in the divine, and he believed the divine had truly intervened when she stepped into his path. Now she wore his ring. A soft delicate diamond ring to signify their union and he wore a thicker silver band with her name engraved on the inside. There was no mistaking who he loved, who he belonged to.
"What are you doing out here all by yourself?" Her voice whispered behind him while he stood on the balcony of the hotel room in Italy. A quiet moment to himself while she slept, recuperating from an afternoon of being tossed around like his little doll.
"Hi, lovey. Just watching the world go by, had a little drink. Was going to fix myself another then go check on you. But here you are." Andrew smiled as he reached for the sheet wrapped around his wife, and tugged her closer to him. He kissed her forehead as he held her hips breathing in the scent of her hair as he rested his cheek on top of her head.
"Missed you when I woke up. Could smell you on the sheets beside me, but you weren't there." She muttered into his chest.
"So you brought the sheets with you to come find me, did you?" Andrew smiled as he tugged the sheets that hugged her body, his lips making their way to her neck. He was gentle, knowing she had just woken up and he had been rougher with her earlier in the day. He placed soft kisses along her neck towards her collarbone, adoring the way his wife pulled his hair and curled her body into his.
"Couldn't find my clothes." She teased gently in his ear, making him reach for her backside as he released a soft moan into her neck.
"No clothes. Ever again." Andrew muttered into her neck as he backed them up towards the room again, through the balcony doors. He walked them carefully over their discarded clothes from earlier, guiding her back towards the enormous mattress.
"Ever?" His wife whispered as he tugged the sheets from her body as the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress.
"Only my shirt now and then. But nothing else. I want you naked for the rest of my life." Andrew breathed out as he pressed his forehead to hers, his hands roaming her body. Hickeys and bite marks littered her neck and collarbone, spanning down to her chest and stomach. Her thighs and backside had soft hand-prints on them, and the occasional bite mark - little love bites.
Andrew lifted her up and gently laid her back on the unmade bed, crawling between her no doubt sore legs. He hummed as she gently scratched her nails over his chest, though the small patch of hair down to his navel.
"Marked you good. Does it hurt?" He questioned as he thumbed at the base of her throat over the large love bruise he had left.
"No, baby. I feel fine." She smiled softly as she wrapped her arms around his waist, letting him run his fingertips over her collarbone.
Andrew grinned as he took hold of her thighs and rolled onto his back, keeping her steady on his lap.
"You're not tired? We've been at it for hours." She smiled as she thumbed at the chain around his neck, pulling the pendant through his gold necklace.
"Just happy we're married." Andrew smiled as he filled his hands with her backside.
"I feel the same way." She nodded as she placed her hands on his shoulders to hold herself upright.
"Don't know why we went somewhere for our honeymoon. We've barely left this room in days." Andrew mumbled as he ran his fingertips down her bare back, making her shiver.
"I like the accent of the person who answers the phone for room service." She replied as she rolled her head back while he traced gentle patterns over her back.
"Better than mine?" Andrew questioned as he placed one hand behind his head while his other hand laid flat on the small of her back.
"Never." She responded as she leaned down to kiss his lips, hands in his messy hair.
"Good. Wanna be the only man who accents makes you hot and bothered." Andrew smiled against her lips, the hand that was behind his head making its way into her hair for a soft tug.
With a riotous giggle she fell to her back again on the unmade, Andrew's body covering hers immediately. They both made quick peace with the fact that they wouldn't be seeing the sights that day, and it would be another evening of room service.
Time well spent.
**I have stopped doing a tag list for the time being as well as taking requests, just while I get my "ducks" in a row after coming back.Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo
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mrshipsmcgee · 1 year
Note
I crave some of the classic “random villain kidnaps Peters girl and tortures her in order to get info on him” add in some “Peter shows up at the last minute and goes feral” to make me happy
Yes ma’am. Anything for you my darling 😏
WARNINGS: blood, booboos, owies, hurt
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Peter steps into the open window of his shared apartment with his best friends, Miles and Mary Jane. Peter thumbs the switch of the floor lamp beside him before discarding his mask, pausing as his brows lace together - scanning his surroundings realizing his normally warm and inviting home was dark and empty.
No Miles.
No MJ.
They should be up still.. the house should smell like fresh popcorn and the fireplace should be filled with orange flames as Miles and Mary Jane played through their newest video game together.
They always stayed up together for whoever was on patrol.. but tonight something was wrong.
Hair stands up straight on the back of Peter’s neck as he steps deeper into the home, the old wood floors creaking under the weight of each step he took.
He hears a small whimper - MJ’s whimper.
His stomach drops as he crosses the into Miles’ room.
“Shit,” Peter whispers, hot tears forming in his eyes as they fall upon Miles. Peter is frozen, chest rising as he approaches where Miles sat on the ground propped against his bed, crimson blood flowing from his abdomen as he stares up at Peter.
Peter drops to his knees, immediately inspecting the stab wounds on Miles’ stomach. Peter cries, cupping Miles’ face - his normally warm eyes now panicked as he stares at his wounded friend.
“I- I’m okay, Pete,” Miles tries to point to the door. “He has her. Go.”
Peter’s palm drops from Miles as he stands, gritting his teeth, “Where are they?”
Miles shakes his head, “I don’t know Pete. She… she stopped crying a few minutes ago,” he begins to cry. “He came through the window. We- we thought it was you, Pete. I swear. I promise I tried. My powers failed me.. I’m so sorry, Peter. I should have known-.”
“-No, Miles,” Peter interjects, dropping to his knees again and taking his friend’s face in his hands before planting a loving kiss to his forehead. His eyes meet Miles’, “There’s no need to apologize. You’re still learning.. it’s okay.”
Tears run down Miles’ cheeks as he nods at Peter, “I love you, man.”
“I love you, too,” Peter whispers.
“Please, go find her.. He’s going to kill her,” Miles sobs. “She can’t die. I can’t handle another death.”
Peter stands, already stalking towards the door as he cracks his knuckles, “You won’t have to.”
Rage courses through Peter as he nears the cracked door of his bedroom, kicking it open and stepping through the threshold.
“I was wondering if you’d get home before or after I’ve killed them,” a familiar voice comes from the corner of the room. “I’ve been waiting for this day for so long now. I had hoped you’d be here to watch them die. I’m so happy things are working out as planned. You know, Peter - it’s been an awful long time since you’ve watched a loved one die. Hasn’t it?”
“Show yourself, Harry,” Peter growls. “I’m the one you want anyway, right?”
“Peter Parker… such a bright mind, but still can’t figure out the purpose of this all,” Harry let’s out a gravely laugh. “I’m simply doing what I have done before. I’m killing your hope. I don’t want you dead, I want you miserable. I want you to wish for death.”
“Where is she?” Peter asks, fists clenched as his chest rises and falls, “Where is Mary Jane?”
“Oh, the pretty one?” Harry’s voice is playful. “Pete, do you remember what I like to do with pretty women?”
Peter gulps, eyes flickering between rage and sorrow.
“I like to do whatever the fuck I want with pretty women, Peter,” Harry finally steps out of the shadows. “And god damn did I do whatever the fuck I wanted with her.”
Peter charges Harry, hands wrapping around his scaly neck as he begins to choke him, “I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Do you know who she cried for the entire time?” Harry laughs as he chokes. “You. And - and you - you weren’t there. You - you never are.”
Peter throws Harry against the wall before slamming him onto the ground, holding him by the collar as he screams, “Where is she?!” Peter’s fist meets Harry cheek, then his jaw, then his left eye, then his throat. Harry gasps for air as Peter pulls away, his face beet-red as he screams “Tell me!”
“Go to the bedroom,” Harry smiles. “I’ll just say that she couldn’t move whenever I was done with her.”
Peter immediately runs to Mary Jane’s bedroom.
“Fuck,” he whispers as he sees MJ laying naked on her toddler bed, “Mary Jane.” He rushes to her side, a scream escaping from his throat as he sees the markings all over her beautiful body. Her body already bruising from Harry’s abuse.
His fingers ghost over her bloodied gut, carved perfectly was
H A R R Y
Peter lets out an anguished cry as his hands hover over Mary Jane, to afraid to take her into his arms.
She wakes, eyes lazily opening as she looks to Peter, “Peter.”
“You’re here,” a small smile spreads across her face, her busted lip ripping more due to her drying lips. She hisses.
Peter cries, “MJ.. MJ, I- I- I’m so sorry. Mary Jane… I wasn’t here to protect you. Or- or Miles…”
“But you’re here now,” she blinks before passing back about due to pain.
He sobs, taking MJ by the hand and planting a tender kiss to the top of her limp hand. “I’m going to take care of this, and then I’m going to take care of you and Miles.”
Peter’s face drops, wiping the tears from his warm cheeks as he steps into his bedroom and grabs Harry by the collar.
Peter’s face is expressionless as he starts to pummel his ex-friend - beating him to the point of being unrecognizable. His fists finally stop as he hears Harry’s skull crunch under his final blow.
The hero stands, staring at his work - the bloodied piece of shit lying dead on his bedroom floor. “No one fucks with my family.”
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liz-allyn · 1 year
Text
heat of the moment, pt 6 - carpe diem (finale) [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]
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summary: everything ends, eventually.  angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - “mystery spot”
words: 11.6k
warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw description of death by car accident, fire, drowning, asphyxiation, self h*rm, mass casualty event.
a/n - don't you hate it when stories just dump a ton of exposition in the last chapter? haha fuck
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.
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The sun had long set as you crouched down stealthily on a roof overlooking an industrial complex next to the Holland Tunnel. It was near the entrance on the New York side of the Hudson River, far from the dumpster you sought out. 
After leaving Claire, you had met Peter across town and inspected the burned-out site tediously. There wasn’t much left behind, save for a few singed sheets of paper nearby. Shipping invoices for an address on the other side of Manhattan. 
Alarms went off in your head at the perplexity of someone dumping their trash all the way over here. You were determined to follow this lead, and quickly. 
Working against time, you were now in pursuit. You gazed out over the street below as you studied the tall, rectangular, art deco-style, brick structure. The exteriors looked repainted and somewhat modernized, part of ongoing renovations to the Holland Tunnel, you figured. Now at the heart of the tallest building, a 50-foot-wide clock face doubled the size of ‘Big Ben,’ with golden dials that added to the aesthetic.
The clock face leered maliciously at you, like a hungry dragon perched on a tower. Like the hands would come alive, and spring out sharp teeth that gobbled you up.
What a way to go.
The face stares down at you, knowingly, like a proverbial ‘Eye of Sauron,’ meeting you at the edge of Mordor. The minute hand lurches past 10:50 to 10:51, reminding you of its quicksilver nature.
You’d never made it past 10:30 PM before. 
You’re deep behind enemy lines. 
Wearing the Spider suit, Peter swung to your position, his feet landing on the roof as gently as a cat’s. He crouched down to your level, lifting his mask from his sweaty face.
“Okay, so something is definitely off with that building,” Peter whispered. “It’s using a ton of power. Way more than any New York City building should.” He noted your distant look and silence, hypnotized by the ominous feeling the clock gave you. He eyed you suspiciously, “Exactly what are we looking for here?”
You pursed your lips, observing the slow crawl of vehicle traffic clogging itself into the tunnel. You could see the lights of a construction crew near the tunnel entrance. You smelled the heavy fumes of semi trucks trickling in between passenger vehicles. You felt the wind chilling the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.
“Something bad,” you replied grimly.
Peter stared at you incredulously, brow furrowed, waiting for further explanation. The humor was beginning to evaporate from his mood, a heavy tension settling in between you. No further explanation followed.
“Okay,” he declared, more firmly now. “We’re done here.”
That caught your attention. He reached for you and you flinched back. “No, wait, we can’t leave!”
“Honestly, this has gone on far enough,” Peter replied with a serious tone, his mocha eyes filled with concern. “You start talking about time loops at breakfast and then you throw muffins at me and ghost me for hours, you won’t answer any of my questions, you can’t just lay shit out like that and not explain yourself—”
“We have to get inside that building.”
“Why?!” he snapped, temper flaring. You knew his frustration was branching from his anxiety, and you had to find a way to diffuse it.
“Something inside that building is affecting your abilities!” you whispered harshly. You were also losing control. “Why don’t you want to find out what it is?”
A deep crease formed in his brow, stubbornness feeding indignation. “Tell me why. Why can’t we just go home right now? Tell me the truth!”
You pulled your eyes away, dropping them to the ground. “We can’t go home, Peter,” you firmly stated, and it sounds like you’re admonishing a child.
“Tell me why right now, or I throw you over my shoulder—”
“Because I never make it back home alive!” you blurted out.
He blinks at you. Eyes narrow. Observes you. Brow furrows. Head tilts. Pupils go wide. Face pales. Heart rate increases. 
“What do yo—” the words trickle off, shrinking away as they leave his mouth. With them, they take the air from his lungs. His shoulders tense. “What does that— what are you talkin’ about? What’re you sayin’?” On reflex, he grasps at your arms. His face searches yours, betrayed.
You reach out for him, gripping his shoulders. It begins to ground him, but doesn’t release the building pressure. You steady yourself. Meet him in his own time.
“Peter, listen,” you softly cooed, “it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 
He exhaled a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. His eyes looked like he was torn between the urge to argue, and the need to hold you. 
He swallowed hard, his fingers finding yours, gripping your hands like he used to hold his stuffed animals. “I don’t under—”
“What I’m about to say is going to freak you out, but we need to be on the same page about this,” you slowly explained. “Every day for the last... I don’t know how many... several-thousand Tuesdays... I wake up. And it’s Tuesday. And then, somehow, it ends with me dying. And then I wake up—and it’s Tuesday again.”
He stares. Eyes glazing black.
“Stay with me, Pete,” you pleaded, your hands cupping his cheeks. “I think whatever is causing this to happen is connected to something in that building.”
“No,” Peter said. Darkness enveloped his voice. “You’re not gonna die. Don’t say that.” He shook his head. An unsettling firmness crept into his tone.
“I have this feeling,” you explained, “that it’s all connected. The time loop. Your abilities not working right. The dying—”
“You’re not gonna die,” he asserted, with even more resolve.
You pursed your lips, falling silent. For a moment, you let yourself drown in the dark pools of his gaze. They’re like thick, dark storm clouds. Heavy blackness crackling with bolts of lightning. You read his face carefully, choosing your words delicately.
“I believe you,” you answered, finally. It was the truth. He studied your reaction too, and tension released from his shoulders slightly. “But we have to get into that building.”
He nodded once, swallowing back his anxiety, then took you by the shoulders. “But you’re not going in there. You’re staying put.”
You rolled your eyes. “Peter, we don’t have time for this!”
He shook his head, jaw firmly set. “I’m not doing this again.” He wasn't talking about last Tuesday.
“I am not Gwen,” your voice bellowed.
He went silent at her name, still dumbstruck by shame and grief. It was like you slapped him. He dropped his eyes to his feet, sorrow building steadily.
You softened your expression and your tone. “You aren’t the ‘you’ from then, either.”
The sharp, smooth line of his jaw quivered for just a moment, and you brushed your fingers along the freckles there. His lashes fluttered closed at the gesture. 
“I know that you’re afraid of what you’ll lose,” you whispered, featherlike. Like telling a secret. “I know you think it’ll break you. But I’ve seen the best and the worst of you, Peter Parker.” 
He looked up at you, and the utter endearment on your face was enough to take his breath away. It brought tears to his eyes. 
“I believe in you,” you stated. As certain as the sky is blue. “Every day. Forever. Even if you don’t believe in yourself. So please. Believe in me.”
Peter grimaced, fear piercing his chest. He pushed it down. He nodded. “Always.”
You held his gaze lovingly. Despite your predicament, you strangely wished you could freeze the moment.
“Okay,” you smirked, eyes bright. “Let’s do this. Remember, there’s no fate but what we make, right?”
You moved to stand, but he reached out and grabbed you. “Wait.” You glanced back at him, catching the puzzled look on his face. “When did you see Terminator?”
You quirked a brow, teasingly mysterious in your reply. “I’m a sci-fi nerd, now. What about it?”
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11:14 PM
After careful effort, and more minutes than you wanted to lose, you made it inside to find your suspicions were correct. 
You were standing inside of a control room next to two knocked out, webbed-up security guards. You closely studied a vast array of CCTV monitors above you. Your boyfriend was hunched over a screen, listening intently to the conversations of plant workers—some of which he’d recognized as former science division employees of Oscorp. You recognized some of them too, from Alchemax. And Horizon Labs. And Roxxon.
“Okay,” you asked, glancing warily at the time. “Do we have any idea why these guys are all in this building? Was there a mad scientist convention or something?”
“Is it weird that I’m low-key, kinda offended that I didn’t even get an invite?” Peter grumbled, shaking his masked head bitterly. “Am I weird for thinking that? Is that bad?”
You gave him an incredulous glare. “I’m sure it’s in your spam folder.”
“It’s fine,” Peter flatly declared. It wasn’t fine. 
He uncrossed his arms to lean his weight on his palms, staring at one of the screens intently. “Here,” he noted, calling your attention to a computer screen visible on the security camera. “These are plans. They’re building something. We need to find out what.”
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11:22 PM
Deeper inside the facility, you hid behind the door of a windowless office. Your palms were clammy, and sweat poured out of you. It wasn’t just the tension. It was the heat. A massive source of energy, Peter had explained, from some part of the building.
A bespectacled, bird-like, middle-aged man wearing a lab coat entered the office. You slammed the door behind him. Startled, he turned around and spotted you, a mix of confusion and growing alarm. He opened his mouth to yell just as two red gloves reached down around his head and clamped his jaw shut. 
You looked up at Spider-Man, dropping from his hiding place on the ceiling, as he muffled the screams of the captive. The scientist flailed uselessly in Peter’s arms, overcome with panic. You shuddered as you noted Spider-Man’s grip was little a rougher than normal.
“Spidey,” you soft admonished. He looked up at you and spotted the timid anxiety in your eyes. He took the hint.
Peter turned the captive scientist around and sat him down in his own desk chair. With a couple of webs he was bound to the fake leather padding. 
The man gaped up through wire-rimmed glasses at Spider-Man’s towering frame, his eyes wide with terror. Without being prompted, you reached into the pockets of the lab coat, snatching his ID badge off its lanyard. You pocketed several keys, metal and magnetic. You flipped through his wallet for clues.
Spider-Man kicked his leg up on the seat of the captive’s chair, leaning on his own thigh crassly. “Hey, buddy!” the vigilante greeted with a bright, cheery smile as you searched him. 
You glanced at the name on the scientist’s ID badge. “Joseph,” you supplied.
“Hey, Joe!” Spider-Man corrected. Despite the chipper tone, the muscles in his neck were pulled taught. He looked like a dog about to snap. “Whatcha buildin’ under here?”
Your boyfriend released the scientist’s mouth. His wild eyes darted anxiously between the two of you. ‘Joe’ attempted to calm himself down, stuttering as he sought out what’s left of his courage.
“Do you have any idea where you are?” he spat ferociously. “You two are screwed! You’re not getting outta here. You’re in way over your heads! I’m not telling you anything! You can’t make me talk—”
A web slapped over Joe’s mouth, gagging him. You shot your boyfriend an impatient glare. “We don’t have time for this,” you warned him.
Spider-Man kept his attention on his captive, shrugging his shoulders. “You heard the lady,” he said, almost apologetically. Peter dropped his foot from the chair and sidled up to the man, gripping his hair and yanking his head back. You flinched as you watched him brandish a blade and swipe at the webbing across the man’s mouth with cobra-like quickness. He sliced an opening in the gag, allowing his captive to breathe.
“Since we’re a little short on time, we’re gonna cut to the chase, yeah?” he explained, his pleasant-sounding demeanor coming short of masking the malice in his tone. “I’m Spider-Man. You’re a bad guy. And you caught me on a really weird day. So instead of hanging you by your ankles off the edge of a high-rise, or tossing you off the Statue of Liberty, or webbing you up over Fifth Avenue in nothin’ but your tighty-whities, I’m gonna fast-forward.” 
The vigilante tilted his head down until he was directly in front of Joe’s face, lowering his voice to a serpent’s hiss. “You’re going to tell me what you’re building here, or I’ll end you. Simple as that.”
You flicked your eyes to Spider-Man, shifting your weight between your feet. You squeezed your eyes closed, pushing images of Peter’s rage from your anxious thoughts. 
“Keep in mind, I can hear your heart beat,” your boyfriend sneered, looming over his captive. “I can tell what it sounds like if you’re lying. I can hear my own heart, too. Wanna know what it sounds like right now?”  
The scientist stared back blankly as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, eyes as wide as saucers. 
Spider-Man tilted his head, lowering the opaque lenses of his mask closer. “Murder.”
The single word hung in the air like the toll of a bell, or the echoing crack of thunder. Thick black toxic smoke that threatened to choke them. Your stomach twisted, recognizing that his teasing savagery was more than simple posturing. You’d seen him like this before. You had experience in keeping an eye on the pressure gauge.
You glanced at the clock on Joe’s desk. 
11:24 PM
“Please,” you blurted out, unsure to whom you were speaking. Maybe to anyone who would listen.
“Here it is,” Spider-Man declared. “The one and only time I’m gonna ask. What supervillain’s new gadget are you building here?”
The quivering man stared at him, dumbstruck, slowly turning so white he’d eventually camouflage into the walls. “You-you got this all wrong...” he stuttered.
“How so?” Spider-Man didn’t miss a beat. “Details, Joe.”
“...Claire?”
Your surprised tone snapped both men's attention back to you. You stood at the scientist’s desk, eyes fixed on a photo frame. You picked it up, gazing down at the faces in shock.
Joe’s demeanor changed instantly. Any sense of bravado he had evaporated. “That’s my daughter’s name,” he gulped, pulse thumping in his throat. “How-how do you know my daughter’s name?”
You stared down at the photo of your beautiful Grim Reaper, flanked by a woman you had come to recognize as her mother and the man currently webbed to a chair. The photo was taken on a bright sunny day, Yankee Stadium in the background. Claire looked much younger than she did now, as did both of her parents. Not just younger—brighter. More hopeful. More alive. 
Your mouth hung open as you glanced up at the captive. “Joseph Rivers? You’re Claire’s father?”
Dr. Rivers looked up at Spider-Man, his face going pale. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “She doesn’t ha-have anything to-to do with this mess. Leave her out of this. I beg you.”
Peter met your eyes, and although you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was confused. You didn’t tell him about Claire today, or any of the times she’d tried to kill herself.
Your gaze dropped down to Dr. Rivers. “Do you have any idea what your daughter’s been doing today?”
He looked perplexed. “I... I—” 
“Do you know she tried to commit suicide?” you snapped, marching up to his chair. He flinched at the information, a lightning bolt shooting to his heart. You crossed your arms, glaring down at him indignantly. “And where were you?” 
You know it’s judgmental. You know it’s unfair. But this was Claire. And Tuesday had given you enough insight into her life to feel like defensive, after everything.
“I—” Rivers was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “I don’t... They don’t let us have our phones—I mean, I-I knew she had troubles before...” His throat tightened, chest constricting, “Is-is she okay?” He looked heartbroken. Terrified. You saw Peter’s shoulders slump, head turning away.
You watched Rivers through narrowed lids, but you couldn’t deny the agony in his question. The fear in his face. “For now,” you answered. “Because I saved her. But she needs real help.” You leveled your gaze. “And so do we, Mr. Rivers.”
Rivers looked back up at Spider-Man, still observing the side of his mask. The masked vigilante was unable to meet his gaze. He looked over at you again, reading your resolve. His eyes dropped to the photo frame in your hands, his chin clenching. Eyes also filled with shame.
“It’s a weapon,” Rivers declared. “They tell us it’s not, but I’m not stupid. We all know what it is.”
“What kind of weapon?” Peter asked, facing him again.
“You ever heard of Havana Sickness?” Rivers asked him. “Well, that was version one.” 
Your eyes ping-ponged between the two scientists. “Can somebody translate?”
Peter explained, his gaze fixed on Rivers, as he provided you context. “Few years ago a group of diplomats started getting sick in Havana. Nausea, dizziness, ringing in the ears—all the way up to sudden, unexplained pain and trouble with cognition. Nobody ever found out what caused it. Some people think it was all in their heads, others think it was some kind of staged attack.”
“A directed energy weapon,” Rivers revealed, his voice grave. “And now it’s been perfected. This one is far more advanced than anything that’s ever been built. Electromagnetic waves charged by plasma. Its power is unprecedented.”
“Sounds rad,” Peter snipped flatly. “Probably worth a pretty penny to the highest bidder. Speaking of which. Whose bankrolling this, Joey? Is it Fisk? Is it the Osbournes?”
Rivers let out a bitter laugh. “You’re joking, right?” He stared at you incredulously. “You think you’re dealing with some greasy, mob boss? Some corporate shenanigans?” 
You and Peter glanced at each other. 
“Look around you, kids!” Rivers spat. “We’re in a secret underground base underneath the Hudson River, for godssake. This whole operation is run by Uncle Sam. It’s the fucking C.I.A., you dimwits.”
You stared at him, stunned and silent. 
Peter threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “I don’t believe it! Seriously?” He spun in a circle, hands landing on his head, then faced Rivers again, jabbing his finger in his face.
“Okay. Number one. Rude," he said, clipped. Just because I wasn’t invited to your little World of Warcraft campaign doesn’t make me an idiot, got that?” Your shot a withering look at the back of your boyfriend’s head.
“Second:” he continued, with a disgusted tone. “Billions of dollars and almost all of the greatest minds in the world and the G-Men are using this—for what—a new toy? What, did Santa not bring you guys enough guns for Christmas?!”
Rivers argued, “Technology like this would make nuclear war obsolete! It could stop any intercontinental ballistic missile—safely—miles above the Earth’s atmosphere.”
“Could also burst the eardrums of some unruly protestors,” Peter criticized with disdain. He crossed his arms, glaring down at the scientist suspiciously. “Destabilize a few unfriendly governments?”
“Burn the tiny hairs off a spider?” You asked, finally interrupting the quarrelling men. Rivers and Peter gave you a look.
You sighed, “This is exciting and all, but I can’t reiterate how much time for this shit I don’t have!” You glared at Rivers impatiently. “Congratulations, Doc. The weapon you’re building also tears a hole in the space-time continuum. Well done. Now would you please just tell us where it is, so we can pull the plug?”
The older man glanced back and forth between you. “You… can’t…?”
“It was a figure of speech, man,” Peter snapped at him. “She doesn’t actually think there’s a power cord—”
“No, what I mean is it’s already been built,” Dr. Rivers explained. “You’re too late. It’s on a truck leaving now.”
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11:41 PM
This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. You’re certain of it. 
And it may very well be the last thing you ever do. 
You watch helplessly as the box truck carrying the Weapon of the Future is driven into the tunnel. Your boyfriend (who left you behind to stay put) is attached to the top of it, in an attempt to steal it. 
You think on that again. 
Your boyfriend, Spider-Man, is going to steal one of the most advanced weapons the world has ever known, from the C.I.A.
This is only the second stupidest thing he’s ever done. The top spot was recently awarded when he webbed you to Rivers’ desk and left you behind. For your safety. 
As if you didn’t have your own pocket knife on you, to free yourself from the webbing.
You had run outside just to see the unmarked white truck entering the tunnel. There was no way of catching up to it on foot.
So. Here you are, contemplating the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. 
You see a stationary police cruiser, brake lights on, engine running. Waiting in line to enter the tunnel. You recognize the single occupant in the front seat. 
“Y’know, Cage,” you declare as you saunter up to the open drivers’ side window, “you really gotta stop working doubles.” The rookie officer flinched at the sound of your voice, turning towards you in utter confusion. “Just because your wife threw you out doesn’t mean you don’t need sleep.”
He gazed at you, jaw falling open, white as a ghost. 
You reached forward and gripped the back of his head, slamming his nose into his own steering wheel. 
He hissed in pain as you opened the drivers’ side door and reached down towards his belt. You unclipped his service arm pistol, pointing it at him. Like you’d done it 1,000 times before. 
Officer Cage froze in horror, staring up at the barrel of his own gun, stunned at your speed and dexterity. Doing that never failed to give you a rush. 
“Out,” you ordered.
Hands raised, he pulled himself out of his seat and stood awkwardly next to his car. You hopped in the drivers’ seat and flipped the switch to turn on the emergency lights. 
Like you’d done it 1,000 times before. 
Perplexed, Officer Cage watched you incredulously, as you leaned out of the window and tossed his weapon back at him. 
The second it landed in his hands, he’d accidentally pulled the trigger. But no bullet was fired.
“I emptied it,” you explained. 
He looked at you like you were a witch. 
“Maybe spend some more time on the range first?” you offered gently, shifting the car into gear. “And maybe in some therapy, too?” You stepped on the gas pedal, leaving him in the dust. 
You swerved, driving around the heavy congestion of vehicles, entering the tunnel. Sirens wailing.
11:43 PM
Peter held on tightly to the roof of the cargo hold as the truck drove around the traffic, allowed by the tunnel construction crew to pass. He honestly started to wonder if the tunnel was really under construction at all, or if it was all some elaborate hoax.
Maybe you were right, he thought. Maybe everything is connected and therefore nothing is nothing and we’re all pawns living in some sort of simulated plan.
“God, I really need to touch some grass,” he groaned through gritted teeth, as he ducked his head beneath the overhanging signs of the tunnel. 
11:44 PM
You saw the truck ahead of you. You toggled the police car’s sirens, switching it to a piercer effect. 
The short bursting yelps must have caught the driver’s attention, because you saw brake lights flash. Then, they turned off as the truck sped up. Your stomach sank.
“No, no...” 
You could see the lanky limbs of your boyfriend flail as he struggled to get a better grip on the roof of the vehicle. You sighed, biting your lip with trepidation. The device wasn’t even on and already he was becoming less sticky. The truck dashed on, weaving around vehicles, disappearing from sight. You stepped on the gas and tried to catch up.
What you could not see, what Peter could not see, and—tragically— what the truck driver could not see, was the debris in the road. 
A six-inch steel ratchet that had fallen off of one of the construction trucks.
For any speeding vehicle, running over it would’ve resulted in a missing hubcap and a bent rim.
For a 26-foot box truck weighing 15 tons, traveling at 67 miles per hour through a crowded construction zone, the result was catastrophic. 
You watched, wide-eyed, as the truck jolted in front of you. 
It was simple math. 
Peter was knocked loose as the vehicle swerved like a serpentine from left to right, side-swiping vehicles on both sides. 
Every variable locked firmly in place.
Spider-Man was thrown into the hood of a stalled vehicle. You screamed as you watched his body crush the windshield. You slammed on the brakes. 
The unchanging constant. The outcome was inevitable.
Everything else that followed was like a choreographed dance.
A symphony written by fate. Every note falling into place, crescendoing to a deafening disaster.
The truck swerves. Pitches. Thrown off balance.
Road construction workers turn and shout. 
Another truck is stopped in the path. The cargo filled with flammable gasses.
There’s a collision.
A spark. A bright light.
A shockwave.
11:47 PM
Outside the tunnel, Officer Cage pauses from his frantic shouts into his radio. He turns and sees a bright light shooting out of the entrance. The shockwave that follows jolts cars, bursts glass, sets off alarms, and moves the Earth beneath his feet. 
The clockface of the Holland Tunnel ventilation tower is jarred, the hands jerking loose. The arms drop.
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The time now says it’s 1:21. But it's wrong. Everything about this is so wrong.
There is no time left.
Cage turns pale as the tunnel entrance crumbles like a sandcastle, sealing all the vehicles inside. 
Another burst of light erupts. This one from the middle of the river.
11:47 PM
You’re gripping the steering wheel, and then you’re upside down, slamming into the roof. You taste blood and glass and metal.
Everything is white. You reach up to shield your eyes, but you can’t.
The light is blinding, shooting through your flesh like an x-ray. You can see right through your hands, observing every bone, vein, and capillary. 
Then.
Darkness.
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“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”
No.
“...Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant...”
No, no, no, I need more time!
“...The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…
Showed in your EYEEEES…”
Your eyes pop open as you are viciously ripped away from the darkness. They burn instantly from the smoke.
Your senses are assaulted by the smell of blood and gasoline and salt water. Screams and sirens invade your ears.
“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”
Your bleary eyes struggle to adjust to the shadows, dark shapes taking form. You see an orange flickering glow. Punctuated with flashes of red and blue. Flames. Voices call out. Echoing. Steady horn blasts. Car alarms shrieking. The shrill cacophony of dozens of personal safety alarms—PASS devices, as Tuesday had taught you—magnify as they bounce off the concrete. 
There’s a roaring sound, too. Like a train passing. 
A sheet of crushed glass blocks your view. It looks like ice and snow, like you could reach out and wipe it off the windshield. 
You remember that you’re in the police car. 
You’re on your chest. You know your ribs are broken. You’re used to the pain.
“Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant...”
Peter. You have to find Peter.
“The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…
Showed in your EYEEEES…”
You hate this fucking song.
You push yourself up, crawling over the inverted dashboard, pulling yourself along with bloody fingers. You kick the shattered windshield out, feeling the sharp heat of crushed glass cutting into your leg. It’s no matter. If you have air left in your lungs, you have to find Peter.
When you crawl out, you’re drenched in freezing water. Your feet slosh in it as it crawls up your ankles. You take a shaky breath, and immediately sputter. Your ribs are definitely broken. And the air burns your lungs when you breathe.
You look up, trying to get your bearings. Look around. 
This is the worst, you think. This is the absolute worst. 
But no one will ever have to take your word for it, you realize. 
History will be more telling.
Around you, it’s pandemonium. 
The lights in the tunnel have gone out, save for headlamps and flashing lights of work vehicles. The red and blue police lights from your overturned cruiser are among them. And there’s fire, all around you, at both ends of the tunnel. Pockets of blackness in between the bonfires. 
It reminds you of war. Of war movies depicting the aftermath of the Blitz. Of grainy film footage of napalm swallowing a landscape, like somebody took the Sun and poured it out on a jungle.
The smell is awful and it makes you want to gag. Burnt rubber. Burnt hair. 
Dozens of cars and trucks, some of them crumpled like empty soda cans, all of them burning thick pillars of black smoke. The smoke looms across the tunnel ceiling. You can’t even see the ceiling tiles. Above you, there’s a boiling sky of black clouds. 
You hear the chorus of shouts. Shrill shrieks reverberating off the cement and tile. It sounds like people are being tortured. Like giant Grizzly bears must be ripping people apart. Disembodied voices screech for help, for God, for missing loved ones. You think you can hear an infant crying. Selfishly, you just want them to be quiet.
In the distance, the deep rumbling roar continues, like standing next to a jet engine. You also hear the echo of a synthesized keyboard riff, the wailing of an electric guitar. Asia rings out over the tinny squawk of car speakers from a battered minivan nearby. 
Because of course it fucking would be.
Massive chunks of concrete and twisted steel litter the broken asphalt. The whole roadway is flooded. A steady icy current claws at your calves, threatening to push you off balance. 
Immediately, you hear shrieks at your left, louder than the ones in the distance. You spot the figure of a man who has just woken up from the blast. 
Awful timing on his part. 
He’s engulfed in flames, burning alive. His lower half is pinned beneath an SUV. He looks like the squirming wick of a candle. The screams tear at your soul. You yank your eyes away. Your first instinct is to look for a rock to put him out of his misery. He’d thank you for it. 
Another sound jars you, the crumbling collapse of a wall nearby. You hear several sharp pops. You struggle to see through the dark. Melted bodies clad in safety orange glow clothing are right beside you. The water crests over them.
You look up towards the popping noises. Ceiling tiles, you realize. Water shoots into the tunnel under the immense pressure.
You squint beyond the dark, your eyes stinging from the acid clouds. Through the smoke and shadow you can see a wall. It’s moving. Your heart nearly seizes as you connect it to the roaring sound. 
It’s the sound of the Hudson River, pouring into the tunnel, waves crashing into the new underground cavern.
“Peter!” you shriek. Eyes darting around, remembering that you saw him fall. You turn around towards the opposite end of the tunnel. There’s nothing but rock and ash and burning metal behind you. And more screams, echoing in the dark. 
The tunnel must have collapsed, you realize. You wonder how many cars were buried beneath the rubble. Could be hundreds.
Your heart slams in your chest. You wonder if Peter is buried among them.
“Peter?” you scream, more panicked. 
Your voice cracks, and you know you’re not hoarse yet. You know it’s the carbon monoxide, the formaldehyde, the cyanide—the fatal cocktail of poison billowing around you. You can taste it in the air. You have minutes maybe.
It’s getting harder to see. You don’t want the darkness. The hellish chorus bouncing off of the cave of the tunnel. You’re struggling to hear his voice. You don’t want the quiet. 
You hear your name. Like a ray of sunshine.
You hear it again. Your boyfriend’s voice rings out.
“Peter!” you call out to him. 
In the shadows, a lanky figure stumbles out. You can barely make out the red-and-blue of his suit. His mask is off, he clutches the remnants of it in his bloody fist. It looks like he’s been dragged underneath a vehicle. The space shuttle, maybe.
He limps, his suit filthy and torn. A mix of sweat, blood, and soot coat his face and hair. 
But you can see his eyes. Black holes ripping galaxies apart. You feel a rush of relief as you wade through the water towards him.
“Peter!” you sob, unaware of when you started crying.
He spots you, and he might as well have dropped to his knees with tearful praise. “Thank god,” he gasps. He darts to you, sloshing through the water with his limp. As soon as he reaches you, he grabs ahold of you like he’s never going to let you go. You don’t want him to. 
His hands expand around the sides of your face like blinders, blocking out horrors that he didn’t want you to see. “You’re bleeding,” he exclaims, studying you carefully.
Blood streaks down the right of your face from a gash at your hairline. It’s not as bad as it looks, but now you’re aware of the pain. You don’t mind it too much. You’re mystified by his freckles. Your thumbs idly come up to wipe away the mud on them, wiping away some of his tears as well.
“Bug, look at me, are you okay?” Peter pleads. He’s still searching your face, unaware of how bad the damage is. 
The terror in his throat snaps you from your daze. You nod, salty tears stinging your wounds, as you bury your face in his chest. Your voice shakes. “I thought you were gone—”
He pulls you upright, his hands planted on the sides of your head as he steadies you. “I’m here,” Peter declares. It’s a promise. “I’m gonna get you outta here, alright?”
Your eyes widen, remembering the futility of your situation. You glance around, sparing another look to the chaos around you. 
Peter lets go of your cheeks to grip one of your coat sleeves. With a yank, he rips the fabric of the arm at the seam, clean from the shoulder. You watch in a haze, as he rolls the torn sleeve off of your arm, dipping it in the water below.
“Put this to your mouth!” he instructs, handing you the wet fabric. He has to shout over the roar of the water. “It’ll help with the smoke. We’re downwind right now. We gotta get below the flames.”
You know that’s a gross oversimplification of your current predicament. And you want to protest, because what about his lungs? But you follow his orders.
You glance from left to right, as does he. It’s pitch blackness away from the fire and water. You’re pinned between rock and river.
He holds your hand, tight enough to hurt. The shouting has begun to diminish now, which brings you no relief. You realize you can’t hear the baby anymore. You can't stop crying. You wonder what Peter must be feeling, and hope that his senses are still dampened. 
“C’mon,” he pulls you closer to the water side. That way leads further underground, but you understand the physics of it. Smoke rises, and the tunnel is acting like a chimney. Choosing to instinctively go back the way you came, to try to dig through the mass of rubble closer to the exit, would mean death by asphyxiation in less than two minutes.
You sludge through the frigid water. It’s waist-deep now, swirling around you. The further you descend the higher it gets. Peter grips you tight. It’s the only thing that keeps you from losing your mind. 
“Please help! Somebody help!”
You freeze in your steps and need your whole weight to keep Peter from pulling you along. You search frantically, recognizing that voice.
“Please, somebody help! I’m stuck!”
You see a crumpled taxi tossed on its side, teetering dangerously on a pile of rubble. Water bubbles up around the cab. Chewed fingernails with chipped polish reach out through a small gap, waving frantically. 
“Claire,” you breathe, stunned. You watch with wide eyes as the woman you saved earlier that Tuesday flails, trapped in the crushed taxi. The steel cages her in. Black water steadily creeps up around her. “Claire!”
“Help, please, I can’t move! I can’t—!” You hear coughing, gargling. 
“Peter, she’s stuck!” You point, and look up at him. The look on his face breaks your heart. He’s overwhelmed. He’s terrified. He looks at you, looks at the cab. He’s being torn apart inside. You’re asking him for too much. 
You pull away, “C’mon, help me!” Reluctantly, he moves with you, releasing your hand. He moves faster than you through the water, standing taller in the depths.
You reach the taxi as Claire’s screams become more panicked. The car is beneath boulders of concrete. You attempt to climb up on the cab. 
“Stay back!” Peter tells you. “This whole thing’s unstable!” The water is swarming, rising. Boiling, frigid, black death threatening to swallow the cab up. 
“Please, please, please,” Claire is babbling. You can barely see her bloodied face between the bars of her cage. “I-I can’t move my legs, please… I can’t—”
Peter works quickly above you to clear the rubble. “Hey, it’s me!” You tell her, your voice bright and placating. “Remember me? It’s okay. We’re here. Spider-Man’s here and we’re gonna get you out—“
Claire’s voice is weak, she’s barely able to speak between giant gasps of air. “Please, don’t—donwanna die… don’t wanna die, please I don’t want—”
You grip her hand tightly in yours. Tears sting your eyes. “Peter!”
“I’m goin’ I’m goin’!” He’s using his whole body to lift and loosen the rubble from the taxi.
The ground beneath you quakes. A rumble. Suddenly, you drop. You fall backwards to the water as the mound that the taxi is teetering on collapses. The taxi drops beneath the waterline. 
A web snatches your shoulder, keeping you above water, though the vacuum of air caused by the displacement threatens to drag you under. Peter plucks you from the water, suspending you by the web. 
“Be right back,” he huffs, like it’s nothing. He dives back in after the submerged taxi. 
You watch him disappear into the blackness, and can’t help but feel overwhelming horror at being left alone. It makes you feel ashamed. After the longest few seconds of your life, he reemerges. A body with sopping corn silk hair flops over his shoulder. 
He climbs back up to you and you drop from the web onto the hood of a floating car. The space between you and the ceiling is dramatically lower. You’re barely able to see him through the smoke. He hoists Claire up and lays her on the floating car, and you crawl towards her, putting your face to hers.
Her eyes are wide. Still. You have to be inches from her face to be able to see her terror-stricken look. 
“She’s gone,” Peter tells you, his heart breaking a little more as he says it.
You’re leaning over her dead body, seeing her bluish face for the 10,000th time. And you’re shrieking her name. Sobs wracking your body. The whole tunnel vibrates with your howls.
And that song. The notes melting away. The chorus drowns as its pulled under the river.
“C’mon, we gotta go!” Peter pleads. He grabs you by the arm. It’s not a request. He’s getting you out of there. Somehow. “We gotta climb—”
A horrible groan roars above you. You look up to see a piece of the ceiling moving downwards. It’s hurtling towards you, like a giant asteroid. Your extinction is imminent.
Peter pushes you out of the way.
You plunge back into the water, and it feels like a thousand needles pricking your skin. You open your eyes, which was a mistake, because you’re nearly blinded by the chemicals and salt water. You kick for your life. Your shoes feel like bricks, but you kick until you break the surface.
You gasp and choke and sputter. “Peter!” You gag and cough. “Peter!”
You open your eyes and you're still in Hell. Only blurrier. Darker. So quiet. No more babies. No more anyone.
You hear your name again. His voice chirps out. You look up and see the devil in question. The sight of him reels you in like a gravitational pull. You crawl over broken glass and rock and metal until you’re beside him.
Despite being half dead, your heart flutters at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face. Sparkling amber eyes. Messy crown of brunette hair, sopping wet with saltwater, motor oil, and blood.
He looks at you from the side, deliriously dazed and huffing with exhaustion.
Once he sees your face, he grins wide. Soft. Reminds you of the bright warmth of your bedsheets.
“Sunflower…” he breaths. He sounds dreamy. He sounds exhausted. His smile dims. “You’re bleeding...”
“I’m okay,” you sputter and cough, trembling from the cold and adrenaline. You're higher up now, near the ceiling of the tunnel. You can feel the water creeping up your back. Your eyes scan his face, attempting to see his freckles through the building smoke. You wrap your hands around his face just to know he’s there. “I’m okay, I’m okay... We have to get out of here, baby—Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” he nods, but he isn’t moving fast enough. He looks so tired. “Need— n-need explos...ves.” He shutters, the cold piercing him. “C-cop car. Look—look in the trunk. Needa... explosion. Flash grenade. R-road flares...” He grimaces sharply. You can’t take your eyes off the softness of his lips. “Ch-check f-for pressurized can-canister—”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying—”
“Need to create an explosion... at the ho-hole, wh-where the water... C-create a vacuum—”
“There’s nothing, Peter, there’s no cop car, it’s underwater—”
“You need to go,” he states, and you fall silent. You stare at his lips. Blood tints them. You shake your head. Pull at his arms.
Your whole body shakes. Your eyes are hard. “We don’t have time, Pete. We have to get out—c’mon, we have to go—”
Your icy fingers grip at the warmth beneath his chest. They tug at him frantically. You mean to pull him up with just your thumbs if you have to.
“Bug,” he blinks at you. Tears fill in his eyes. 
Your hands are warm. Burning hot. You look down. And that’s when you see the spear lodged in his side. A half-inch wide black, twisted piece of rebar piercing his chest. Your mouth falls open at the sight. It’s needled through his ribcage, piercing the back, slicing through his lung in a way that you can physically feel. Phantom pain from past experience. 
Peter Parker’s blood coats your palms. You can’t handle this pain. It’s too much.
You look down at him, head shaking furiously. He silently mouths your name, a hopeless apology. You don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.
“You ha-have to...go,” he chokes out. There’s more blood spilling from his lips. It’s harder for him to breathe. The water creeps up your shoulders, and threatens to drown you both. He’s going to drown before you, you realize, in his own blood.
“Pl-Please,” he says, voice breaking, “please ge-get out of here. Pl-please g-go.”
You shake your head. You grip his hands like holding onto the edge of a cliff. You hold tight, as if that could keep him with you. As if it could bring you more time.
“Ba-baby, please go... Please just go... Please, pro-promise me... you’ll get out of here...”
He’s fading, you realize, and you want to scream into the void. You want to headbutt the rebar and lodge it through your eye socket. Your chest heaves. You squeeze his hands tightly.
You nod your head. Realize that he doesn’t know what you know. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. There’s no way out of the tunnel. There’s no saving you. Either of you.
You nod. And he relaxes. “Just go... without me,” he pleads. His hard to hear him over the roar. You nod silently, tears roll down your face. 
“Mmm—m'sorry... so-so sorry—”
You’re still nodding as he fights to keep his eyes open. You pledge with your gaze. You promise him that you’ll survive. You lie. 
The light is gone. In his eyes, and in the tunnel. His grip loosens in your hold. The water crawls up your chin, and your head hits hard rock. You don’t want to let go. You don’t want to look away.
The water takes him, but you’re still holding onto his hands.
“It should’ve been me,” you cry. To yourself. Alone. In the dark. Underwater. It's the last thing you get to say.
You’re fighting to keep your eyes open, to see through the murky depth. You want to remember every freckle on his face, even as they’re drenched in tears. Darkness settles in anyway.
It’s hard to see how beautiful he is in the dark. 
Your lungs burn. There’s nowhere to go.
It should’ve been you. Not Peter. 
Every cell in your body screams at you, telling you it should’ve been you. You open your mouth to scream back. A heart-wrenching yowl. Water fills your mouth and your lungs.
You want to wake up. You want to go home. You want to go back. You want anything but this. 
Why aren't you waking up?
Elsewhere, above the Hudson.
A clock turns.
11:59...
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TUESDAY, 7:00am
Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.
“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT
Tellin’ me.  what.  my. HEART meant
The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…
Showed in your EYEEEES…”
You opened your mouth wide and let the air fill your lungs. You can still feel the heat. You can smell the water. You gaze up at the stark white of your ceiling as giant tears flood your vision.
Tuesday.
Tuesday again.
You laid there. Shook with an odd mix of horror and relief. It was like waking from the most vivid nightmare of your life. Visions and sounds latched onto you like leeches. You cried silently like a child, cradled by your soft pillows and bedding. The only thing that keeps you from screaming out hysterically is the grounding feeling that comes with faith. Unquestionable. Undeniable.
You will die today.
It’s gospel. Inevitable. You’re supposed to die today. Not just you, you know now, through divine revelation. So many others. 
Regardless of how you meet your fate, nothing will prevent that horrific weapon from leaving that facility. The truck will drive into the tunnel. It will hit that debris. It will crash. And everyone in the tunnel will die.
Including Peter.
That is how the day ends, should you be alive to see it. That’s how his life ends. 
“Mornin’, Sunflower!” a pleasant voice rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner. His expression serenely naive of your gory last moments. 
Your heart shattered at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face, his sparkling amber eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a messy crown of brunette hair. 
The memory of his dead face sliced through you. 
You looked away, grimacing. Sat up in bed, tears welling in your eyes.
You know what’s going to happen and you know what you have to do. No matter how painful. 
Today is the last day of the end of your life. 
“Babe?” he questioned, appraising you with a fading smile. He sensed your distress. He could smell your tears. “What’s the matter? You okay?” 
You stared at the blankets for a long while, your weight leaning back on the heels of your palms. You remained still, contemplative. The silence goes on longer than he is comfortable with.
You turned your face toward him, eyes sorrowful. 
“I’m breaking up with you, Peter.” 
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It was quiet at the top of the Empire State Building. That’s why it was his favorite spot. Hair slicked with sweat, cheeks damp with salty streams of tears. Tragically, only sort of drunk. Peter’s mask was discarded beside him, next to an empty 3-liter bottle of McCormack’s. 
He took a swig from an identical bottle, nearly empty as well. Sourness set heavily on his tongue and it made him even more bitter. He couldn’t even afford the good stuff.
Fucking loser.
He swallowed down the acid water with disdain and self-contempt.
In his other hand, he toyed with the velvet box he kept hidden in his bedside drawer. Today, of all days. 
He was past the shock. Past the denial. Past bargaining. Somewhere between anger and depression. Actually, he was a mix of all of the emotions. 
You’d killed him. Crushed him. Murdered him in less than 100 words. A shot straight to the heart, without batting an eye. You were the deadliest assassin he’d ever known. You were savage, the cruelest villain he’d ever faced. 
You were his everything. He was the problem. 
That’s what you’d told him, swinging the axe down and cutting your ties. He was always gone. He was always late. He was always Peter Parker. 
Peter Parker would always be Spider-Man. 
And that was the nail in the coffin. That was reason enough. The killing blow.
As stunned as he was, he was almost… relieved. He knew this day would come. He knew you were too good for him, too good to be true, and this was a natural progression of that.
He always knew would lose you. He was grateful that at least he wasn’t standing over your grave this time. 
He didn’t know how long he’d been crying. He wasn’t sure what time it was. Time was meaningless.
The buzz of his phone was the first thing that broke him from his pity party. He flinched as he frantically dug for the advice.
Shamefully, he prayed that you were calling him to tell him you changed your mind. Or your conversation this morning was part of an elaborate hoax. The world’s greatest ‘punking.’ Ashton Kutcher springs out of nowhere. He’d happily laugh it off. He’d chuckle like a fool and rush home to scoop you up in his arms. Sick burns and all.
Fingers fumbling, he accepted the call and slapped the phone to the side of his face.
The whimper of his voice was pathetic. Truly. “Bug?” 
Fucking loser.
“Peter?” A middle-aged woman’s voice shattered his hopes.
Confused, he pulled the phone away to look at the screen: KIM MANNERS.
Fuck. Your mom had his number. He knew it was a risk, reaching out behind your back. She’d been calling him all week, adding steadily to the pressure of his upcoming proposal. No wonder she drove you crazy. She’s probably wanting details about when he was going to pop the question. 
Fuckkkk.
“Peter? Are you there?”
He put the phone back to his ear, and briefly considered throwing his phone off of the Empire State Building. 
With a flayed voice, he replied, “Hi, Mrs. Manners.”
“Peter? Where are you? What’s going on?” She sounded like a parrot. A parody of a typical New England voice. “What happened?”
Fuck fuck fuck fuckidity—
“Sorry, Mrs. Manners, I-I was gonna call—”
“Peter,” your mother interrupted with a sultry tone. If he wasn’t such an idiot he’d recognize the cougar purr of her voice, “you know I told you to call me Kim.” 
He squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding. Not just from the alcohol. “Ugh, yeah—” He tried not to make it sound like a gag reflex, but it crept out anyway. “Yeasshh, I, uh, sorry, I gotta little tied up—”
Ew! Gross, noo, fuckfuckfuck.
“Now’s not a good—”
“Is my daughter with you?” 
FAHHHHHK… She doesn’t know? Of course she wouldn't. She's not subscribed to the 'Watch Peter Parker Get Fucked Again This Week' Newslet—
Ahh! No! Gross! Ew! “Uhm… no, I—”
“Do you know where she is? She’s not answering her phone.” 
“I… I-I don’t think she wants to talk right now—”
“I think something weird is going on,” Kim blurted, still oblivious to the fact that Peter had spent the last few hours sobbing on roofs of several New York landmarks.
The concern in her voice pricked the skin on the back of his neck. He stiffened, his spinal column locking in place. Peter shook his head confusedly, “I’m… I’m not sure what you—”
“Peter, listen to me, I know my daughter. I think something is wrong.”
Peter felt faint all of a sudden. “Waddya mean? What’re ya—what’re you sayin’?”
“I think she’s in trouble,” she explained. “She left me a weird message. She can be so moody sometimes. She gets that from her father. I can sense these things, y’know. I’ve always told people I have a sixth sense about this stuff. You know, my grandmother said she could—”
His heart is pounding, threatening to break through his chest. “Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean ‘trouble?’ What message? What did she say exactly?”
Silence on the other end of the line. Peter felt like he was going to vomit.
“She said that she loved me, and she was sorry,” Kim finally said, with an exasperated tone. Equal parts embarrassment and concern. “And that she forgave me.” She said the last part with a growing sense of dread. 
“And she called me ‘Mom.’”
Peter’s mouth hung open, every cell in his body alerting him. Something was wrong. He pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing down. 
He also had a voicemail. From you.
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This was the stupidest thing you’d ever done. But damn was it thrilling. You should’ve been a car thief in another life. 
“Hey, Peter,” your voicemail recorded a few minutes ago said, “I realize it’s probably hard to listen to this message, but it’s important that I say this, so I need you to listen...”
You’d hotwired the box truck carrying the weapon and detoured away from the tunnel. You stepped on the gas pedal, increasing speed steadily. 
Fifteen minutes before, you’d found Dr. Rivers. You told him urgently that his daughter was going to hurt herself, and that you would tell him when and where she could be found, and that information you were going to give freely, because it was the right thing to do. That despite his past absence, his daughter needed him more than ever. They both deserved a second chance. 
Everyone did. And that’s why you needed him to tell you how to destroy the weapon safely.
And he did. 
“I’m sorry that this is how things need to end. It’s not what either of us had planned, but life is like that. This isn’t your fault. You really need to know that. In fact, I have to thank you.” 
Now you were running. Driving a hot wired truck carrying one of the most powerful weapons ever created, stolen from the C.I.A. You pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. 
“You’ve taught me the meaning of life, how fragile and precious it is. How important. I want you to know that what you do matters. Even when it feels like it doesn’t.”
You glanced in the rear view mirror, seeing a flurry of red and blue light behind you. Sirens wailing. You smirk. You wonder if Officer Cage is among them.
You switched on the radio.
“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT…”
Your smile widens. You fucking love this song.
“You have no idea how many lives you touch. Including mine.” 
The pier is ahead of you. At the end of it, your watery grave. You were pleased as pie, knowing that at least you were taking this bitch down with you. 
You sang along, “Showed in your eyeeeeeeeeeeees—”
The pedal is on the floor. The truck launches off the end of the pier. Curves in an arch. Collides with the water. The windshield crumples in front of you as the frigid water pours in, surrounding you, submerging the truck, sinking the weapon. 
You feel so alive. Your heart is pounding. Your body is sizzling with energy, even as you’re dragged into the water. 
“Did you know that you have the prettiest fucking smile? I can wake up to that smile 10,000 times, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m so grateful for every second of it. Even the painful parts.” 
It’s getting dark. It was beautiful today. And now, darkness. Rising steadily. Coming up to cradle you in its arms as you sink further below. This is how it ends. You’re certain.
You look up out the window, enjoying the rays of sunlight poking down from the surface as they get further away. Your chest is burning, like a flaming sword through your heart. Lungs aching. Ribs threatening to implode. The pressure is unbearable. But you don’t mind. You’re used to the pain. 
It’s worth it. Just to say goodbye to the rays of sunlight. To thank them for keeping you warm. For rainbows. Sunsets. Sunflowers and pineapples. For lighting the eyes of the man you love, casting them in a golden hue. 
“Live your life. Be better than you were yesterday. And don’t be too hard on yourself, because you can be better tomorrow. Do good things.” 
Speak of the devil. A figure torpedos through the surf, descending lower. You see him in the murky haze of the water, the familiar red and blue catching your eye. 
Peter’s eyes widen as he recognizes you in the passenger seat. His mask is off. You smile at him. You wave, as water shoves itself down your throat. 
“And don’t worry about me. I think everything is gonna work out.” 
It’s time to go home, you think. Safe and warm. Where your ancestors await you. You’ll see Nana Manners there. You’ll see your old cats there. Your grandparents. Your parents. Maybe you’ll finally get to meet Gwen. Meet Uncle Ben.
Peter will be there too, one day. You’re certain.
“One way or another... I’ll see you later.”
Peter swims up to the window. He’s scared, but he needn’t be. You can still move your arms, even though they’ve gone heavy. You place your hand on the glass.
“Goodbye, for now. I love you. Forever.”
There’s a message written on your palm. You hope he can read it. Hope he sees it. Takes it to heart. Holds it there. Believes in it as you believed in each other. Forever.
Three simple words.
'SEIZE THE DAY'
The light fades from your eyes. 
This is how it ends.
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Or so you’d thought.
Round, mellow notes fill the air. Clean, thick strings, weaving together. Vibrating with warmth. Delicately rising, like steam from a hot spring.
Over the hum of a vintage, six-string, acoustic guitar, peppered with banjo plucks, and the crisp ring of a distant electric hardbody, the gentle crooning of John Denver filled your ears.
“He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Coming home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, 
You might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door...”
Your eyelids creaked open, as dim lights swam in your vision. Your eyelashes fluttered. The ceiling foreign. The room cast in shadow. A machine steadily beeps, off-tempo from the music. Your eyelids are heavy. 
Why?
“...When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hanging by a song...”
You drew back the curtains of your gaze again, going crosseyed for a moment as they attempted to adjust to the light. You focused on a single, blurry shape, willing it to be still and come into focus. 
You squinted, your head aching. Your chest felt sore. Like you’d worn a vise as a bra. Or spent a day as a shake-weight in a gym for giants.
Your vision sharpened. It’s Peter’s eyes—doe-like, dreamy, warm, and so, so tired—that pulls you from your slumber.
He’s so pretty, you thought, and your lip stung from the grin that stretched your face. He sat in a chair at your bedside, dressed in wrinkled clothes that were a little too worn to be clean.
You blinked a few times and really took in the sight of him. 
Dark circles colored heavy bags under his eyes. He’s even more pale than usual, you noted. His skin looked dry, like all of the moisture had been squeezed from his body. Through his bleary eyes, you assumed, observing how bloodshot they were. 
Peter was worse for wear. 
But he was so damn pretty. 
Your heart ached at the sight of him. And seeing your eyes illuminate had a similar effect on his. Despite looking utterly exhausted, like he’d been awake for a few millenia, his cheeks pinched up and he could no longer hide his teeth behind his lips.
He smirked at you, then glowed as he drank you in.
Despite this, there was a melancholy in his red-rimmed eyes.
You gazed around at your surroundings. A darkened hospital room. You were in a hospital bed. 
You remembered where you’d been and realized you weren’t where you were—the jarring discrepancy confusing and overwhelming you. 
“Hey, hey, hey, shh, you’re okay,” Peter whispered, leaning forward out of the chair. Instinctively, he reached up and brushed a lock of hair from your face. He shifted his body closer to you, scooting in the chair, like he was magnetically charged to gravitate to you. 
“You’re okay,” he cooed. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe. You’re... you’re gonna be okay.”
You were dead, you recall. 
You were sinking, lungs filled with water, brain shutting down.
You glanced over to see an outdated clock radio plugged in on a table nearby, this one with a 30-pin dock meant for a first-generation iPod. You gaze at the retro white device, recognizing the music.
“...But the string’s already broken and he doesn’t really care
It keeps changing fast and it don't last for long...”
You blinked. Your jaw hung open. Tears pricked your eyes. 
“This song,” you breathed, and probably sounded crazy. You felt giddy. You felt like laughing and crying and screaming at the top of your lungs. “It’s... it’s not Asia...”
“Uhm, no,” Peter replied. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s John Denver. Sorry. It’s lame. I, uh, I didn’t get a chance to make a playlist, or anything—”
He swallowed hard, his shoulders tense. He looked away from you—to the wall, to the floor, to the space on the pillow next to your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. It looked painful, like a rock is lodged in there.
“Wha-what day is it?” you stuttered, gazing up at him. You’re still trying to decide if you’re dreaming. If this is Heaven.
Peter’s brow quirks suspiciously. “Wednesday,” he replied, and you take pity on the exhaustion in his voice. “You’ve been out for almost 20 hours—”
You laughed. “It’s Wednesday?”
He stared at you, his concern growing. “Y-yeah...?”
You giggled uselessly, relishing in the sensation of hot tears streaking your cheeks. “It’s Wednesday!” Your chuckling grew louder, until your throat trips and you cough. Your lungs feel like paper mache.
“Easy, take it easy,” Peter softly admonished you, as he brushed his hands over your face possessively. He didn’t take them off this time. You don’t want him to. “You need to rest,” he replied. “You... got banged up... pretty bad...”
You gazed at the redness of his eyes, and realized what must have happened. You’re stricken with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” you muttered, but you couldn’t stop smiling.
He shook head, refusing to make eye contact. “S’okay. You’re okay.”
“No, no—”
“You’re alive,” he bit off, a little more firm than he needed to be. “You’re going to be okay. That’s all that matters.” 
His thumbs rubbed circles into your jaw. You sensed that he was at war with himself, debating between pulling away from you and stapling himself to you. His fingers gripped you with a compulsive anxiety. A phobia that he would be forced to let you go, and this time, lose you forever.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” You looked up at him like you were staring through pearly gates. Like you could see souls being formed with the stars. “I didn’t mean it, didn’t mean any of it—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated, but the tears welling in his eyes told you the opposite. “None of that matters,” he stammered, still unable to look at you. 
He felt so far away. You needed him closer. You needed to be wrapped around him, smothering him like a koala. 
You giggled and pulled at his arms, squirming in the hospital bed. The movement made you wince. You felt your pulse in your head. 
“Just relax,” he fretted, pinning your shoulders down gently. The weight of his palms felt divine. “You gotta rest, Bug. Doctor’s orders.”
He pinched his face, like he’d bit his tongue. That caught your attention. You stared up at him, noting the discomfort he was failing to hide from you. He hadn’t looked at you yet.
“Bug, listen. There’s—” He winced again. “You were out a while. The-the doctors, they ran some tests, and... um, they... Somethin’ came up on the MRI.”
You study the brown of his eyes. It reminds you of whiskey. Of chocolate. Of mahogany. 
He struggled to speak, failing to keep his voice calm. “They, um... They s-said there was, uh, a-a shadow of some kind. On your brain.”
You curved your eyebrow as you focused on his mouth. Simultaneously listening to the words on his lips, and watching how his lower lip quivered. You wanted to kiss it. To steady it with your own. Your fingers ached to pull him in.
You must have been squirming again, because before you knew it, Peter grasped your hands up in his, holding them tightly to his chest. He hovered over you, practically whispering in your ear.
“You were already under,” he quickly explained, the rest of the words tumbling out at once. “The-they did a biopsy. Just a little cut, and-and they said they were going to send the tissue off for a-a lab test. And... and when it comes back, we’ll know more about it, but... but the doctor said, he said it was good, whatever it is. Good that we caught it early. He said—” 
Peter’s voice broke, and then his eyes met yours. They welled up with tears. He looked deeply shaken, pulled taut. Like his limbs were made of matchsticks and he would crumble or go up in flames at any moment. 
He looked so afraid. 
He looks as scared as you should be. Your brain moves like molasses to catch up with the fact that it nearly caused your ultimate demise. 
Your mind spun with what-ifs and destiny and alternate universes and higher purpose and you have to stay focused on the chocolate of his eyes because that’s the only thing that mattered to you. 
Peter swallowed hard, digging out his voice. “They said that you coulda had an aneurysm any day now. Like, you’re there one minute and just... you’d be gone.”
You gazed up at him, spotting the tremor in his chin again. He bit down, to keep it steady. You wanted to pepper his chin in kisses for the next 100 years, or 100 minutes, or 100 seconds. Whatever you could get.
“I, uhm,” he struggled to continue. “I don’t know what I woulda done if... you... if you’d...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t, you realized. 
“Pete,” you softly replied. 
He looked up at you, and he’s so beautiful, it hurts. 
You gazed lovingly at him and showered him with adoration. Looking at you is too much for him. 
His brow creased with sorrow as he buried his face in your joined hands. Shoulders shaking. You felt him sob into your skin, tears soaking your hospital gown. 
“It’s okay,” Peter said with a sniffle, for both of you. He pulled himself upright. He was trying so hard to stay strong. “S’gonna be okay. You’re going to be okay. I-I promise, whatever happens. I’m not gonna leave your side. We face it together. I don’t care if I’m not with you, or we’re not together anymore. It’s—-this isn’t about me. I’m there for you. ‘Til the end, okay? I swear to you. It’s going to be okay.”
You watch him like you’re watching a sunrise. Like a rainbow is forming behind him. Sunlight piercing heavy rain clouds. You’re in exactly the right place. Exactly the right moment.
Time is meaningless. Time is priceless. Time is everything.
You cried happy tears. “I know.” 
If he asked you to marry him right now, you’d say yes in a heartbeat. 
You couldn’t help yourself—you ran your fingers through his hair. Across his chin. You wanted to map every freckle with your fingertips. Draw invisible lines in his skin. “I know it will, baby, I know. I believe you.”
His expression softened at your smile. He let himself get lost in it. Letting waves of hope crash over him and pull him along with the tide. His lips curved gently, and he returned it. The muscles in his body relaxed slightly.
“We’re gonna be okay,” you promise him, with no real way of knowing.
No way of predicting the future. 
And yet, no doubt. 
“Because today is Wednesday,” you explain, heart floating in your chest, swelling with gratitude. “And we have today.”
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The End.
A/N: Thank you for riding with me for this story. I hope that it brings you peace and healing and happiness.
Take care of yourselves!
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