#asm!peterparker x reader

[mrsbrookemunson]

Spider-Man | Andrew!Peter x Fem!Reader

Prompt: This is when Peter Parker gets his powers in the movie, except you're right there with him as his best friend.

Genre: Fluff with underlying angst

Warnings: Swearing, canon fighting, mentions of injuries (Reader gets hit in the face with a skateboard, and whacked in the stomach with a pole), Peter's low key kind of mean to the reader (but cares), arguments, Peter likes Gwen, implied chubby!reader, it is the subway, and aftermath scene from the movie. Definitely a few typos

Word Count: 3445

A/N: I actually wrote a whole bestfriend!reader x Peter Parker series and never posted it, so let me know if you want part two.

| Part One | Part Two |

It all happened when Peter Parker said he was going to try to find some Dr. Conners that knew his dad back in the day, plain and simple. And me being the bestest friend I am, I waited at a coffee shop—did all my homework, not to brag… it’s a process!—so that he didn’t have to go home—which happens to be next to mine—on the subway alone. Plain. And. Simple.

“There you are!” I exclaimed, happily. “You know when someone says they’re five minutes away, I’d like to believe they are indeed… five minutes away.” I stood up, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat, the chill air having not gone away in the city of New York for a while.

Peter gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry! I just… have a lot on my mind, and I’m tired,” he explained, sounding distant.

I narrowed my eyes at him in question. He definitely seems off. “Ah, it’s okay, you know I can’t stay mad at you.” I widely smiled, slapping him on the arm which causes him to jolt. “So, how was it?” Did you find Dr. Conners?” 

He nodded, “I did.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “And?” 

“And–what? We didn’t talk, I couldn’t get him alone.” 

I frowned. “Next time then…” I assured. “Anything else that happened that I should know about?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing of importance.” His lips twitched up for a second afterwards. “But… Gwen Stacy was there.” 

My heart hammered, “That girl you’re madly in love with?” 

He laughed my statement off, awkwardly. “I’m not in love with her,” he protested weakly. “Just interested is all.” 

I let out an absentminded hum.

At that moment the train came hustling in with an abrupt stop.

Saved by the subway.

“Shall we?” I tilted my head towards it.

“We shall,” he replied. 

If I knew that Peter would’ve fallen asleep on the train, I also wouldn’t have drifted off… but I did… honestly… kind of worth it.

His feet were elevated, resting against the wall beside my head in his lying down position. I, on the other hand, was sitting upright, my neck craned back in a very uncomfortable manner. I was surprised we both dozed with the group of drunks beside us causing a ruckus. The group, stupidly, danced and laughed, the smell of cigarettes and beer burned my nostrils. 

Suddenly I was woken up when Peter made a harsh movement up.

What I didn’t expect to see was him attached to the roof of the transport. “P–Peter?” I rubbed my eyes in the slight chance I was dreaming. 

Everyone stared at him in a tense silence, including me. 

Peter looked at his hands which stuck onto the metal, hesitantly letting go, sending him down to the ground. “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned, kneeling down beside him to help him up.

“Yeah,” he answered, unsure. “You did see that right?” 

I opened my mouth to answer, but get cut off by one of the girls present, “Disgusting, now I smell my beer.” 

I had to resist the strong urge to roll my eyes. Because that’s what’s important. 

Peter, being Peter, looked at her in alarm, and guilt. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice dragged when he tried to pull his hand away. 

“Peter?” I eyed him, weirded out at the turn of events that took place 

“I didn’t–I didn’t,” he stuttered, still struggling his hand away.

An older man walked up to Peter, a tough persona displayed. “Get your hand off her!” he commanded.

Peter looked at the man, fearfully. 

“I’m trying to get my—”

“Can’t you see he’s trying!” I shouted. 

The guy, now angry, pushed Peter away from the girl, his hand took her shirt along with him. A couple of the surrounding guys laughed, staring.

“Well, that’s one way of getting your hand off of her,” I joked, but Peter didn’t react. 

The man that pushed Peter gets more riled up from this action, “Are you kidding?” 

Peter held onto one of the hand bars that he was previously rammed into, looking away from the girl, respectfully. “I’m sorry.” He raised a hand back, her shirt still latched onto the palm of his hand.

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?!” the man shouted.

“Hey! It’s not his fault,” I argued in his defense. “Can’t you see he was trying to? Technically you were the one that pushed him, which led to the accidental taking off of this… lady’s shirt, so–technically–it’s your fault.” 

I noticed in the corner of my eye Peter trying to pull his hand away from the hand bar just as I heard, “Hey, get him, Rudy, I got the girl.” 

“What?!” I raised my hands up in defense. “Isn’t this whole thing about sticking up for women?” 

“Hey!” Ignoring my words the man threw a punch towards Peter who raised a swift leg, kicking the man past me and onto another bench. The man groaned in pain.

“Woah,” I let out, breathless as the man fell to the ground.

“Man, I’m sorry! Oh, man, are you all right?” Peter rambled, turning to look at him.

As if he knew, Peter pushes up kicking another guy that had just about lunged at him, the momentum of it ended with him on his back.

“Take him down! Come on,” a woman shouted.

“Woah hold on–ah!” 

I was about to step in when another guy charged towards Peter who kicked up at the guy, doing a kip up, effortlessly landing on his feet. All with still holding onto the hand rail. “Get him, man! Get him!” 

There was only one guy left standing, his head whipping to the skateboard on the ground, Peter ever-so-slightly shook his head, eyeing it upsettingly. “No, man, no. Not my board,” he pleaded.

I was just about to grab it when the guy got it first in a flash, winding it back.

“Please, dude, don’t—” Peter didn’t finish his sentence as it was about to hit him, but the impact never came. “Y/n—You!” 

Of course, during this part all I saw was pitch black darkness, Peter–thankfully–filled me in on what happened after I was ejected from existence… I can still feel the pain.

The guy with the skateboard still in hand, attempted to swing at Peter for a second time, but Peter manages to kick up once again, and swung around to straddle his own arms in a bent position. Much to Peter’s dismay, the pole broke from the ground, nearly hitting me…

Oh wait—

First he hit the guy who started it all right where the sun didn't shine. “Sorry. Sorry.” Then another guy in the jaw. “Oh.” He turns to look at all the guys lifeless on the ground. “I am so sorry.” And then—

“I’m alive–UGH!” I crouched down, holding my stomach.

Peter finally gained the ability to drop the pole, staring down at his hand in shock.

Coney Island, next stop, the conductor’s voice resonated through the poorly made speakers, repeating it. 

“A little help down here,” I squeaked.

Peter snapped his attention to me who was… in a lot of pain. “Oh my—” he cut himself off, rushing to me. “Oh my God, I am so sorry, are you okay? Does it hurt? Of course it hurts, you were hit with a skateboard. Can you remember things? What’s your name? What is my name?” He took my face into his hands, inspecting it carefully. “Why the Hell did you do that? You definitely have a concussion.”

“Peter! Everyone is staring.” I covered his hands which have yet to pull away from my cheeks that felt as though they were on fire. 

Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out, shutting it. “Do you think your aunt would be okay if you spent the night?” 

“As long as we use protection,” I teased.

Peter’s eyes widened in embarrassment.

“Oh–I didn’t mean–it’s just my aunt always says to… nevermind.”

It was a long ride to the Parker residence from there.

Peter practically sprinted off of the train when we arrived. “Peter!” I screamed due to the amount of distance he put between us. 

“Oh, right!” He ran back, not wasting anymore time. “Hop on my back!” 

I blinked a few times, “Wh-What?” 

“Hop on… my back.” He set his backpack on the ground. “I literally just ripped a metal pole out of the ground, I can carry you.” 

I hesitated. “You’ve never been able to carry me before,” I pointed out, sadly. “Not to mention I have a backpack that weighs at least 50 pounds.

“Don’t say it like that, please, you’re probably lighter than air, it’s my fault I’m so weak,” he begs. “Let’s just try.” 

“I hate trying.” 

“I know you do,” he dismissed, turning around, and kneeling.

“If this goes poorly…” I dragged.

Peter didn't respond, as I cautiously wrapped my legs to straddle his back. 

“Okay I–woah!” I gasped when he stood upright. “Okay, okay, okay, you’re holding me up, that’s…” 

“Just hold on tight.” 

I do as he said, wrapping my arms around his neck, and intertwining my legs around his torso. “Why? You aren’t going to—No!” I shrieked when he starts to sprint again. “Peter!” I tighten edmy grip around him, my face nestled into the crook of his neck. “How are you doing this right now?” I asked, hinting at the fact he’s running with me on his back, with my backpack on, while carrying his backpack, and skateboard, which apparently broke at the second hit at him. It broke off of him.

Can’t deny all of it was attractive, well… what I saw before I was knocked out.

“How did I do any of that stuff?” 

I opened my mouth to reply with something clever, but nothing formed. 

“See?” he laughed.

I noticed that his face was starting to break out into a cold sweat. “Peter? You’re sweating. I knew this would be too much for you—”

“No! I think it’s the shock, the reaction. You know…” He began to slow down. “I am not beginning to feel too well,” he admitted, starting to stumble a little.

“Okay, you need to let me go. “

“It’s not you, I swear!” 

“I’m not saying it is, we’re almost at your house Peter, we can walk from here.” 

Giving in, he let me go. And looking at him… he didn’t look too good. Well, he always looks good, but I mean like… he looks ill. “It wasn’t you…” he reassured, shaking his head, spastically. 

“Let’s just… get you home, okay?” 

I go to grab his hand, but he jerked away. What is happening right now?

We arrived at his house. I opened the door, and ushered Peter inside whilst closing the door behind us. “Uh, hey,” Peter greeted. “Hey, hey.” He walked off without me.

I scrambled to keep up with his long strides as he met up with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. 

“Sorry. I’m late–and–uh Y/n's here too.” He gestured toward me as I peak my head around the corner. “We got—” 

“We’ve been so worried.” Aunt May stood to block him with a stern expression. “Your aunt too, Y/n!” She pointed to me who sported a sheepish smile. 

My eyes looked down at my phone which I had yet to pull out tonight, cringing at the number of voicemails and messages. I sent her a quick one back that I was safe and would be staying the night at Peter’s. “Use protection,” I read my Aunt Yelena’s text in a hushed tone.

“I know. I’m sorry. Watch out!” 

I looked up in alarm to see Peter catch something about the size of a fingernail, if not smaller. My feet got the better of me as I made my way towards Peter’s raised hand that rested in front of May’s face to get a better look. My body pushed up just beside Peter’s… I don’t think he noticed.

The fly buzzed as a beat of silence went by, Peter not being able to look at anything besides the insect just in between the pads of his thumb and pointer finger. 

“That’s a fly, Peter,” Aunt May commented, her hands pressed against her chest, scared.

Peter, for sure out of it, let go, waving his hand in the air. “Yeah,” he responded, carelessly. 

It flew around his head, his eyes following it carefully. “Nice catch,” I whispered. He jumped, dramatically, looking at me as if I was a ghost before looking back at Aunt May.

He wiped his bottom lip, preparing as if to say something, “I’m so sorry I kept you guys up,” he paused. “I’m insensitive, I’m irresponsible, and I’m hungry.” He goes to push past Aunt May, pressing a kiss on her cheek, and handing her half his broken board in the process. 

Aunt May and Uncle Ben looked at me for answers, but I could only supply them a weak chuckle. Ben stood up to position himself next to May in the doorway of the kitchen, fitting myself right in between them.

The three of us watched as Peter dug out a yellow plate of what looked to be May’s meatloaf, unwrapping it, then proceeding to eat as if he hasn’t eaten anything in days, letting out breaths of relief. Was I somehow finding this attractive? Yes. “Drinking?” May questioned, eyes glancing at me as a quick analysis to see if I was in the same shape.

Ben, grasped the concept, and looked at me as well. I gave him a helpless shrug. 

“What’s this?” Peter asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ben answered to May.

“This is your meat loaf,” Peter concluded chuckling, continuing to lean against the opened fridge door. “This beats all other meat loafs.” 

Ben and I gave each other pointed looks of acknowledgement of his words.

“Something is very wrong,” May observed 

“Yeah,” Ben started.

“Nobody likes your meat loaf,” Ben and I finished at the same time.

May looked at us both in slight irritation, her previous concerned expression dropping.

I don’t even know how it happened but the next time I saw Peter he was carrying at least seven courses, including ice cream and–is that frozen mac n’ cheese?

Peter slid past the three of us, nearly dropping one of the containers which May immediately reached out to catch, but the crook of Peter’s elbow did the job for her. “I got it,” he affirmed. 

“He took the frozen macaroni and cheese,” May voiced.

“I noticed that,” Ben responded.

Ben and May looked at me with another interrogative gaze. 

I sucked on my teeth for a moment, “I really can’t answer that for you.” 

May looked at Ben and I with a more threatening appearance. “Why didn’t you guys tell me you didn’t like my meat loaf? Especially you Ben!” 

“Um…” He gaped at her.

“You could have said that to me 37 years ago—” 

“Y/n!” Peter called out from his room.

“You’re on your own Uncle Ben.” I saluted him, making a haste exit away from the conversation.

When I got to Peter’s room I didn’t find him. “Peter?” 

“In here,” a muffled voice says. 

I went to the bathroom, opening and closing the door to see him splashing water on his face. “Peter, what the hell was that all about?” 

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

He stared at his reflection, his hand reaching up at the collar of his shirt, connecting his fingers to something. 

“What’s that?” I took a step toward him to inspect. “It looks like—like a string.” 

He pulled at it, my eyes meeting what looked to be, “a bite.” 

He pulled on the string, a groan of pain escaping past his lips. He goes to look at it, a mixture of emotions flashing across his eyes as it now appear to resemble more of a web than a string. His eyebrows twitched up, as his eyes followed the trail that lead from his right hand to his left. He shuddered a couple of times. I didn’t dare to speak a word, rather just watched, but when I saw the dead spider at the end I nearly screamed. 

He looked away from it, blinking twice until they fully close.

“Peter,” I breathed. “You need to go to a hospital, that spider could’ve been deadly.” 

He shook his head now looking at me. I traced out his eyes that were bloodshot, a dark shadow casting underneath them. “No, we do not speak of this. I just–I just need some rest. You–you should go home.” 

I look at him taken aback. “Yeah. Right. Like I would ever leave you alone knowing this. What if you have a seizure or something? What if your skin starts burning holes? What if—” 

“I get it!” he snapped. “Fine. You can stay.” 

I gave him a proud smile. “Cool, see you in your room.” I smoothly winked at him, skipping off to allow him a second to himself. What a twist of events.

Beep—

I jumped up when Peter abruptly slammed his fist down on his alarm clock, the whole thing blowing up into bits. “Holy—my God, Peter, you—” My eyes set on the broken pieces of the poor alarm clock that got a taste of his newfound strength, coughing a little from the smoke 

His head burrowed into the pillow he had laying on the ground.

Despite having slept in the same bed multiple times, with said new strength Peter argued against it this time, claiming he'd accidentally hurt me in his sleep. With that said, he refused to have me sleep on the floor with my obvious concussion. “How are you feeling?” I asked. 

Groggily he got up, storming out, and to the bathroom.

It was less than a minute later when I heard him let out a small cry. “Peter?” I opened the door to see water shooting out from the faucet. “What did you do?” I closed the door in case either May or Ben decided to walk by. 

“Do you really need me to answer that?!” he replied, angry. He reached for the towel beside the sink, when the holder for it ripped off the wall. 

“Peter, just calm down!” I attempted to ease, as he frantically spun around. 

He tried to cover the broken faucet with the piece that he ripped off, eventually throwing the towel over it. His hand went toward the doorknob to the cabinet only to have that also be broken off. In defeat he looked at me.

“How about you try to open this door—” I knock edon the wood behind me, “—as carefully as possible?” 

He hesitated, but when I moved out of the way for him to obey, he walked up, only the tips of his fingers holding the doorknob, delicately turning it. Not without another look at me he left, slamming the door. “Thanks Peter,” I huffed, walking out of the bathroom.

When I went into Peter’s room I found him sitting on his bed, toothbrush in one hand, and the doorknob in the other. 

“Peter…?” I took soft steps toward him. 

He jolted up, turning his head to the side, frantically. He stared at something in horror. He jolted again, moving his whole body to turn toward his window, the blinds were down, the room dim. He held his toothbrush out in front of him as some form of defense. Realizing what he’s doing, he stood up. “I have to get to the bottom of this,” he told me. 

“You can say that again,” I laughed, going to his computer. 

His foot connected to a piece of paper which he struggled to get off. “You–you don’t have to—” he stammered when I offered to get it for him. “Thanks,” he muttered, sitting on his desk chair.

His typing was faster than lightning, looking up every possible thing about spiders and their bites. Nothing matching his problem. He lightly touches the bite on the back of his neck, a sudden impulse going through him as he typed, ‘Richard parker spider’, but it seemed to fade into random letters.

Peter and I both looked down at his hands which he lifts. Some of the keys, including the spacebar, stuck to his fingers. “Sticky like a spider,” I thought out loud. “You’re like a spider, but a man,” I paused, my tongue darting out to swipe over my lips in concentration. “A Spider-Man.” 

Comment to be added to the taglist !!

For those who used to be on my taglist and see this, please comment if you want to be on it again, as I have not written in a while and don't know what you're into now. Thank you.

[mrsbrookemunson]

“So, About This Girlfriend Thing...” (Part 1/2)| Andrew!Peter x Fem!Reader

SAFE FROM NWH SPOILERS (You’re Safe)

Song: Any Depressing Song Would Work.

Prompt: College!AU (Gwen’s dead (sorry)) It was three in the morning when Peter saw Y/N’s light on after a night of harsh patrolling. And as she plays nurse a set of words escape from her that puts Peter in a difficult spot, which makes Y/N frustrated, and leads the two to go separate directions.

Genre: Fluff to Angst

Warnings: Swearings, argument, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries (bullet wound, cuts, etc), Peter kind of being mean to the reader... Right place at the wrong time (*Sigh*). Probably typos.

|Not Requested|

| Part One | Part Two |

- “So, About This Girlfriend Thing...” -

Y/N has three cravings after waking up from strange dreams in the middle of the night. First; it’s water. Second; it’s *Favorite Drink*. And third (lastly); it’s whatever she had for dinner that night, which in this case is pasta. And while she waited for it to be warmed up, she guzzled down her drink, and ate slices of turkey. 

Peter–on the other hand–was just swinging about until he fell into a fight that led to a couple of deep cuts, and a bullet wound. That’s what brought him to feel guilty when swinging by her place only to see her one lamp–which she bought at an antic store for only $15–illuminating her whole apartment. “Y/N?” 

The sound of her name nearly made her drop her metal water bottle that she had been gnawing on for the last three minutes. “Peter!” She sets it down carefully, awkwardly fixing her hair while leaning against the counter. “Wh–what are you doing here?” 

“I’m…” He looks down at his figure, all bloodied up. “In need of some… assistance.” 

The microwave went crazy, signaling her pasta was ready to be eaten. “Great!” She shakes her head, not moving. “Sounds great–well I mean not great that you’re injured but....” She lets her voice fade into silence.

The beep made Peter’s ears hurt as he flickered back and forth from the object to her, “Are you going to get that?”

“Yes!” Y/N accidentally shouts, turning to grab her food only to have the door of the microwave smack her face when she opens it.

“Are you okay?” Peter chuckles, resisting the urge to laugh loudly to save her from the embarrassment. 

“Yeah!” she squeaks, rubbing the left side of her face. “Of course! Just wasn’t expecting you is all.” Finally placing the bowl down on the counter, safely, she turns to him. 

“I didn’t want to be a bother to you, I just saw your light on and—”

“You’re not a bother,” she assures, cutting him. “Never a bother. I just look like a mess, I-I had nightmare, and I get these weird cravings afterwards so—” 

“Nightmare?” Peter furrows his eyebrows in concern. “What about?” 

“Oh, it was stupid, really,” she starts, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear as a nervous habit. “It’s not important,” she concludes 

“Are you sure?” He sits on the bed, genuinely growing more and more curious, but worried, as it seemingly affected her. “You can talk to me about it, I would never judge you.” 

“I know.” She licks her lips. “So, your cuts and wounds,” she changes the subject. 

“What about your… pasta?” He points to it, his attention wandering to the pile of snacks beside the bowl that had all been left open due to his arrival.

“The pasta can wait.” She waves it off, marching to her bathroom to grab the well supplied first-aid. “So, what happened tonight?” 

“Eh… The same old, but I’ve been a little distracted recently, so my punches just weren’t holding up to Spider-Man’s expectations.” 

“Oh?” Y/N kneels down in front of him, so she has no choice but to slightly look up at him. “What’s been distracting you?” She places at hand on his knee to show she’s listening.

His eyes flicker down to where her touch is located, then averting to the wood floor. “Wish I knew,” he mutters, but Y/N caught

She sensed he was lying, but not wanting to pry she moves onto the more important matters. “What are we dealing with here?” 

“Uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Some stab wounds, and a bullet,” he says, ever-so casually.

Y/N begins to violently cough at the analysis, “You have quick healing, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, a lot of this should be healed by sometime tomorrow,” he affirms. He shuts his eyes tight realizing that exact point. “Which is why I shouldn’t have come here and bother you, I’m so—” 

“Hey...” She cups his face. “What are girlfriends for?” 

Peter is taken aback, “Girlfriend?” 

Y/N’s eyes widened, her face blushing a bright red, “What I mean is girl-friend. Friend, that's a girl.” 

Her and Peter have considered themselves unlabeled with their relationship, despite the fact they know they like each other as more than friends. Y/N has tried to nudge towards calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend but Peter always dismisses it, or pretends he didn’t hear.

A small smile is now on his face as he draws out her features as if trying to memorize them. His eyes turn to focus on a book that’s placed on the desk behind her, “Hey, isn’t that the book you’ve been claiming to have read to me for two months now?” 

She turns to see what he’s talking about, biting her lip when she sees the open book. “Yeah, I decided to reread it…. It’s been a while,” she informs, taking an alcohol wipe from the kit, and opening it. “I always hated this part…” 

“Me too,” he agrees, waiting for the impact. And there it was, the sting, but it wasn’t as bad as other times. Her touch was so gentle that the pain that should’ve been felt went away. “So, about this—” He clears his throat, “—girlfriend thing...” he pauses. “I just want to make sure that we’re–um–on the same page with the no labels thing?” 

Y/N moves away to grab gauze, a strike of annoyance hits her as it laced with the sadness that squeezed her heart, and made her stomach churn. “Sure Pete.” It didn’t come out convincing, but Peter only focused on the words she said rather than how she said them.

“Good.” He sighs in relief. “It’s just... with having to balance Spider-Man stuff and college, I don’t know how I’ll be able to also have time for a real relationship. Please understand that.” He rushes to guide her eyes to meet his, not noting the purposeful avoidance of them. “You deserve better than a half-assed relationship.” 

Y/N nods, slowly, in almost a condescending way as it all sets into her mind. “I do deserve better than that...” She glances away, piecing together her thoughts, before going back to his gaze with narrowed eyes. “So, then, what are we, Peter? What is this? What are we doing?”

He breaks into a confused smile, a forced, small laugh coming with, “What?” 

She pulls away from his grasp, pacing around in front of him. “You confuse me, Peter. You say I deserve better than basically what you’re trying to say is a one-sided relationship, so then, what is this?” She gestures between the both of them. 

“I–I don’t know but––” Peter stutters.

“Everything you just described, is already what I’m getting, that’s what we are, at least from my perspective, but I don’t I don’t care, because it’s you, so what’s your side of the story? You obviously know what I want, but what do you want?” She crosses her arms, waiting patiently for an answer. 

He shrugs, but doesn’t let his shoulders drop. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He forms his lips into a tight-line, everything in his posture, in his tone, in his eyes, screams careless in the situation.

That’s what broke her down into a fit of tears, “Really?” 

He seemed to freeze at the sight. “Why are you crying?” He stands up, moving to wrap her arms around her, but she holds out her own to stop him from doing so. “C’mon, Y/N, let’s talk about this.” 

She looks at him in alarm. “That’s exactly it!” Anger begins to bubble within her. “That’s all we do, is talk, and talk, and talk, and I’m sick of talking Peter. For two years I had to pretend I felt nothing for you, because I was scared it would ruin our friendship. But, then––” She bites her tongue, “––but then,” she repeats, in a low voice. “I found out you felt the same, at least I thought you did, I don’t know anymore to be honest.” 

He rolls his eyes, dramatically, “You’re overreacting about this, lets just have a grownup talk about this, and by the end I’m sure everything will be back to normal between us again. That’s how it always works with us.” 

Y/N inhales through your nose, debating on what to say next. That’s how it always works with us. “That’s how it always works with us,” she repeats his words out loud.

“Yeah.” He rests a confident smile. 

She blinks once slowly, as if she’s gained a headache, which wouldn’t be a lie if she said she hasn’t. “No...” she mumbles, allowing her head to hang low.

“What was that?” 

She looks back up at him. “Not this time, Peter, I can’t keep doing this anymore.” She shakes her head in exhaustion as she swears to visibly see the panic rush to his eyes. “Whatever we have here, I can’t–I can’t do this anymore, I’m tired of it.” Tears fall from her eyes violently, slightly making them burn.

Peter still holds onto his smile. “You don’t mean that!” he laughs in denial. 

“Yes I do,” she confirms.

“No, you don’t.” 

“Yes I do.” 

“You don’t.” 

“I do.” 

“You don’t.” 

“I do.”

His smile falters, as the realization hits him all at once that she means it this time. All those other times when arguments struck, there was always forgiveness in the end. Then they’d just go on with their lives, acting like nothing happened. “No... No, you don’t,” he whispers. 

Silence mixes with the tense air.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Y/N pleads. 

“Just–just let me sort out some things first, and then we–we can be together, actually be together. You just have to wait.” 

“For how long?!” she accidentally shouts. “Peter, I would wait for you till the end… if I believed you’d do the same for me.” She gives a weak smile. “I love you so much, I hope you know that, but you don’t love me… I see that now.” 

Peter was speechless. He couldn’t form a proper sentence, he couldn’t find it in him to argue back. He just stood there, dumbfounded. “I—” he breathes.

“Just go Peter.” She wipes her tears away. “We both knew this wasn’t going to last.”

“So, we’re not even going to try to work this out?!” His own tears were starting to escape, his face now a dull shade of red.

“What’s the point of trying if we’ve already failed?” she attempts to reason.

“The point is that you are my best friend… I can’t do this without you, you keep me sane with everything that goes on. You make me feel like Peter Parker is more important than Spider-Man. Doesn’t that mean something?” His voice wavers.

“Of course it does, and maybe one day we can be back to being best friends, but I can’t live with myself, seeing you everyday, knowing you’re never going to feel the same way as I do, so please, until we’re both ready, don’t come back.” When he doesn’t move, she grabs onto his arms. “Please,” she begs. 

He sniffles, as he scans her apartment as if it’ll be the last time he sees it. “Okay,” he gives in. “Okay…” He ushers himself, quickly, towards the window, leaving without a goodbye.

Once out of her eyesight, his body slams against a brick wall, as he slides down to a seated position. HIs hands grip his hair as he replays this entire night over and over in his head. What he could’ve done differently, what he should’ve said. It’s been a while since he felt such an instant regret, and urge to go back and do things over.

He lost track of the time whilst doing this, soon enough the sun was risen, and his tears still had yet to go away, but what was he meant to do?

It’s been two weeks since then, and a lot has changed. 

“I’m in love,” Peter, who’s currently dressed as Spider-Man, blurts, with a wide, dopey, smile behind his mask. “I mean, I screwed up big time before I could realize that, but I’m going to make it up to her, right now.”

The guy at the registar stares at Peter with a blank, almost scared expression, “Look, I don’t care who or why you’re buying the flowers, just give me the money.” 

“Oh, right!” Peter hands him the ten dollar bill he’s been holding. “Keep the change. Wish me luck!”

With that Peter swings off towards Y/N’s apartment with her favorite flowers in one hand, as petals flew away, and they slowly began to sag, most of them broken when making it to her window. He leans against the sill, taking off his mask and pulling out a piece of paper which had his messy writing scribbled on it. He takes a deep breath with a grin, “Y/N,” he reads. “I know two weeks ago you told me not to come back until we’re both ready, but I couldn't allow myself to lose you, not when I—” Her giggle cuts him off, peaking his interest, “—love you,” he finishes, quietly, hearing another laugh he could never get tired of.

He turns his head to look inside only to have his smile disappear, and his surroundings start to spin. There she was, with another guy, laughing at his jokes, and flirtatiously smiling at him, the same smile she’d give him during their study sessions. Peter had to look away, and do a double take to see if it was just a trick his eyes were playing, but it wasn’t. She’s moving on, already? His ribcage hurt from how hard his heart was beating against it. This moment felt more painful than getting shot, or beat up, or getting hit by cars, and thrown into trains. 

He hastily stuffs the flowers in his backpack and subconsciously crumples the note, tossing it to the side. With one last glance into her window, she looks so happy without him, he swings away.

He was too late. 

I Don’t Like This That Much, But Oh Well. Part Two Will Be Interesting.

Tell Me If You Want To Be Added To The Amazing Spider-Man Taglist By Either Commenting, Asking, Or Messaging Me

@chims-kookies @livewittykid @arabellelancastersstuff @lost-fantasy @dxmerons @nanidice @ilistentotayswifttocope @byelannie @taysirene @mel119g @lavendersfairy @tinktohispan @apoloslut @xdsage @favouritereadings @poisxnedmind @abarelyexistentbeing @I4mentis1 @laamaking @lendeluxe @deafeningnightcollection-things​

|Requests are Opened, Message, Comment, or Ask your Requests!|

xXTheBrookeLupinXx

[mrsbrookemunson]

Christmas Time In New York Andrew!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

NO NWH SPOILERS (You’re Safe)

Song: “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” Any Version

Prompt: Fluff, yes, fluff is the prompt... You and Peter have been best friends for two years already (Since Freshman Year of college). There’s an obvious attraction between you guys, but Gwen’s death is holding Peter make from initiating anything. Will the spirit of Christmas pull him through and have him give into his feelings?

Genre: .... It’s FLUFF. Is that OKAY?!

Warnings: The big FlOOF, mentions of death (Gwen), interesting Peter thoughts, Y/N being a good friend, Peter in love. It’s... Cute. Now Read IT!

|Not Requested|

- Christmas Time In New York - 

🎵Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas🎵

The song plays softly through the small radio Y/N had set up in her apartment. “How do you do this?!” Y/N shouts in agony.

Peter perks up hearing her frustration. “You use the icing,” he explains.

“I know that!” she scoffs. “How is yours so perfectly constructed?” 

“How is yours not? I thought you were supposed to be the artist here,” he argues.

Y/N gasps, dramatically, “I am! But, I’m a decorator, not a constructor.” 

“Sounds to me you’re just making excuses.” It was clear he was joking, anyone could see that from miles away.

“You take that back.” She begins to rise up from her seat. “You take that back, right now!” she orders, failing to hold back her laugh. “Or else…” She holds up the tube of icing.

“No–Y/N–you need that for your gingerbread house, don’t want to go wasting a perfectly good product, would you?” He also rises up from his chair, his arms spread out to keep a safe distance between him and her. 

“This one’s on you Peter,” she accuses.

He didn’t allow his spidey senses to interfere with her sudden attack. In a blink of an eye he was on her full size bed–the only bed she could afford after the twin sized one she owned since the 4th grade–with her straddling his waist. “Now, you said I’m the artist here, what should I draw on you?” she asks more herself than Peter.

“Y/N! Don’t you dare!” 

She smiles widely, leaning closer towards him with the icing. “How about a mustache–oh yeah! That’s sexy,” she jokes. “And some new eyebrows, though your eyebrows are already amazing.” She bites her lip in concentration. “OOO! And some freckles…” Her face scrunches up. “What else? Screw it! Let’s give you a full beard!” She continues to outline his face in the white frosting, creating a masterpiece with each new element. “Gorgeous…” She admires her work.

“How am I supposed to get this all off?” he asks, not serious.

“By wiping it off?” She raises an eyebrow, as if the answer was common sense.

“But, it’s such a waste!” he whines.

“What do you want me to say? That I’ll lick it all off for you? I don’t think that’s what you want Peter.” She gets up, going back to her house to pluck a gumdrop that was set to the side, popping it into her mouth. “These aren’t that bad you know?” 

Peter hasn’t attempted to move. His sick mind didn’t hate the idea of her licking frosting off his face, but it would be better if—

“Hey Peter?” she calls out, pulling him back to reality. “Do you want any cocoa?” 

He gives her a thumbs up. “Sounds delicious.” 

“‘Kay.” She goes to the kitchen.

He continues to lay there, drained from the prior endeavors. “Could you make sure to put—” 

“Extra chocolate in yours?” Y/N finishes, walking out with two mugs. “It’s like you don’t even know me.” 

She sets them down on the table. “Thanks.” He sits up, going back to his original spot at the dining table which only could fit two.

“You should probably wipe that off,” she advises, taking a sip.

“And you should probably wipe that off.” He points to her face.

“What?” she asks, innocently. 

Her doe-eyes nearly caused Peter a heart attack. “The whipped cream it—” he cuts himself off, gesturing to his mouth in a way of description.

“Oh!” she laughs. “Right.” 

Y/N couldn’t quite make it first, she would’ve used her sleeve, but she didn’t want to ruin the white sweater she currently was wearing. She guessed she was overthinking it for too long and with that Peter leaned over, and brushed his thumb above her top lip. “You know I have to say, you looked cute.”

“And I have to say that I can’t take you seriously, Santa.” 

The nickname causes him to choke out a chuckle. “I helped you, so shouldn’t you be helping me with this? Not to mention it was your doing…” He taps his fingers on the wood waiting for a reaction.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Let’s go to my bathroom.” 

Her bathroom… It was small, cramped, and looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned in 10 years despite her intensely scrubbing away at everything when she first moved in. “This is cozy,” Peter comments.

“You can say that again,” Y/N mutters, wetting a washcloth. 

Her wiping away at his face brought images of her helping him with his wounds after patrolling. He hadn’t found it in himself to tell her he was Spider-Man, despite knowing each other for over a year. Gwen’s death really took that ability to be vulnerable, and open up to people away from him. He couldn’t let himself have history repeat itself, not with you in the picture. “You’re staring,” she observes.

“What else am I supposed to look at?” 

“There’s a difference between looking and staring, Parker,” she informs.

He didn’t know if that was a fact or just her opinion, either way he sort of agreed as he was indeed staring. “Is there?” 

She runs the cloth under the lukewarm water again, as hot water seemed to never want to work in her complex. “Mhm.” She goes back to cleaning his face.

“How much did you put on me?” 

“I’m almost done,” she responds, not directly answering the question. “Has anyone told you you have really nice skin?” 

“What are you? A vampire?” 

“Sounded more like a cannibal phra–that sounds weird…” She cringes at the thought.

“You do have those little fang teeth.” 

Y/N groans. “Don’t remind me how awful my teeth are, man… I hate my smile,” she admits. 

Peter frowns at her self-directed insult. “Your teeth aren’t that bad, and I think you have a—” he clears his throat, “—I think you have a beautiful smile.” 

Her eyes lock with his, creating an invisible spark in between their connecting gaze. “That makes one of us,” she replies, but her faint smile was noticeably there as a resort from the compliment. She takes a step back, “I should be done.” 

“All good?” 

She nods, assuringly, as she does another brief analysis, “All good.” 

He stands up from his seated position from the toilet he was previously on. “Our hot chocolate is probably cold.” 

Y/N shrugs, “I have a microwave.” 

And there they both were, standing by the microwave, arms crossed, and no words being spoken. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

They both go to grab the mugs, bumping into each other. “Sorry!” they exclaim sincerely at the same time. 

“Sorry,” Y/N repeats more quietly. “I got them,” she announces. “Do you want to sit out there? I want you to open up the present I got you.” 

“You got me something?” he asks, flattered.

“Of course I did Peter, you’re my best friend.”

You’re my best friend. Those four words flooded Peter’s mind to the point where he was drowning in them. “Glad we’re on the same page then.” He sends her a grin. 

He leaves, Y/N following closely behind, sitting on the couch which–once again–only could fit two people. “Here you go.” She hands him the mug, setting hers down on the coffee table. “And I’ll go grab your gift.” 

She runs off to her closet, rummaging through to find the wrapped object. 

“Wow!” Peter’s eyes widened. “That’s an interesting wrap job.” 

“I was rushed,” she informs. “I actually am a pretty good wrapper.” 

“Ah, yes, like you’re a good gingerbread house builder?” He eyes her toppled over creation.

“Shut up,” she mutters sitting down next to him. “Here you go.” 

Suddenly he’s hesitant. “It better not be too exp—” 

“Open it!” 

Obeying, he grabs it from her hands, his fingers brushing Y/N’s gently, like a caress. “I’m opening it now…” He undoes the wrapping, beaming when he sees what was inside. “You did not.” 

“I did!” she confirms, proudly.

“I looked everywhere for this, online, in person, where did you find it?” 

“That’s not even the best part.” He looks at her in alarm. “Turn to the third page.” 

When he does so his heart beats faster than it already was. “You got his signature?!” He turns to her. “You didn’t kill someone for this, right?” His expression falters.

“No, dummy!” She leans over to playfully push him. “I just… you know… drove an hour away to the book release where it said he’ll be signing books, camped out in line for a while, and got it.” 

Peter gapes at her, his pupils dilated, from the light or from the love he felt for her, the reason was unknown. “I-I can’t believe you did this.” His giddy maneuvers made butterflies flutter in Y/N’s stomach. 

Seeing him so happy was all she could ask for this Christmas. She knew how hard Gwen’s death was on him, so to hear his laugh, and see his smile... “You’re all I want for Christmas,” she thinks out loud, under her breath fortunately.

“What?” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Y/N claps once. “I said, ‘that’s all I got you for Christmas’,” she recovers from her slip up. “Hope it was good enough.” 

Still speechless he nods. “Better than good,” he stammers. “The best, the greatest. Thank you.” He sets the book down, carefully. “Thank you,” he says again, hugging her tightly to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything. I’ve just been so busy, and a lot has been on my mind and I—” 

“Peter,” she cuts him out, physically pushing him away by the shoulders. “If you think I care if you didn’t get me something for Christmas, then you must not know me at all,” she pauses, “You could literally give me a single dumpling from that Chinese place we like and I would be thankful, because it would’ve been from you. Anything, and everything from you is special to me.”

“Don’t say things like that,” he begs. 

“Why not?” Y/N grows worried. Did she say something wrong? Is she going too far? “I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t ever be sorry, it’s me who’s sorry.” He takes a shaky breath. “It’s just–you have know idea how I truly feel about you.”

She gulps, “Then tell me.”

He shakes his head, teary eyed, “I can’t have someone I care about so deeply get hurt again, to leave me again, I–I can’t lose you too.” 

Y/N cups the side of his face, moving to where she’s just a hairbreadth away from him. “You will never lose me,” she drags each word, to show him that she meant what she’s saying, as if it’s a promise. “No matter what, Peter, you will never lose me.” 

“I wish I believed you.” 

She licks her bottom lip, searching for what to say next. “It’s okay if you don’t,” she states. “You don’t need to believe me… I need you to trust me.” 

That’s when it clicked for Peter. The missing piece to his unanswered question, the answer he’s been desperate for. On instinct he kisses Y/N’s cheek. “I have your present,” he blurts. “I trust you, Y/N, and I’m now going to prove that to you.” 

Comment If You Want To Be Added To The Amazing Spider-Man Taglist.

xX TheBrookeLupin Xx