#he got the ned special of Realizing things too late i guess

[mummer]

ik aemon primarily raising mance exists SOLELY as my own headcanon but the idea of aemon saying kill the boy let the man be born to egg and then mance and then jon is making me cuckoo bananas in ways i did not think possible.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet uglies, sternclay 60 sfw? OwO

Here you go!

60 Sterncly SFW. we’re both on a reality show (like the queer bachelor) where we’re told to be friends but the first time we met, you were incredibly rude and judgmental and I don’t know if I can do this for the damn cameras

“So, Barclay, now that we’re a few days in, what’s your impression of the other contestants?”

“They, uh, they all seem like great guys. We come from a lot of different backgrounds, so that’s kind of interesting to be around but, uh, I live in a place that’s like a big, chosen family, so being in a house with a bunch of types of personalities is kinda, uh, homey.”

“There’s no one you think you’ll struggle with?”

“Uh. Well. I, uh, I don’t like Joseph too much. He came in and he’s so, like, phony from all the years in the FBI. It’s like he’s trying to be polite and charming but really he thinks we’re all idiots for being here. Which, like, buddy, last I checked you signed up for this the same as the rest of us.”

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“Joseph, any worries about the other contestants?”

“No. I mean, we’re competitors on a dating show, not enemies. I think we’re all trying to show Vincent the best versions of ourselves.”

“There’s no one you’ve had conflicts with?”

“........I, um, Barclay and I got into a small argument earlier about the house rules. But I’m sure if we both stick around long enough we’ll come to an understanding.”

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

“Gentlemen, this cannot continue.” Ned, the producer, sits on the couch across from them. Barclay glares at Joseph, but the other man keeps a cool demeanor. Great, he’s making Barclay look like the big, angry mountain even off camera.

“I thought reality shows needed conflict to thrive.” Joseph cocks an eyebrow.

“They do, but about big things, like love and rivalry. Not how to properly load a dishwasher.”

“I’m just trying to be efficient.”

“My way is perfectly fine.” Barclay snaps, “jesus, I worked in kitchens for years, I know how to get clean plates.”

“That doesn’t make it optimal.”

“Do you have to be right about everything?”

“Gentlemen, you recall we have a housekeeping staff, right?”

“It doesn’t matter” Barclay doesn’t take his eyes off Ned, “we’re supposed to all get along, not all try and prove we’re the smartest guy in the room.”

“See, this is your problem, you need everyone to like you, to see you like a big brother, but you’re missing the fact that at least three of them have decided your gentle giant persona is a threat and they’re trying to oust you.”

“It’s not a persona, it’s just how I am. We aren’t all government shams disguised as men.”

Joseph’s facade cracks for a moment, blue eyes trying to light Barclay on fire.

“Enough.” Ned shakes his head, “you may despise each other as much as you please behind the scenes. In front of the cameras, please try to act as if you’re not ten seconds away from coming to blows. Agreed?”

They trade a final, furious look.

“Agreed.”

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They’re a little over three weeks in; Vincent is still doing lots and lots of short, individual dates between the group outings, so the contestants have ample time to hang around the house and get on each others nerves.

Case in point: Joseph was right when he warned Barclay that others saw him as a threat. Chad, Alex, Nico, and Rich have all decided to go after him. Just this morning he’s been told he’s not man enough for Vincent (he shooed a wolf spider out of the kitchen with a broom instead of squishing it), too girly (he offered to make cupcakes if people wanted), and too big (who'd want to fuck a six foot tall puppy).

His mood is not helped by Joseph chatting away on the couch about his former job with the FBI. Barclay swears it’s all the asshole knows how to talk about. Maybe it’s time for Barclay to play a game of his own.

“Hey, Joseph.”

The other man turns, black hair perfectly slicked back like he thinks he’s some kind of movie star.

“I bet you ten bucks you can’t make it until eight tonight without talking about your job.”

The other contestants in the room snicker, several even giving Barclay a thumbs up.

Joseph adjusts his shirt sleeves, “You’re on.”

Ten hours later, Barclay is forced to get his wallet. The other man never mentioned the FBI once. In fact, he did Barclay an even bigger favor; he didn’t talk at all.

He finds the agent sitting on the back steps leading into the garden. Stays standing as he holds out the cash, “you win fair and square.”

Joseph looks at the money, then looks away, “I did it to show I could, not for the bet.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to go, uh, quite so hard on the silence thing.”

“I didn’t mean to. But, um, every time I was going to open my mouth, I realized it was somehow related to work. So I kept quiet.” He sighs, stretches out his legs. He’s in slacks, because of course he is, “I must have been so tedious to listen to, no wonder I was driving you up the wall.”

“Joseph-”

“I really am married to my career. I guess it’s not surprising my last chance for love is on a T.V show.”

“Hey, I get it.” Barclay sits down next to him, “when I was first working in commercial kitchens my hours were crazy; I barely saw my apartment, my friends, my boyfriend who pretty quickly became my ex. But it was what I needed to do to build the career I wanted for myself. To do what I loved.”

Only the crickets and the distant waves reply. Then, “You said you were a private chef now, right? Along with writing cookbooks?”

“Yeah. Kinda surprised you remembered.”

“Listening is a major skill in my profession. Besides, it’s polite to pay attention to what people tell you.”

“What’s your job now? You only ever talk about the FBI stuff?”

“Paranormal investigation. I never bring it up because people assume I’m out chasing Bigfoot with a shaky-cam or trying to communicate with haunted dolls.”

“So...what is it instead?”

“Helping people figure out they’re homes aren’t haunted or the monster on their property is just some owls. I like the challenge of solving the mystery, and I like helping people feel safe in they’re homes.”

Loud voices form inside; the caterers must have refilled the bar. He doesn’t really want to go in. It’s too nice out here.

“You wanna hear about the restaurant my coworkers swore was haunted?”

Joseph perks up, turning to face him, “Yes, please.”

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

He’d been really looking forward to beach day. Six guys are already gone, and Vincent has taken his fleet of suitors to the sunny San Diego shores. Barclay is dismayed to find all but three of the other guys have waxed their chests. Joseph hasn’t, but his happy trail is nothing compared to fucking black forest on Barclays torso. Nico’s gotten half the guys to call Barclay “bigfoot.”It makes him feel like he’s back in high school P.E freshman year, and his body image is rapidly sliding into that of a shy fourteen year old.

“Barclay!” Joseph comes jogging out of the surf towards the towels they lay down side by side when they arrived, “you should come in, it’s really the perfect weather for swimming.” He drops onto his towel, black hair a bit mussed. The swim-shorts that he thought were blue with green spots turn out to have not dots, but tiny UFOs on them.

“I, uh, I’m good. I, uh, I burn easily and I don’t think anyone wants to rub sunscreen on my hairy back.”

“Hey, Bigfoot, what’s wrong? Scared of what’ll happen if the cameras get a load of your gut?”

Barclay growls, stares at his toes. Joseph tracks Nico as he finishes jogging by. Then he calmly picks up a frisbee, aims a throw, and knocks his snapback off his head. He’s sitting down before the other man can work out who threw it. Barclay chuckles, but doesn’t get up.

“Bigfoot’s my favorite cryptid.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“And who gives a shit if you have a stomach.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re cut.”

Joseph grabs his sunglasses, “because I like that for my body. I happen to like yours just as much. Um I, I mean, it seems like Vincent likes it.” He tips his head towards the Bachelor, who gives them both a long once-over.

“...Will you do my back?”

“Of course, big guy.” The nickname sounds so right on his tongue it makes Barclay want to set his head in his lap and ask him to pet it.

It’s late afternoon when Ned herds them all onto a boat which promptly steers towards some cliffs. Joseph stays close to Barclay, pleasant expression noticeably tightening the closer they get to the rocks.

“I’ve been dreading this. Cliff diving is not something I’d pick to do on my own.”

“Heights?”

He shakes his head, “Deep water. I know it’s not rational, and I even checked to be sure there hadn’t been large shark sightings in the area, but I can never shake the feeling there’s something waiting just out of sight, ready to surge up and eat me.”

They all climb up together, Vincent staying on the boat to watch them jump (this is technically a friendly competition to show off how brave they are). As they’re turns get closer, Barclay sees Joseph doing deep breathing exercises.

They hit the edge. The agent freezes.

“Shit. I don’t think I can do this.”

“C’mon, where’s my daring special agent?”

Joseph still doesn’t move.

“You, uh, you wanna jump together? Maybe the megaladon or whatever will eat me instead.”

“Megalodons are extinct; we’d know if they weren’t, same as we know Whale Sharks aren’t.”

“They you are.” Barclay murmurs, smiling.

Joseph manages a smile back, “On three?”

“Yep. One, two” he grabs Joseph’s hand “three”

The water rises to swallow them with terrifying speed, but nothing is waiting for them except one very startled fish. They surface together, Joseph laughing triumphantly, hair plaster to his head and sun shining in his ocean eyes.

If Vincent doesn’t pick him, he’s out of his mind.

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“Ohmylord, we have to play this.” Joseph cannot believe his luck; he figured the barcade group date would mean a lot of solo time, but here’s his favorite game in the whole wide world.

“Monster Hunt?” Barclay laughs as he lets himself be lovingly shoved down into the seat of a cut-out Jeep, “very on brand.”

“They had this at the bowling alley near my house. I’d play when my parents had league night but couldn't get a sitter. I never could beat the Mothman level without a player two.”

He doesn’t have that problem tonight, even with Barclay distractingly delighted and handsome in the seat beside him. After that, they make it their mission to find every two-player game in the thrum of flashing colors and tinny music. He finds they both like the Bowser Bourbon Smash, and somewhere around their fourth, heated game of air hockey they each polish of one too many of them to stay upright without the support of a game, a helpful show staff member, or each other.

When they get back to the house (their fellow contestants all in a similar state to themselves) they manage to make it to Joseph’s room before collapsing into a giggling heap on the bed.

“That, hic, that was fun. Games are, hic, fun.” Barclay blinks at him, “what’re you laughing, hic, at.”

“You, you got the hiccups. S’funny because you’re so big, like, like watching a, a pitbull with a, um, a” he makes a squeezing motion that his sober self would recognize as “squeaky toy.”

“M’not big” Barclay pouts, “I, hic, maybe everyone else is, hic, just small. Ever think of th--hic--at.”

“S’not a bad thing.” Joseph shifts so they’re facing each other, “like how big you are. Makes you sexy.”

Barclay blushes, “you’re, hic, one to, to talk. You’re hot, so, hic, so fucking out. Got, got those eyes. That, hic, that face” He touches Joseph’s cheek, “love your face.”

“Love yours too.” Joseph says, stroking his beard. Then they’re moving in inelegant tandem, grabbing at each others shoulders and faces as their mouths find each other. Barclay is so warm, whimpering when Joseph rolls him on top, nipping his lips and pawing at him like a puppy hoping for a treat. Joseph is going to hold him close and let him have it.

A clatter from below, one of the other men knocking something over in the kitchen, breaks the spell.

“Wait, wait” Joseph reluctantly slides his hands of Barclays ass, “we, drunk, we’re drunk, too drunk.”

Barclay blinks down at him, pouting a little even as he groans “fuck, you’re, you’re right. Wanna, gotta remember this. Don’t wanna” he yawns, “regret it.” The instant he flops onto his back Joseph climbs into his arms and falls asleep to the slow rhythm of his breathing.

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

After that night, they agree to be more careful; they’re here for Vincent, to see if one of them is his true love. That’s what the contract they signed says.

“More careful” turns out to mean watching their alcohol intake around each other and only touching platonically (including falling asleep on the couch together. They wake up to cameras recording their nap. Barclay isn’t sure what Joseph threatens Ned with, but the footage never sees the light of day).

But unless they’re on a solo date with Vincent, they’re by each others side. Barclay teaches Joseph dominoes and how to make biscuits. Joseph introduces him to terrible old horror movies that they watch on his laptop and compliments his cooking every chance he gets.

They must be doing something right, because they move to the next round week after week, Vincent clearly enamored with both of them. Barclay certainly understands the feeling. Just not for the person who he’s supposed to.

“Joseph? If, uh, if neither of us win, what are you gonna do after this.”

“Go back to work. Maybe pitch my book about U.S cryptids.” Joseph’s smile goes shy for a moment before recovering, “but I wouldn’t worry, big guy; I think you’re the front runner for sure.”

Barclay knows for a fact that Joseph is a fan favorite and the suitor most people think will win. Which is why, when Vincent selects his final four, he’s not surprised Joseph gets the first rose. Then everyone but Barclay is holding one and Vincent is touching his shoulder.

“Barclay, please don’t take this as a sign I’m not deeply fond of you. This wasn’t an easy choice but I, well, I feel like your heart may not be in this anymore.”

He takes Vincent’s hand and squeezes it, “It’s okay. It was wonderful just to get to know you. All of you.” He looks at the final four, at Joseph’s calm, polite expression. He meets blue eyes as he says, “I hope you find someone who makes you happy.”

With that he turns, all too aware of the cameras tracking his exit, his face, how he’ll have to do a final interview and not reveal that he’ll hate Vincent forever but not blame him in the slightest if he marries Joseph.

“Wait!”

Every eye, lensed or no, turns back to the gazebo. Joseph is at the edge of the steps, poised to run. When he sees Barclay stop, he turns to Vincent.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this.” He hands the bachelor the rose, “I hope you understand.”

There’s no soundtrack on set, but strings swell in his ears all the same as Joseph descends the stairs and leaps into his arms, kissing him so hard he still has stars in his eyes when he opens them.

“It’s not a marriage proposal” Joseph whispers, kissing his cheek, “but I do have a question for you.” He pulls back, all cameras on them but his attention for Barclay alone, “would you like to be my boyfriend, big guy?”

Barclay rests their foreheads together, “Yeah, babe, I really, really would.”

[unbridgeabledistances]

Prompt: About the 87% scene. Could you write about Mickey lying about having a "boyfriend" when he was in Mexico. And telling Ian that afterall he didn't have his whole Heart because of that "boyfriend". Ian realizing that the way he said those things weren'te the best. Then the confrontation, they talk about it and are cute with one another

anon i am CRYING mickey would 1000% do this!!! why did the writers not make this happen

(actually i’m glad they didn’t, bc these boys don’t need any more drama)

here’s my take (since we all need a little gallavich before the next episode!), hope u enjoy<3

--

“I guess everyone I’ve been with gets a little piece of my heart”

Mickey froze where he was standing, by the toilet bowl and the dust-covered bathroom shelves, and felt his heart sink. The fuck is he talking about?

“Wait, everyone?”

“Yeah. Yup.” Ian froze for a moment, his toothbrush hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Okay, maybe not everybody. You don’t feel the same way?”

Mickey could almost wince. Fucking Gallagher—didn’t Ian know he was the only guy Mickey had really been with, because Ian was the only one that mattered? Instantly, Mickey thought back to all of the sloppy and excruciatingly boring hookups he’d had with women—back before he came out and was constantly putting on a show, was burying who he really was deep beneath the ground.

Ian looked at him earnestly, toothbrush still half in his mouth, with those steady green eyes Mickey could always get lost in—the only thing keeping Mickey afloat during those darker days, when he felt like everything else was pulling him under. Ian was the only person who had ever made Mickey’s heart race or his palms sweaty, the only fucking person who made Mickey feel like he was here for a reason, no matter what bullshit life threw at him. Ian was the center of Mickey’s existence, and he always had been—how could that asshole not realize that no one else Mickey’d been with could ever compare to him?

“No, I don’t. Y’know what, fuck you” is what Micket wanted to say—he felt the words about to launch off the tip of his tongue. Instead, before he knew what he was doing, Mickey lied.

“Uhhhhh. I guess, man. Y’know, I had that thing down in Mexico with, uh, Julio.” Mickey looked down at his bare feet on the tiled bathroom floor, knowing that Ian would see right through him if he looked directly in his eyes.

Ian’s eyebrows raised in genuine confusion as he leaned over the sink. “Julio? Who the fuck is Julio?” Ian sputtered as he spit out a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.

“Were you not listening, smartass? He was my… my lover. I was in Mexico a long time before I snitched on the cartel and threw my life away for your ass.”

Ian stood up and placed his toothbrush in a cup on the shelf above the sink, turning to look at Mickey, who finally raised his gaze from the linoleum. Ian didn’t look hurt, which was what Mickey was aiming for— more than anything, Ian just looked thoroughly confused, and maybe a little bit amused.

“You’ve never mentioned anything about some dude named Julio, Mick. Where’d you meet him?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Gallagher.”

Mickey stormed out of the bathroom, and turned the corner into their bedroom. It was this fucking quarantine, that was the problem—the same way that they were down each other’s throats when they were cramped together in a tiny jail cell. They were so used to the lack of each other that being together always seemed to make a mess of things. Ian didn’t actually mean that he had been in love with other people— right?

People annoyed Mickey, mostly— sex was sex, just another bland part of his bland life of doing runs for his dad, living in his fucked-up household, getting drunk with his brothers. And then one day, Ian came bursting through his door. Mickey would never forget that first time that he and Ian were together— in his opinion, that day probably permanently altered his brain chemistry or some shit. The day that he was laying in bed, woken up by a pale-faced angel whose chest was just as smooth and beautifully pale and freckled as the skin on his face and hands. And Mickey was also covered with skin, that was apparently covered with super-powered nerve endings that hadn’t done a goddamn thing his whole life, but came alive like ice and fire and bee stings as soon as Ian touched him. Wherever Ian touched him.

Sex was just sex to Mickey, for so long—but sex with Ian was on an entirely different plane of existence.

And the thought of Ian being like that with someone else, especially during that time when Mickey was locked up and there was a wall of plexiglass between them, a wall Mickey had put there himself when all he was doing was trying to protect Ian from Sammi’s bullshit; well, it made Mickey’s stomach churn.

Ian followed Mickey out of the bathroom and leaned on the doorframe of their bedroom, like he knew Mickey needed some space. “You and this Julio guy, you were like, together?”

Mickey kept his gaze downward as he put on a wrinkled shirt. “Hell yeah, man. We lived in a shack by the beach, fucked all day long. You don’t know everything about me, Gallagher.”

“I guess not.” Ian mused, still looking like he half didn’t believe Mickey. “So, uh. This Julio guy. You’re saying he has a piece of your heart?”

“Oh yeah, a big ol’ chunk of it. You aren’t special, Gallagher. In fact, he might have a bigger piece than you do, with all the fucking bickering we’ve been doing lately,” Mickey spat out as he pulled on his shoes.

Ian rolled his eyes, but sensing Mickey’s tension, he kept talking. “Mick, you know I didn’t mean it. You have the majority of my heart. The vast majority.”

Mickey scoffed, feeling more pissed off than ever. “Oh, yeah? How much is that, exactly?”

“I don’t know… 87%?”

Mickey looked at Ian, charging up for a fight. “Fuck you. That’s not enough.”

“It is enough, Mick. I’ve been with so many people I can barely remember their names. You know what it was like at the club. That’s 87% for you, and 13% for every other meaningful connection I’ve ever had in the years we were apart—that seems pretty stacked to me.”

“Yeah, well, joke’s on you, motherfucker, because you don’t even have that much of my heart, anyways. In fact, maybe I’ll go back down to fucking Mexico and see if Julio’s still around.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Mick, calm down. You don’t mean that.”

“I do, asshole. Excuse me for thinking I had your whole heart, instead of pissing away 13% of it while I was locked behind bars and tattooing your fucking name onto my chest.” Mickey turned to where Ian was blocking the doorway. “You gonna let me through?”

Ian sighed, gently putting a hand up to Mickey’s chest to stop him from barreling past into the hallway. “Okay, listen, all that shit came out wrong. You know you’re the only one that matters.”

Mickey looked at Ian’s hand on his chest, then looked up and to meet Ian’s gaze. “Do I?” he said, in a softer voice than he realized.

Ian smirked, and let his arms glide up Mickey’s chest and around his shoulders, locking him in close. “Hey. Of course you are. You’re the only one I ever wanted to be with forever.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said earnestly, but he didn’t try to shake himself from Ian’s grasp.

Ian let his hands roam up to cradle the back of Mickey’s head in his hands, making sure he had Mickey’s undivided attention. “Listen. All those people, like Ned or Kash or whoever, they were all an important part of me becoming who I am, and nothing can change that. But they’re all a part of our love story, Mick. They’re all… minor characters, on the path of me getting to marry you.”

Now Mickey was the one rolling his eyes, his tough exterior finally starting to melt. “Yeah, okay softie.” His eyes flickered downward, in one last moment of vulnerability. “It’s just… it’s hard to forget all the stuff I missed out on, all the time we both coulda had. Time where you were with other people and not me.”

Ian pecked Mickey’s forehead, holding him in close. “Yeah, well, we have plenty of time now. Almost too much time. So much time that we’re ripping each other’s heads off.”

Mickey leaned back, and smirked. “Well, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we can do with all that time on our hands, Mr. Milkovich.”

Ian leaned in closer, Mickey’s face millimeters from his. “Oh yeah?”

As Mickey leaned in to close the gap between their lips, he felt the nerve endings all over his body going fucking crazy again—maybe it had been a bumpy path for them both, and maybe he’d lost some of Ian along the way, but he couldn’t deny that this was worth the wait.

[ambivalent-anarchy]

You've Got Moves (Part 2)

Masterlist

Part 1

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warning: None

A/N: Better late than never, right?😂😂 (wow 2 fics in one week that's crazyyy) Also I put one of my favorite comedy tiktoks in the dialogue soooooo oops? Also Harry and Ned are wingmen who share one brain cell and I like it that way

I might make one more part to this but idk

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

It took 7 months for Peter to ask you out.

It took the time for MJ and Asher to become a couple, homecoming to go by, MJ and Asher to break up, winter formal, midterm exams, MJ and Asher to get back together, and Christmas to go before Peter Parker gathered the guts to even consider thinking about asking you out.

Scared wasn't even the word for it.

Harry Osborn, the new transfer student, laughed at how nervous Peter was at lunch. "Asking girls out is easy, Peter. I do it all the time!"

"You say it like it's the simplest thing on earth," Peter dreaded, to which Harry shrugged.

"Because it is! You just ask. How is it that I've only been at this school for 2 months and I've had more chicks than both you and Ned combined?"

"Hooking up is not a hobby of mine. That's why," Peter retorted with a pitifully unintimidating glare.

Harry shrugged with his shit-eating grin. "It's not my fault the girls and gays can't resist these lips."

Ned chimed in as he threw a french fry into his mouth. "Peter, this isn't like Liz last year. You and [Y/N] are already really close, dude. I'm sure you can just ask her. Who knows? She might say yes!"

"But what if she says no?," Peter groaned. "Then I'll just be one of those people she avoids and barely talks to out of awkwardness." He shifted in his seat nervously. "I don't want that."

"But if you don't say anything then you'll always regret it," Ned pointed out.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. "Peter, pull out your phone."

Peter raised his eyebrows in confusion, but followed Harry's instructions.

"Go to her in messages and say 'hey let's get dinner'." He smiled. "See? Simple."

Peter opened your messages in his phone and stared at your profile picture.

'You can do this, Peter. You can do this.'

He bit his lip. "Okay but should I say, 'let's get dinner' or 'do you want to get dinner'?" Seeing Harry's impatient face, he explained himself. "I just feel like those two sentences have completely different vibes, y'know?"

Harry glared at him. "Are you really about to have us telling you what to tell your crush like a bunch of girls?"

Peter didn't know how to answer that question seriously. "Uh...yes?"

Harry pondered the question for a small bit before simply shrugging and answering. "Hmm, go with 'let's get dinner', so you'll sound all confident and assertive."

"Okay."

Before Peter could press send without thinking twice, Ned stopped him. "Well, actually now you sound a little aggressive, man."

"Really?," Peter asked with a wince, immediately erasing the message.

"Yeah, I mean the last thing you wanna be like is the guy that's all like 'let's get dinner' like you're some kind of caveman."

Peter groaned. "Oh no, definitely not."

Ned ate another fry. "You want to ask her to dinner, not tell her to dinner."

"I'll go with 'do you want to get dinner' then," Peter said with a nod.

That one didn't sit well with Harry. "No Pete. Cuz now you sound like a pussy."

Peter slammed his phone onto the lunch table. "This stuff is tough!"

Ned turned towards Harry. "No but listen. The last thing Peter wants to do is come off as the overly masculine type that's all like 'let's get dinner cuz I'm the breadwinner, bitch', y'know?"

Harry shook his head. "Yeah but women also love assertiveness. You have to know what you want."

Peter stared at the table, desperately wanting the conversation to be over. Why would he even go to these two for relationship advice? Harry was the king of hookups and Ned's relationships never lasted longer than a few weeks. What was he thinking? For a guy with a 4.5 GPA, he sure did feel stupid.

"I got it!," Ned exclaimed. "Okay. Text her this. 'Dinner would be something that I would enjoy taking you on, but only if YOU were also interested in attending the meal'." He held his hands up for praise.

Harry nodded. "Mhm. Perfect balance. And the more words the better."

Peter just stared back at them, wondering where he'd gone wrong in life. "...no.... I'm not gonna send her that."

Harry shrugged. "Welp,' he sighed. "I guess some people just don't want to be helped."

So close to slamming his head into the table in front of him, Peter felt a tsunami of relief hit when he saw Asher walk into the cafeteria.

Asher was your best friend. If anyone knew the proper way you'd want to be asked out, it'd be him.

The second Asher noticed Peter looking at him, he made his way over. "Hey Peter. What's up?," he asked as he found an empty seat.

Harry spoke up before Peter had the chance. "Hey Ash. Pick one. 'Let's get dinner' or 'do you want to get dinner'."

Asher thought for a second. "Depends on the girl," he said before taking a bite into his apple. "-but 'do you want to get dinner' is nicer. Why?"

Harry slammed his fist on the table. "Damn it!"

"Yes!," Ned cheered.

Asher looked around the table. "Okay, by why?"

Harry and Ned went quiet and looked to Peter, who was staring anywhere to avoid eye contact. He began to mumble pitifully."I....I-i wanna.. I wanna-"

Harry and Ned spoke up, already tired of the conversation not getting anywhere. "He wants to ask-"

"-I wanna ask [Y/N] out!," he blurted, feeling his cheeks start to burn when Asher's smirk turned into a wide grin.

"Well it's about time!," he exclaimed. "She's been crazy about you since you met."

"Really? She has?," Peter asked. That wasn't even in the realm of possibility in his mind.

Asher nodded. "She's always going off to me about how-" he mocked your higher pitched voice. "I've been dropping him hints since, like, foreverrrr!"

"Seriously?! She has?"

Ned laughed. "Well Peter. She has been calling you cute since the day she met you..."

"But I just always thought it was the friendly kind of cute, y'know?," he rambled. "Not the boyfriend type cute!"

"How many girls are out here calling you cute for you to make that assumption, dude?," Harry asked.

Asher sighed. "So this is what it's like to have low confidence." He shook his head and gave Peter a disappointed look. "I can't say I like witnessing this, Pete."

"Just-" Peter groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Just tell me what will work, okay? I need to ask her out perfectly."

Asher tilted his head in confusion. "She's a simple girl. You just have to straight up ask her out. What's the confusion there?"

"That's what I said!," Harry yelled.

"You know he's got to make it difficult for himself for no reason," Ned pointed out.

"Okay can we all talk about how terrible I am at this after you help me?," Peter begged.

"...yeah."

"Sure."

"Ugh, fine."

Peter sighed. "Alright. So?"

"What are you going for?," Asher asked. "Like a gift or something?"

"I just want whatever's the absolute best way to ask her out."

Asher pinched the bridge of his nose. If he was gonna set you up with your crush, he wanted it to happen right.

"Okay," he said, staring Peter in the eyes with a new sort of intensity. "Think about your best moments with her. Now pick something special from all those moments and voila! You'll have it!"

Peter nodded and stared at the ground as he thought for a while about everything he'd done with you since the beginning of school. You were truly the most extraordinary, most confident girl he'd ever met.

Every time he'd thought you couldn't get more perfect, you'd just show him another side of you that was better than the rest. He always stayed endlessly impressed and most of all, he felt as if he didn't have to try too hard with you. He could be himself and mess up as many times as he could manage and you still stuck around, showing him that there needn't be any worries.

And your style? Fuck, you could make anything work for him. You were the only one who could get him out of his comfort zone and in front of a camera, for something as frivolous as a TikTok. But he'd always do it, and even find the fun in it, because it made you happy.

"Remember how we freaked out that first time when she called you cute, Pete?," Ned said. "She said that you were cute and that you only had to put it use!"

Harry laughed. "This girl is literally giving you the instructions, Peter. Take them."

"Hmm." Peter looked up with a smile and snapped his fingers. "I got it."

-

You tossed popcorn into your mouth and snuggled yourself further into the blanket. "Ash, how can you even say that? 'It' is a horror movie!"

"Yeah, technically," he retorted. "But there's literally not a single part of the movie that's scary. It's more of a drama than anything else."

"You realize the clown phobia rate skyrocketed when the movie came out right?"

Asher scoffed. "Uh, your point? It's not my fault some pussies couldn't sit through it. Still a drama. The story definitely played with your emotions more than your fears."

"Whateverrrr," you laughed. "I can't deal with you."

"Pennywise literally got up and did this," he said before breaking out into Pennywise's dance. He laughed as he kicked his legs out. "What kind of horror movie has this crap in it?" He stopped when he felt the full force of you throwing a pillow on his face. "Ugh!"

"Sit down and get under the covers, idiot," you hissed. "I wanna keep watching these HORROR films."

"Whateverrrr," he drawled out, mocking you. He sighed and plopped down next to you, grabbing a handful of popcorn after.

When school was getting suffocating, marathoning horror movies with Asher were a must. He had an endless repertoire and all the time in the world for his best friend.

Halfway through 'It: Chapter 2' though, the movie was the least of your focus and instead was TikTok.

What could you say? The app was addictive.

It was a big, entertaining, completely useless collage of everything every no-name had to offer, from stupid debates to cringey POV's to fun dance routines.

You tried to hook every friend you could on it. Asher, of course, already knew about it since it first came out and he, of course, had thousands of followers because most of what he posted was random thirsts traps whenever he was feeling hot, which was always. And thirsts traps are always in high demand for the people on TikTok.

You tried to hook MJ on it, but she'd already decided that she didn't like it before even giving it a chance. Even the messy, political side didn't reel her in.

Of course then there was Peter, who didn't know was TikTok even was before he met you. You made it your sole mission to get him hooked, but you'd since given up on that. It was a lost cause. The only time he probably ever saw TikTok nowadays was when he was doing dances with you before gym started. He let you put the app on his phone but he never used it. You wouldn't even put it past him to have deleted it, but it was whatever. TikTok had started his friendship with you, so needless to say, it'd done an amazing job in your life.

Plus your followers were always asking about him. All of the "omg couple goalssss" and "you guys look so cute together" served as massive confidence boosters. A girl can dream, right?

You shifted over a bit when you felt Ash getting closer and closer to you.

When he moved over again, you scooted away, only for him to get closer again. "Ash, what is your deal?"

"Easy there," he chuckled, backing up a little. "I'm looking at the phone, not you."

"You've been all up in my phone all day, what's up?"

"I can't tell you," he shrugged, a sly smirk stretching across his face. "But," he pointed to your tiny screen. "Some idiot is taking wayyyy too long to shoot his shot."

"Shoot his shot?" You gasped. "Who?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," he said with a smirk.

"Nooooo," you whined. "If someone has a crush on me you gotta spill! C'mon, please?"

He laughed and repeated himself. "I'm sorry, but I am not at liberty to say!"

"Bullshit! Who is it? C'mon! C'monnnnnn!"

He shrugged and this time you knew that he was dead set on not giving up the mystery guy.

"Ugh," you pouted. "Fine. Let's just finish the stupid movie."

-

"Kids next door, battle stations!!!!"

And now it was sometime after midnight. The popcorn was all gone. The movie was done and now you were watching old cartoons so that the horror movie wouldn't be the last thing on your mind before bed.

Looking over, you saw that Asher didn't need any cartoons like you did. He was already passed out, snoring as loud as ever.

Grumbling in boredom, you stared at the wall, trying to connect the tiny dots in the designs. It was like something was officially keeping you from being able to fall asleep.

*Ding!*

At the sound of your phone receiving a text, you sat up curiously. Who was texting you at this hour?

You smiled when you saw that it was Peter.

Pete: hey y/n

You were about to send him a quick,"why are you up this late" text, but he kept typing.

Pete: pls dont judge me too hard for this

With that completely vague warning, you furrowed your eyebrows, concerned.

Y/n: whats up r u okay

He sent you a link next, which confused you, but not as much as when you actually pressed it.

It led you to TikTok, and the video was waiting to be pressed to start. Peter was standing in the middle of the screen with one of his typical corny sweatshirts on. The caption at the top read: "For [Y/N] Only". Smiling already, you quickly pressed play.

You slapped your hand over your mouth. "Oh my God."

"So he finally got the guts, huh?," Asher mumbled, having woken up from the loud music on your phone but was still half-asleep.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I wake you?," you asked. You turned down your phone.

"Don't worry about me, you just got a boyfriend," he chuckled, moving to lay down so he could get to sleep again. "Text him back for god's sake."

~~~

Y/n: its been almost a whole year and youre still so cute when you make those

Pete: haha thanks

Pete: uh

Pete: i really like you y/n

Pete: do u think you'd wanna go out with me or get dinner sometime?

~~~

"He asked me out," you gasped. "Ash, he asked me out!"

Asher rolled over and groaned. "I thought that was already established? Jesus, you two couldn't possibly be moving any slower."

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck you."

"Nah, you're with Peter now," he laughed. "You're gonna have to fuck him instead!" That comment earned him another pillow to the face.

You looked back at the messages and sent a tiny cute one. You smirked at the new idea of what was about to happen and turned it off before going to sleep.

~~~

Y/n: kiss me at school tomorrow and find out

~~~

Didn't do a third edit cuz I got lazy but I'm pretty happy with the turnout anyway. Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @allegra-writes, @allegra-soleil, @yumings, @hey-its-grey, @spideyyeet, @sunkissedspidey, @tommyunderoos, @chaoticpete, @snarky--starky, @sovereignparker, @thesherlockianavenger, @bubblebucky, @kelieah, @eridanuswave, @ithoughtthiswastwitterbutfr, @kidney9-9, @gwenvrse

[kyber-crystal]

➳ pickup lines || s.w.

summary: you’re oblivious to the fact that sam, your best friend is hopelessly in love with you. and it kills him inside because he’s been dropping hints for as long as he can remember. 

warnings: none, just fluff and a cliche best friends to lovers trope :) 

words: almost 2k

a/n: for @marvelsswansong​ ‘s late birthday present! sorry this was so late and that it’s so bad RIP i tried to write it in one go...anyway our boy sam deserves some more recognition sksksk

“Guess what this shirt is made of?” Sam smirked as he pointed at himself. “Boyfriend material.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a chuckle. “Oh, stop it.”

He slid into the seat next to you at the kitchen counter, swiping the spare muffin from your plate. “Y’know what’s on the menu today? Me-n-u.”

You just shook your head, spreading jam across your toast before biting into it. “Wow.”

“They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth,” he cleared his throat, “well, apparently, nobody has ever been standing next to you. You are absolutely breathtaking.”

“I look gross,” you argued as you tried to hide your face with one hand, “I got three hours of sleep after helping Bruce in the labs and I’m a mess.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You always look beautiful. Especially to me.”

Even if he was joking, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach at his comment.

“Oh my god, will you shut UP,” Bucky groaned. “You’re cheesy as fuck, Wilson.”

“You’re just jealous because nobody likes you,” Sam retorted. 

“Ooh, shots fired,” you whispered, cupping your hands around your mouth, “need some ice for that burn, Barnes?”

“He isn’t wrong, though,” Wanda shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee, “the chemistry is evident here. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten together yet.”

You let out a long sigh and went back to focusing on finishing your meal, not noticing the several glances Sam stole out of the corner of his eye at you.

...

“Y/N. “

“Natasha,” you replied without breaking your concentration on murdering the punching bag in front of yourself. 

“Girl, how long are you going to keep this act up for?”

You dropped your fists by your side, sighing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You and Wilson.”

“What about it?” you questioned as you began unwrapping the tape from your hands. She handed you your water bottle and you took a long sip, “We’re best friends. I don’t see anything special about that.”

“Best friends or not, he clearly likes you. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this: you’ve been the most oblivious idiot ever. If what he’s doing isn’t obvious enough, then I don’t know what is.”

“He does not. Sam’s just being Sam. That’s who he is. It’s in his nature to joke around.”

“Does he use pickup lines on me in every other sentence he speaks? No. Does he do that to Bucky? Never-”

“Because him and Bucky are rivals, and you guys are just f...”

“Just friends! Babe, you proved my point.”

“Oh, shut up...”

“If you don’t take matters into your own hands, then I will. You keep turning the poor man down and you don’t even know it. Tragic.”

“Natasha, I do not like any-” The redhead gave you her signature ‘look’, crossing her arms over your chest. Your shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”

“What reason do you have to be scared? You’ve gotten shot, you’ve led countless teams into battle before, you’ve taken out aliens with the power of your fists alone. Hell, we survived the Red Room together, and you’re afraid of catching feelings?”

“What if I embarrass myself by telling him?”

“Are you nuts? He’d be over the moon if you did so much as react to what he said. Poor guy’s feeling discouraged by your poker face. Give him a chance. He’s your best friend, you don’t wanna ruin the relationship you have together.”

“Fiiiiiine.” You whined and tossed your sweaty towel at her. “Now leave me alone so I can go take a shower.”

She laughed and tossed it back. “Alright. Tell me when you’re officially dating!”

“I hate you!”

“Love you too, babe!” she called out after you as you left the facility.

...

“SAM!” you yelled from the bathroom “Get your ass over here!”

“Am I in trouble?” he asked innocently as he peeked his head through your doorway. “You need something?”

“I forgot to bring a shirt with me. Can you get mine from the laundry? The black one?”

“Yeah, of course.” You heard him shuffling around before falling silent, then there was a knock on your door. “Here. Take this.”

“Thanks,” you nodded before taking the shirt and closing the door behind you. 

You looked down and let out a groan when you realized he’d mixed up the shirts and given you his instead - a V-neck you’d seen him wear plenty of times when you, him, and Steve went on morning runs together. It was ridiculously tight on him and you absolutely hated it because you couldn’t help but stare. But you didn’t like him. Definitely not.

Right?

Right.

You trudged down the hall to the kitchen, walking into to see Bucky’s and Sam’s awaiting smirks.

Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow at him, “Samuel, where is my shirt?”

“Dunno,” he feigned innocence, “I got mixed up.”

“Okay.”

“I’m no photographer, but I can picture you and me together,” he sent you a finger gun and a flirty wink. 

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re such a sap.”

“Y/N! Hi!” Peter dropped his backpack and rushed forward, tackling you into a big hug. 

You stumbled backwards in surprise but quickly returned the gesture, ruffling his hair playfully. “Hey, kid. How was school?”

He made a face. “Sucked. I actually need your help with an assignment. I’m supposed to interview three role models in my life about stuff and Mr. Stark is in the middle of a conference call right now so...yeah.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Me? I’m not special-”

“If you weren’t special then Ned wouldn’t constantly fangirl over you to me. He always asks me if it’s true you can shoot lasers out of your eyes and hands.”

You chuckled. “I feel honored. Count me in, Queens.”

The two of you headed off to the labs together, and as soon as you left, Sam let out a loud groan, his face falling into his hands. “She doesn’t get it. I keep throwing hints her way but she doesn’t get it at all. I don’t understand. What exactly am I doing wrong?”

“Y/N isn’t an openly affectionate person. She rarely ever tells people how she feels. She usually conveys her emotions through killing her enemies and channeling all her energy into punching bags,” Bucky replied simply. “And the occasional Mario Kart deathmatch. She’s not very easy to read.”

“Even I had a hard time getting to her,” Wanda admitted. “She’s very...private. Prefers to keep her feelings to herself.”

“Does she even have any sort of clue?” Sam looked over at the young woman with a desperate look in his eyes. “Otherwise I’ve been humiliating myself all this time, for nothing.”

“She likes you, but she’s too afraid to admit it,” Steve suddenly spoke up. All heads turned in his direction. “It’s a thing I picked up from my ma when I was young. I can read into body language. And hers, well...she likes you, Sam. She’s just very subtle about it.”

Hope glimmered in his eyes. “She does? So she doesn’t mind my pickup lines?”

The super-soldier laughed. “As terrible as some of them may be, yeah, she doesn’t. I’ve seen her walk away flustered many times.”

“What do I do now?”

“You’re gonna win her over, once and for all,” Natasha declared. “And we’re making sure of that.”

...

“Y/N.”

“Pete.” You glanced over at the teenager, who had stopped furiously scribbling notes down in his notebook, “what’s up?”

“What’s up is you and Sam.”

“What about us?” You quirked an eyebrow. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” The boy wrinkled his nose, “I know he likes you, and you like him. So why do you keep pushing him away?”

“Peter-”

“Y/N, I’ve known about this since we first met. So why haven’t you made a move yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s trying his hardest to win you over and you’re refusing to budge! I bet he feels so bad about it.”

“Oh, God, I know...” you rubbed your forehead and let out a long sigh, “I just don’t know how to react.”

“Send a pickup line right back at him! He loves pickup lines, so gauge his reaction on that!”

“Alright...”

"Back to Chemistry! Which you two clearly already have...”

“Queens!”

“Okay, okay!” You both burst into laughter. “Okay!”

The team had all agreed on an outdoor barbecue, so you all gathered outside on the massive rooftop of the compound to eat dinner. Tony, Thor, Steve, and Rhodey were busy flipping the meat, Wanda and Pepper were setting up the refreshments, while the others were lounging around and casually conversing with one another. 

You noticed Sam standing alone by the edge, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared out ahead at the horizon. He seemed to be deep in thought, but as soon as he turned around and saw you approaching him, his face lit up with a grin that the others knew he only had when you were around. 

“Hey,” you offered him a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as you locked eyes - the early evening glow only made him look better than he already was. “Penny for your thoughts, Wilson?”

“Are you a magician? ‘Cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears,” he stated.

“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you,” you replied smoothly, taking him by surprise. This was a first --

“Am I dreaming, or did Y/N just send me back a cheesy pickup line?”

“I did,” you laughed lightly, breaking into what he thought was the most beautiful sight on earth - a million-dollar smile. He’d never forget it. “How’s your week been?”

“Uneventful. You?”

Your face fell momentarily, and he felt his heart drop at the same time. “Could’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You took in a deep breath before responding. “Fury’s got me leading Team Alpha in a recon down south in the Outer Banks. Then as soon as I get back, I’m called to represent the team at a press conference about disaster relief. After that I’m stuck filing reports for a solid six hours and I end up only eating one meal that day. So yeah...it’s been pretty rough.”

“Did you make up for all that lost sleep, though?”

“A little. Compared to my typical three hours, I’d say 5 is a good enough improvement.”

“Progress is what matters. And you did that,” he nodded. “Look, if you ever need someone to talk to...you know I’m always here, right?”

“Definitely. That doesn’t eliminate our weekly Mario Kart competitions with Bucky, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

You stood there in silence for who knows how long, until he spoke up again.

“Did you know that when you smile, you can’t breathe?”

“Really?” You looked straight at him and gave him the brightest smile your face could produce. 

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see you smile.”

At that moment, all the Avengers immediately stopped what they were doing and froze on the spot. 

“I think you broke her,” Peter whispered as he poked you in the shoulder multiple times, and you didn’t move. “That was smoother than butter.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out, face burning with heat - the butterflies in your stomach had turned to hummingbirds. Since when did he make you feel this way?

“Yup,” Bucky coughed, “she’s definitely in love with him.”

"I’m not in love with him, I love him. I have for a while,” you muttered so quietly that he almost didn’t catch what you said. 

Now, it was Sam’s turn to be left speechless.

[mydearesthrry]

noooo! - p.p.

prompt 12 from fluff : “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

prompt 3 from fluff: “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Noo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

warnings: nothing really, just swearing and lots of fluff

side note; also, sorry about all the pet names? there's so many and it starts to get repetitive :(

y/i/n - your initials

a flurry of clothes was thrown around the room as you paced around your room quickly, rummaging through your drawers trying to find something to wear.

"FUCK!" you loudly exclaimed, stubbing your toe on your bedframe. you fell over with a loud thud, and crawled over to your pants drawer.

"you okay honey?" your mom shouted from the kitchen downstairs.

"yeah mom! just hurt myself, sorry!" you yelled back, looking for a pair of black ripped jeans.

"bingo." you said to yourself, seeing a white hoodie with a small black spider embroidered on the left breast area of it. it was pretty cold that day, so you decided to throw on a north face jacket over it. you zipped it up and quickly ran down the stairs, grabbing two waffles, kissed your mom on the cheek. you ran down all the way to the subway, all ready being late.

"FUCK!" you yelled again for the second time that morning, almost losing your balance and slipping.

you met peter on the subway, and sighed in relief, the sight of him already making you feel better. he looked up from his phone and saw you, smiling brightly, and sticking out his arms for you to come into.

"hi angel!" he said to you, squeezing you tightly.

"hi baby boy. i missed you so much." you murmured, breathing in his sweet scent. you looked up, kissing him softly on his lips. you burrowed yourself back into his neck afterwards.

"missed you too, babe. you got anything special happening today?" he let go of you, but grabbing your hand.

"mm, not really, jus' have to study for this stupid test. you can come over, if you want. if you don't wanna, s' okay."

"of course i'll come over! i get to spend more time with my favorite girl."

his comment made you blush profusely, and you hid your face in his chest, and he laughed, fluffing your hair. you two soon arrived to school, and went your separate ways.

"sup mj, where've you been? missed you" you said, a big smile on your face, as you saw your best friend again for the first time in 2 weeks.

"shit, sorry, i didn't get to tell you, i went with my mom to portugal for two weeks. and in fact, i got you something!" she exclaimed, reaching into her bag to grab you something. she pulled out a small little mug with the initials 'p.p. - y/i/n - n.l. - m.j.' written on the inside of the cup.

"mj, i- i don't know what to say,, t-thank you." you reached over the desk and hugged her and she replied with a "you're welcome, dork.". the period ended within a blink of an eye, and next you had science with peter.

you met up with peter while you were on your way to your locker, seeing him there already. you giggled slightly, planning your go up to him to scare him. you creeped up behind him and shouted "BOO!" and hurled over in laughter seeing how much he flinched.

"babyyyyyyy," he said with a pout on his lips. "that wasn't funny!"

"okay, okay, i'm sorry! i saw the opportunity and took it!" you said, running your fingers through his hair to make him feel better.

"i guess it's okay. but you owe me!" he said, tickling your sides. you both walked to class hand in hand and took your respective seats next to eachother.

you placed your phone on your desk along with your books and binders. you saw peter glance over at your phone, and you thought nothing of it, shrugging your shoulders and grabbing more things out of your backpack.

"umm y/n/n? am i your lockscreen?" he asked, looking up at you skeptically.

"noooo! y-you weren't supposed to see that!" you said nervously, snatching your phone and putting it in your jean pocket.

"i don't mind angel, it's cute. own up to it." he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and showing you his lockscreen. it was a picture of you and him from the science trip the class went on, you two attached at the hip, and giving eachother the goofiest smiles imaginable. luckily, betty was able to catch the sight with her phone, taking an amazing photo of you and peter which grew to be his favorite. you could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, and you quickly turned around in your seat.

as soon as you knew it, all of your classes were done, and it was now time to go home. you went to your locker and put everything you needed to in it. you could hear the loud chatter of peter and ned coming towards you, so you closed your locker and faced the direction of the two.

"hey boys." you greeted them, nodding at mj who was behind them. she nodded back to you, looking back to read her book.

"hey, y/n! peter and i were just talking about the new movie that's coming out soon, you know? about the aliens?" he waved his arms around his head, asking you as if you obviously knew what he was talking about. you looked over at peter who gave you a look that said 'just say yes', so you looked back at ned, nodding your head yes.

"cool! does that mean you'll come with me and peter to go see it?" oh gosh. i mean, it's not that you didn't like going to movies with them, but when you've been doing it for so long, it started to get.. boring.

"uhhhhhh, sorry ned, i actually cant, i have to go uh- walk my neighbors dog?" you said questioningly, and after seeing the look on peters face, you quickly yelled a goodbye and ran to the exit.

*:･ﾟtime skip *:･ﾟ

you got back to your house and immediately ran up the stairs. you grabbed everything you needed for your study session, grabbed your led light remote and set the color to a bright yellow, and began working. you turned on some music, and as you were humming to the tune, a loud tap startled you. you looked over to your window, and saw the famous vigilante at the edge of your fire escape. you ran over to it, and unlocked it.

"hi princess." he grunted and jumped into your room.

"hi my love, how was patrolling?" you asked, pulling his mask off his face to give him a soft peck.

"eh, fine. let's get to studying!" he studied your figure, and saw a hoodie that he swore looked like his. he scanned his mind, wondering if he knew where it was, and came to the realization that he didn't.

"hey, y/n, i've been looking for a hoodie that looks exactly like yours. have you seen it?" he asked, not noticing how wide your eyes got.

"wh- what? nooooooo!" you said very unconvincingly.

"you're wearing it, aren't you?" he said, connecting the dots together.

"okay, yes! but only because it smells like you and i like your hoodies more than mine." you whined like a child as you pulled the hood of his hoodie over your head.

"don't stress about it, baby. you look cute in it." he grinned, pulling the drawstrings of the white hoodie towards him, closing the gap between your lips.

[unsettledink]

Gotcha Chapter 6!

(Trying something new and posting the full text here as well as AO3? It feels too long, but I’ve posted longer things here before, Idk.)

Read on AO3

Peter: sorry im on my way!

Peter: iswear im just running late

Peter: i will be there supr fast!!

Peter: sorry!

Quentin stares down at his phone and somehow, manages not to sigh. It’s a full ten minutes past when they were supposed to meet, and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

Quentin: Don’t worry, it’s fine.

Peter: im sosorry

Peter: my alarm got set for tomorroow instead of today

Peter: i dont even know how

Peter: adn i just woke up and i dont even sleep this late like ever

Peter: but i willl bet there soon i promise

Peter: sorry!

Quentin: Really, it’s fine! There’s no hurry.

Quentin: We’re not exactly on a schedule or anything.

Peter: its so rude tho

Peter: for once it wast me losingt rack of time!!

Peter: im still sorry!

Quentin had given himself a little extra time this morning, just to remind himself of all the many, many reasons he is doing this, in this particular way. Had spent that time summoning up every bit of patience he could find to get through this day, because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

It feels like he’s already used half of it.

And of course he won’t be able to comment on Peter’s lateness, not even as a joke.

Peter: im like hafway there already illl just have to chagne and then ill be there!

Peter: seriously i am so sorry

Normally he’d be all for hearing Peter apologize, but it keeps happening every other word, Quentin will lose his mind.

He’s already losing his mind.

Well, he’s not going to just stand here until Peter does show up. He glances around for somewhere to sit; there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Perfect. He’s going to need that.

Quentin: Hey, don’t rush!

Quentin: I’ll just grab a coffee okay?

Quentin: I’ll be over at Kaldi’s, it’s just across the street. Can’t miss it.

Quentin: You want anything?

Peter: you dont haveto!

There’s no stopping the sigh this time. God.

Quentin: Not what I asked, kiddo.

Peter: um

Peter: suure?

Peter: someting with carmel i dont care mych

Peter: ill be there realy soon tho!!

Quentin: Then we can just sit for a bit.

Quentin: You’ll probably need it if you just woke up.

It’s a little funny how… drastically downgraded Peter’s texting is when he’s apparently still half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in a hurry. Or—

Quentin nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He— surely, Peter isn’t—

Quentin: Are you texting AND webswinging?

Peter: …maybe?

No wonder he goes through phones so fast.

Quentin: You’re going to drop your phone

Peter: hey! imst icky! i wont drop it!

Quentin: Then you’re going to fall from being distracted

Quentin: And I won’t feel sorry for you.

Peter: :(

Quentin: I’ll laugh

Peter: :( :( :(

Quentin: You brought this on yourself.

He spends the time until Peter gets there reviewing Lynn’s newest plans for the miniaturized drones; they actually aren’t too bad.

Of course, they’ve probably had them sitting, waiting, for months, what with how they’ve harped on and on about how this should be a priority.

It won’t do to let them get too full of themselves, so along with the praise he sends back plenty of potential revisions. Even brings up some entirely new bits for them to consider; should keep them busy for a bit.

“Hi!” Peter says, flinging himself down across from Quentin. He’s flushed and still out of breath, his hair sticking up. “I’m here! I’m so sorry!”

Quentin allows himself a slightly amused smile. “Hi,” he says. Pushes Peter’s drink—some sort of ridiculously sweet caramel flavored thing that’s barely coffee at all—across the table to him. “Sit. Drink. Relax a bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, running a hand through his hair and only making things worse. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, though. I’m just… it’s really embarrassing to be that late when this was my idea in the first place and—”

“Peter,” Quentin says, cutting him off. “Breathe! It’s fine, I promise.”

For once, Peter listens, and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Lets it out and relaxes the smallest bit, and grabs his drink. “Oh,” he says. “This is good! Thanks; you were right about me needing it.”

Quentin watches while he unwinds; Peter’s latest idea regarding ‘things they could do together’ was to show Quentin around Queens, so today they’re wandering. Quentin’s thrilled.

It could be worse. Peter had been all set up to take him to the most popular, well known, touristy spots, and Quentin had barely been able to hide his dread at the thought. It’d taken a little work, but he’d manage to convince Peter that Quentin would much rather see Peter’s favorite places. Even if they were nothing fancy or exciting, or little hole in the wall type places, or silly.

Even if they bored Quentin to tears.

Not that he can let Peter see even a hint of that. There’s a special kind of… vulnerability in sharing the smallest things you like, something different than exposing the larger, more damaged pieces of yourself. Something oddly hopeful about showing someone the unexplainable, intimate things you like and waiting for them to enjoy those things as well. Or at the very least, not reject them, in a way that suggests they’re rejecting your tastes as well.

Not rejecting you.

He’s started to prove to Peter he can handle the bigger things, the superhero stuff and the feelings nearly suffocating Peter; time to show that he can be trusted with the little things too. That Peter can come to Quentin with anything at all. Anything. Everything.

“So,” Quentin says. “What’s first?”

He was right; it is pretty boring. Not… awful, surprisingly, but not Quentin’s sort of thing at all. Peter’s apparently decided to try and cover as many miles as he can in one day, dragging Quentin from one end of Queens to the other. And then back; Quentin’s going to take tomorrow off for sure. Peter just has so much energy.

Has so much enthusiasm, Quentin thinks, as they poke through a small used record store that isn’t nearly as hipster as he expected from Astoria. So, so much enthusiasm, for the smallest things. It just bursts out of him once he gets comfortable and isn’t second guessing every single word he says.

Once Quentin has seemed interested in the first few things Peter shows him. Peter’s nervous about it, trying to explain away any shortcomings before Quentin’s even gotten in the door. He’s just desperate for approval, for acceptance. For Quentin to like him.

It’s not that hard to, actually.

It’s never been that Quentin dislikes Peter. Sure, Peter’s causing him grief and can be incredibly annoying, and sure, about half of what he feels for Peter is pity, but those can exist alongside the fact that Quentin kind of likes Peter.

Has liked him, ever since he started compiling research on him, ever since he’d met Peter as Mysterio and shook his hand and watched him get so excited over the existence of multiverse. It’s harder not to like Peter, not even a bit. He’s ridiculously smart, and stupidly good-natured, and—

He throws himself into everything he does; goes full out, with his heart on his sleeve. It’s no wonder he gets anxious as hell, if his first impulse is to practically flaunt all his soft spots, open and eager and expecting the best. It’s going to go poorly more often than not.

Must have, judging by the way Peter pulls himself in and hides, overrides that instinctual reaction so quickly it’s just a flash, a glimpse Quentin keeps catching again and again. He’s been taught to second guess himself somewhere along the way, by someone—probably a lot of someones—who saw those tender spots and couldn’t help poking them, taking advantage of them.

Just like Quentin’s doing; Peter should be better about spotting that sort of thing by now.

It’s almost a shame to fix Peter just to tear him apart completely, to have to use him like this, but… well. In the end, Peter’s nothing but another obstacle scattered in Quentin’s path. There are far more important things to worry about than the fate of one kid.

Peter grins at him when Quentin admits that this dinky little secondhand bookstore in Jamaica was worth a stop, even if it’s just for the most comfortable couch Quentin has ever sat on. Smiles when he points out a mural he loves on the way to the next attraction and admits he’d actually webbed up someone who started to tag it.

Straight up laughs at Quentin’s face when Peter shows him the most supremely creepy things in some huge thrift store, full of weird antiques and vintage crap. God, it’s disturbing that the things Quentin had as a kid, even as a teen, are considered vintage now.

“Jesus, Peter,” Quentin says after he has to look at a one hundred percent haunted taxidermied squirrel. “Why would you make me see that? I’m going to have nightmares.”

“For that exact face,” Peter says. “Oh my god, you look like you think it’s going to bite you!”

“It might,” and it’s unfair that Peter just laughs harder. He glares at Peter, but it might be slightly put on.

He’s allowed to like Peter a little, Quentin decides, watching Peter nearly double over with giggles. It’ll make having to deal with him easier, if nothing else, and it’s not as though liking someone has ever stopped him from using them—even disposing of them—in the past. It sure won’t this time.

They wander some more, Peter chattering on and easily filling the silence as long as Quentin remembers to make the appropriate listening noises occasionally. Every now and then, Peter hesitates, a nervous stumble in his words, something throwing him off, and Quentin reengages fully. He can’t afford to let Peter get too caught up in his thoughts.

But a few questions—carefully designed to make Quentin seem far more interested than he is—are enough to get Peter going again, bouncing from place to place until Quentin suggests they could use something to eat.

“Oh my god, yes,” Peter says. “I’m starving and didn’t even realize it. Ooo, last time we were down here, Ned and I found this awesome truck that does crazy good Korean barbeque, you’d love it.”

“No,” Quentin says without thinking, the sweet tart burnt smell so strong he can nearly taste it, can feel it stinging when he draws in a breath.

He twitches, shrugging it off, and tries to walk back how sharp that had come out. “Uh, I’m not big on sweet sauces and meat?” he says. “Got another recommendation?”

Peter drags him to a place that has the weirdest chimichanga combinations—and normal ones too, thankfully—and once again, attempts to pay.

“You know,” Quentin says as he pokes Peter out of the way, immensely irritated that Peter is still pushing him on this. “I didn’t realize your memory was this bad.”

“Hey!” Peter says. “It’s not! What are you talking about?” like that doesn’t prove Quentin’s point exactly.

“I seem to remember a bet I won,” he says, “relating to this exact situation.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it. “Um,” he says.

“Yeah,” Quentin says,raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Peter says, “okay, you can’t blame me for trying!”

“Hmmm,” Quentin says, passing over one of the foam trays. “You’re forgiven. This time. Just don’t do it again.” It’s always a good idea to get Peter into the habit of following Quentin’s rules, of remembering not to challenge Quentin too much.

Of remembering that Quentin will forgive him anything, easily.

“Fine,” Peter says through a mouthful, so mature.

They eat on the way to the next stop on Peter’s little tour; Quentin had been hoping they were approaching the end, but when Peter looks at him and asks, so hesitantly, if Quentin is tired and wants to call it a day—

Well he can’t say no.

Quentin finds himself dragged on to little half hidden shops, with any signage and down stairs that Quentin has to ask how Peter could have found in the first place. To statues Peter likes, to places he feeds pigeons—why he’d want to, Quentin doesn’t know—places with great views of the Hudson.

And, over and over, once Quentin catches on and starts pushing it, places to eat. Because Peter’s metabolism is a thing of wonder.

It’s interesting watching Peter banter back and forth with an older man about his sandwich; Quentin had gotten the impression Peter was uneasy around strangers, all his awkwardness amping up. But the way Peter’s interacted with people today is much more relaxed, much easier. Peter has a sharp sense of humor that Quentin has only started to see, as Peter gets comfortable around him.

Why do all these strangers get it right off the bat?

He watches Peter dart over to help get a stroller over a curb and— they’re not strangers. Not really. It’s not just that everywhere they’ve gone is somewhere Peter has been again and again, to the point where he knows people.

This is Peter’s home ground. His comfort zone, and the people in it— they’re his people. And when he’s helping them, his nerves disappear. His awkwardness becomes a tool of its own, disarming, downplaying the threat Peter could so easily be.

This is what he wants to be when he’s Spider-Man; the guy on the street, helping in a hundred tiny ways.

That’s fine with Quentin. Perfectly fine; now how does he get Peter to stay there, with EDITH looming over his head?

He can practically hear that in William’s voice, ugh. He’s working on it.

They wind up in Kissena late in the afternoon, almost early evening, really. Peter steps off the path once they get into one of the more wooded areas, and there’s a grassy spot past a few bushes, with a truly massive tree near the center, smaller ones scattered around it. It’s well hidden.

“Alright,” Quentin says, as he has with every other place, “what's the story behind this? How’d you find it?”

“So, when I got bit, when everything changed?” Peter settles down at the base of the tree, cross legged. “One of the things that was like, a huge pain, was how all of my senses got crazy amplified. Everything was turned up to eleven, you know?”

Quentin sits across from Peter, stretching his legs out as he leans back. Ugh, grass; he’d better not end up with bug bites. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds like that was pretty overwhelming.”

Peter groans. “You have no idea! It was really hard for a while, because even once I started to get used to everything being too loud and too bright and too smelly and— things tasted weird and my clothes made me feel like my skin was crawling and it was—” He stops, tipping his head back against the tree and looking upward.

“It was a lot,” he says. “Eventually I sorta started being able to deal with all that sort of… feeling stuff? I mean, physical, sensory, not like feeling feelings.”

Coherent; Quentin does not roll eyes through sheer force of will.

“But I was still really struggling with the, um,” Peter frowns, tips his head back further until Quentin can’t really see his face. “The stuff in my head. Actually doing things, thinking about things or even focusing on one thing was all so hard. It was like…”

“It was like what?” Quentin asks, after a few moments have passed.

“Everything was a distraction,” Peter says, slowly. “That’s still not right, because normally, before, I’d get distracted thinking about something else I wanted to do, or I’d be daydreaming, or, um, just, good stuff? Stuff that I’d want to focus on, just not right that second.”

“This wasn’t like this.” Peter looks down and starts to fiddle with a bit of grass, pulling up blades one by one. “This was like so much noise inside my head, like every little detail about every single thing was right there, grabbing my attention. I’d be trying to do one thing and all that would be clamoring at me nonstop.”

He closes his eyes, scrunching his whole face up. “People talk about wanting super sense a lot,” he says, “but it sucked so much at first.”

“People generally don’t think through those kinds of wishes very much,” Quentin says. Honestly, for the most part people don’t think at all.

“I’m pretty much okay now,” Peter says. “I figured out how to filter things most of the time; when there’s a bunch of stuff at once I can get so caught up in trying to ignore it that I ignore everything, and then that’s it’s own problem.”

“I noticed,” Quentin says, dryly. “Makes you pretty jumpy.”

Peter huffs, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the ripped up grass off his pants. “I’m still working on getting the kinds of focus right?”

Quentin leans further back on his hands, crossing his legs. “You said something about focusing on me that one time,” he says, and Peter goes faintly pink. “That the sort of thing you’re talking about?”

“Something like that,” Peter says. “If I have one thing I can focus on, almost completely, then I can make it into… uh, white noise, I guess? Or it makes everything else into white noise. If that makes any sense at all.”

Not one bit, but whatever. He can press that later. “Sure,” Quentin says, waving his hand. “I’m following.”

It’s actually something to consider— if Peter manages to function better in difficult situations by focusing on one specific thing, what happens when that thing is taken away? Is ripped away from him, in fact. Would there be a moment of disorientation they could take advantage of? Maybe they could set Peter up to focus on what they want; he’s already using Quentin as a focal point, apparently.

He’ll have to watch Peter, Quentin thinks. This fumbling little explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but he doesn’t have much faith Peter actually could explain it better even if he tried.

“That helps,” Peter’s saying, “but it’s still really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I want to just… stop. Just not feel it at all, not have to try not to feel it.”

He glances at Quentin, and Quentin nods. Peter looks oddly shy, so he’d better pay close attention to what he’s showing.

“I’ve found a couple of places like this, but this is probably my favorite,” Peter tells him. “I can come here and actually relax. If I stop trying to block things out, or stop focusing on one thing, it doesn’t matter.” He tips his head back again, looking up at the tree.

“It's quiet here, pretty much all the time,” Peter says; the light through the leaves is diffuse, dappled on his face. “Even the noises that I get are like, soft things. Leaves and wind and things walking on grass. People talking, yeah, but that’s more distant and almost like background noise. It’s still shadowy in here when it’s super bright out, and there aren’t any super gross strong smells either. Just dirt and water and uh, green stuff.”

He darts a glance down at Quentin without moving his head. “Don’t laugh at me!” he says, and it’s right on the edge of plaintive. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not,” Quentin says. He understands; it’s not something a city kid would be around that often, would probably even notice without senses like Peter’s. “I wouldn’t. I know what you mean, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says. Looks back away from Quentin and then closes his eyes. “It’s nice. And when I have to go back to the real world, it’s not quite as hard to handle.”

Quentin watches him. Watches as he slowly, slowly unwinds. Peter doesn’t move, aside from his head tipping slightly to the side, and Quentin—

He’d thought, earlier, that it was interesting how much Peter loosened up around people he felt comfortable with, places he felt safe. He’d thought it was a large degree of relaxation—and it was—but it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to the way the tension drains from him with each passing second, from every single bit of his body, until he looks calmer than Quentin has ever seen.

Happier.

If this is how he looks when truly relaxed, the level of stress Peter must carry with him every day, everywhere he goes—from the physical tension to the mental, the anxiety, the constant background level of effort that other people don’t have to think about—must be ridiculously high.

He doesn’t want to say anything, do anything, that would break the stillness that seems to have spread over the entire glade. Poor kid. He might be doing a great job at being a pain in Quentin’s ass, but he isn’t cut out for this superhero shit.

Everything Quentin sees just convinced him further that taking EDITH from Peter really is doing him a favor. He’d never intended for that to be true, but— it’s not a terrible byproduct.

Peter sighs eventually, a barely there breath of a thing, opening his eyes halfway. He looks dazed, almost half asleep.

At least, until he notices that Quentin is watching him, and then he flushes. Looks down, the moment dissipating. “Anyway,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s a nice place for me,” like he’s admitting something embarrassing.

“I can tell,” Quentin says, offering him a small smile. “You deal with a lot every day, don’t you.” He shifts against his tree, trying to get more comfortable without Peter noticing and getting all fussy about it.

“I guess,” Peter says.

He picks up a leaf, twirling it through his fingers absently. “It’s getting really frustrating,” he adds. “Because it’s been almost two years, right? So I should have a better handle on this! I shouldn’t still be getting tripped up by such little things. And—” he makes a face, shoulders starting to hunch again.

“So I have this… this sense? Uh, I call it a spidey sense— I know, it’s kind of stupid. It sort of warns me about things? Like someone poking me, or shouting that something bad is about to happen.”

“Mmm, you mentioned that once,” Quentin says. “Sort of like a limited precog?” Honestly, he’d dismissed it— not fully, it wouldn’t do to completely dismiss anything about Peter. But it hadn’t seemed like it did much for Peter in Europe.

And it hadn’t picked up anything about Quentin, so how good could it really be?

“Oh, huh,” Peter says. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that? Maybe, but it’s not very exact. Sometimes it’s super obvious, but others it takes me a while to figure out what’s wrong. And lately, especially, it’s been— it’s gone kinda nuts? I don’t feel like I can trust it anymore.”

“Like, like right now?” he adds. “Right now it’s just going off like something really big and bad is happening, but come on!” He throws his hands up, exaggerated. “We’re just sitting here talking! Nothing, literally nothing bad is happening. It’s freaking out for no reason.”

Fuck.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have dismissed it, Quentin thinks, trying to stay as relaxed as he was a moment ago. Maybe he really fucking shouldn’t have, because some part of Peter knows that Quentin’s not good news. Knows that Quentin is something dangerous, is a threat.

And apparently knows it very, very insistently. Oh, fuck, this is the last thing he needs. Why now? Why is Peter’s sense losing its shit now and not at any time in Europe? What has he done differently to set it off?

God, what if it had been going off then too? Could that be why Peter had backed off at the last second in the bar, EDITH almost in Quentin’s hand? Has Peter been feeling this the entire time?

It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to be listening to it, but that could stop at any second. At any time, Peter could decide that maybe his stupid ‘spider sense’ isn’t wrong, and that would be— that would be bad. That would be so bad.

Quentin has got to figure out how to make sure Peter keeps dismissing what it’s telling him.

“It’s so annoying,” Peter’s saying. “I wish it would stop, would just shut up already. It’s like this constant thing lately, sort of fading in and out but almost always there, but not a single thing has happened!”

Oh, that’s really, really not great. Almost always? In and out? How long will it take before Peter starts to realize it’s linked to Quentin?

No. No, he can fix this. He can nip this in the bud, before Peter has even a hint of suspicion. Peter’s already trying to ignore it, already annoyed by it. Quentin can use that.

“Maybe it’s just confused?” Quentin brings one knee up and rests his elbow on it, letting his arm dangle oh so casually. “After all,” he adds, “I’m hardly a bad thing, am I?”

Peter smiles, all that irritation gone in a second. “No!” he says. “Of course not! You’re like, the least bad thing that’s happened in a while.”

Quentin grins back at him. Yeah, keep thinking that, kid. “Well that’s a relief!” he says. “How finely tuned is this thing anyway? Could something have… I don’t know, damaged it? Hmm, screwed up its baseline, maybe? How do you even recalibrate it?”

“I have no clue,” Peter says. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t really test it or fix it or whatever. It’s practically useless now.”

Perfect; he wants Peter distrusting this sense. Wants him not thinking about it at all, avoiding the topic entirely— ah.

If he can get Peter thinking his damaged sense has something to do with the fights he’s been in, these bigger battles, that would be ideal. Peter’s already trying hard not to think about those; tie this sense to them as well, and he’ll just have even more reason to avoid both

“Could something have overloaded it?” Quentin asks. “Just completely swamped it, and it hasn’t recovered yet? If it got used to there being danger nonstop, on all sides, maybe it can’t stand down.”

“…maybe?” Peter says. “But I don’t know what would have caused that, or even when. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

What.

Really, Quentin thinks, really? Peter can’t think of anything that would fit? Why wouldn’t he think of that? “Nothing?” he says, quietly.

Peter frowns. Takes a moment, and when he opens his mouth, Quentin is almost sure he’s made the connection; but Peter hesitates. Shrugs. “Not anything that’s like, major or a big deal or anything,” he says.

Does Peter— has he really managed to convince himself that all the fighting he’s done is nothing? Or at least, been trying to, because that hesitation says a lot.

He should have expected this, with the way Peter’s consistently downplayed himself so far. He really should have, but somehow it still annoys him. No wonder Peter isn’t willing to admit how scared and screwed up he is, if he thinks he’s completely overreacting to ‘no big deal’.

“Well,” Quentin says, and he’s watching Peter carefully. He doesn’t know quite how this will hit. “You were at war, on a battlefield. More than once, even. That can really mess you up in all kinds of ways.” Remember, Peter, he thinks. Remember that you were hurt, that there’s a good reason to be scared. To run.

“I— that—” Peter stares at him. “I wasn’t in a war,” he says. Dammit. Looks like downgrading it in his head is exactly what Peter’s been doing, and that is exactly the opposite of what Quentin wants.

“No? What would you call it?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes himself more upright, uncrossing his legs. “It sounded a lot like war to me.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers crushing the leaf he’s been playing with. “It was just a fight,” he says, strained. “That’s all!”

A fight. Just a fight, like it was nothing more than a little spat, was nothing at all. Has someone been telling him this, reinforcing it? Fury, maybe, or even Tony before that?

He knows Fury wants Peter to think he can handle things, but has he also been trying to convince him that what he’s been through so far was small enough Peter should have been able to handle it? Should be able to handle the aftereffects? That he shouldn’t be upset about it, that he’s overreacting?

That’s not good; Quentin doesn’t need Peter doubting he can handle things. He needs Peter to be certain he can’t, and more, that it’s perfectly normal. Acceptable. Not something horribly selfish at all.

“Peter,” he says, “it wasn’t just a fight.”

“It was! It was just one— it wasn’t a war!”

“It wasn’t— Peter,” Quentin says, and sighs. “It was a lot more than that. You’ve been dragged from fight to fight to fight the past couple of years, without anyone helping you after; from what I hear, you really could have used some after that thing upstate.”

He huffs, too sharp to be a real laugh. “And that’s just what I know of,” he adds. “I’m not stupid enough to assume that’s everything.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisted on his thighs. Blinks, and then looks at Quentin intently, his brow furrowed. “How do you even know about that? About— about other fights?”

“I spent some time talking with Fury,” Quentin says. “He wasn’t big on details, but I got enough that I can fill them in on my own. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even know every fight you’ve been in, though I’m sure he’d like me to think so.”

He’d been talking with Janice, more like. God, she’d been such a find; seething about having had Tony himself be an ass to her, more than once, but willing to stay where she was to pass things on. She’d had access to so much confidential information, and every time SI and SHIELD decided to bury another thing, shift the blame and throw money at it until it all went away—for them, at least—she’d gotten a little more resentful.

It’s true that they might not have the finer details—it drives him nuts how sparse the info about whatever it was that crashed SI’s plane into the beach is—but he has enough to know that Peter’s been involved time and time again.

“Oh,” Peter says, looking down, losing some of his ire. “You probably didn’t hear much good, I bet. But— it doesn’t matter if it was more than one fight, cause they were all different. All like, spread out and about other stuff. It’s still not war.”

“What do you think war is, then?” Quentin asks, actually curious.

“I don’t, uh. War is… more?” Peter stumbles along, and he’s being incredibly stubborn about this. “More than that, than any of those. Worse. Way worse. You don’t— you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was really like. It wasn’t like that.”

“I think,” Quentin says dryly, “I have a pretty good idea of what war is.”

Peter looks absolutely horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “God, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I just, just meant that you were in a war. In a real, horrible, endless one and this…” He shudders. “These were just fights. It’s not the same, it’s not anywhere near as bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. Looks at Quentin and then drops his head into his hands, knees coming up as he curls in on himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Quentin, I didn’t mean…”

This is really not what he was going for. Shit, he shouldn’t have said it like that; Peter’s too sensitive for him to be even a little sharp.

Quentin sighs, very softly, though he’s sure Peter still catches it. Pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to Peter, who doesn’t even look up. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Quentin says. “It’s okay, Peter.”

Peter just shakes his head a little; Quentin thinks of sighing again but—somehow—manages to restrain himself. He sits down next to Peter, his back against the tree.

“War doesn’t have to go for a long time to be real,” he says, not looking at Peter. “It doesn’t have to drag on and on for it to still be awful, for it to still affect you,” and Jesus, he’s had to hear shit along those lines so many times. Had to sit there and listen to people be told over and over that what happened to them is worth being fucked up over.

Even if it isn’t. There’s a lot of reasons he never opened his mouth at those meetings, and his disgust at everyone else was the biggest. What a waste of time.

Well. Maybe not. It did give him the material to work Peter over.

“It doesn’t have to be some huge, dramatic battle to qualify,” Quentin says. “It still counts. Pretending it doesn’t doesn’t get it out of your head.” Come on, he thinks, let it be bad, be a nightmare. Admit that there’s a good reason, a real reason, for you to be scared, and then you can back down without shame. Come on, Peter.

“It doesn’t feel like it should count,” Peter says, a bit muffled, head still in his hands. “It wasn’t— lots of people have dealt with so much worse. Something like this, it’s not— it’s not an excuse for, for…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, but Quentin doesn’t need him to. An excuse, hmm? He turns his head toward Peter, just a bit. “Why don’t you want to call it a war?”

Peter lifts his head, arms sliding down to cross across his chest. “Why does it matter to you what I call it?” he asks, and there’s a hint of sharpness in there. Maybe even anger. “Why do you even care if I admit— if I think it’s a war?”

Nice little slip there; isn’t that interesting. Peter does know it was more than a few little fights. He knows, he’s just trying as hard as he can to pretend otherwise. Trying to redirect, as usual, turning the question back on Quentin. Why does it matter, Peter wants to know, and there are so many answers Quentin could give.

It matters because you need to see yourself as badly damaged. Because you need to acknowledge that this is something huge and overwhelming and frightening. Because I need you to start accepting what I say as right, start accepting me as an authority. I need you to not question me.

So many reasons, and he can’t tell Peter any of them. Ugh.

He turns further toward Peter. “Because I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” Quentin says, tightly, irritation rising up in him. “When you sit there and insist that it’s nothing more than a little fight, when you play it off like it’s nothing— you’re devaluing what you did, and that’s wrong.”

“Don’t act like what you went through, what you did, doesn’t count,” Quentin says, and Peter’s looking over at him, startled. “That it wasn’t brave as hell, and terrifying as hell too.”

Peter stares, his eyes very wide. “I— it’s not like I did more than anyone else there. Than, than anyone else would have.”

“It sounds like you did more than enough,” Quentin says. “And— it doesn’t matter, Peter. It still messes you up. War fucks everyone up. Maybe it didn’t go on long enough for it to really warp your thinking, your morals or empathy or capacity to even feel, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t damage you.”

Peter jerks, sitting up straighter. “I’m not damaged!”

For fuck’s sake.

Quentin has to dig deep for a bit more patience. “Sure you are. Hey, Peter— wait,” he says, watching as Peter shuts down all over again, hurt. “That’s not bad, kid. It’s not an insult. It’s just… you gotta admit that before you can get better.”

Or not, if Quentin gets his way; admitting it might lead to Peter actually getting over his fear and stepping up. But with Quentin around, guiding him along? Peter’s never going to take that admission as anything other than a personal failure.

As just another reason he can’t, and someone else should.

“I don’t know,” Peter mutters. “It doesn’t feel like it should count.”

Quentin watches him for a minute. Leans in, his shoulder bumping against Peter’s. “You’d agree that I’ve been in war, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And that I’m able to judge what is and isn’t war. Right?”

Peter can be smart, sometimes. He sees where this is going. Sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Will you—” Quentin pauses, waits until Peter is looking at him. “Can you trust me here, and believe that I mean it when I say what you went through was war?”

Peter blinks, his eyes dropping. He’s silent, and Quentin can feel the muscles of his arm moving as Peter fiddles with something out of sight. “I’ll think about it,” Peter says, which is not quite the response Quentin was hoping for. Still, it’s not another denial. Baby steps.

“I’ll— maybe,” Peter says. “I guess you would know, even if you weren’t there.”

“You should listen to me,” Quentin agrees, leaning a little harder against Peter. “I do know!”

You should listen to me, and only me, he thinks. We’ll get you there, kid.

Peter huffs softly, pushing back against Quentin’s shoulder. “Maybe,” but he’s smiling faintly.

Quentin smiles back; he can accept a maybe, for now.

He’ll get a yes soon enough.

[snarkythewoecrow]

Sorry if this is weirdly specific. Peter’s calorie counting app helps him relax. Tony’s not sure that’s healthy. Not an eating disorder prompt per se - more like Tony catching a troubling pattern early and trying to nip it in the bud.

*TRIGGER WARNING FOR EATING DISORDER*

Read on AO3

Peter checked the back of the crinkly cellophane wrapper, noting the calories. One hundred and fifty in just one of the two cakes in the package. That seemed like a lot for a measly mass-produced coffee cake barely the size of a plum. He started to regret eating it a little, but instead, he pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the numbers and logging them into the app on his phone.

It was a calorie tracking app, and he hadn’t meant to keep it past his initial experiments with his metabolism. Still, the habit he’d formed over those few months logging the data had become something of a comforting ritual. He liked the familiarity of it. It soothed his nerves. The simple process of recording each thing he ate helped calm him.

Today he’d already eaten nearly three thousand calories, and sickly, he realized most of them were from junk. He absently touched his stomach and poked his belly through his shirt. It didn’t feel soft, but that was probably only due to his insane metabolism and extracurricular activities.

Setting the phone down on his desk, he leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. It was still early enough he could go out, so snapping his chair back onto four legs, he hopped up and grabbed his suit from the closet, making quick work of changing. May wouldn’t be home for a few more hours. She’d had switched to the swing shift for the rest of the week, so she was at work until nearly midnight.

It turned out to be a quiet night, but he did stop a bike theft and saved a dog from being run over, so he called it a win. The kid whose dog he’d rescued gave him a Snickers in thanks, and Peter had taken it to a nearby roof to eat.

During his initial experiment where he logged his calories, he’d installed the program into Karen, syncing it to his phone, helping to keep track of the data. It was only supposed to be for six weeks, but that had gone out the window.  Not even Tony knew he was still logging the calories. Honestly, it didn’t seem like a big enough thing to bring up. It seemed relatively harmless, almost like a game. There were a few times he’d challenged himself to go with the bare minimum of calories. It wasn’t like he did it to hurt himself. It had just become addictive in a way.

Sitting on the building's ledge, he twirled the candy bar in his hands and then stopped to examine the nutrition facts. It wasn’t good at all. It had two hundred and fifteen in just one bar. That made his stomach twist funny. It wasn’t the first time lately that he’d hesitated over something’s calorie count.

“Karen, can you bring up my logbook?”

“Sure, Peter.”

His daily and weekly totals showed on the HUD. He cringed at how much he’d already eaten.

“Thanks, Karen. I saw what I needed. You can close it. I think I’m gonna head home. I’m feeling kinda tired now.”

“Of course, Peter. I’ll plot a course.”

Peter dropped down to the street and passed the candy bar off to the first homeless person he saw. He didn’t need to eat. Just making that choice gave him a rush of control, a little thrill. It felt good in a bad way to deny himself.

XXX

After school the next day, Peter was due to go to the tower to visit Tony. They were going to work on integrating the nanotech into his web-shooters. While he sat in the back of the black Audi as Happy maneuvered them in and out of traffic, Peter soothed his frazzled nerves from the day by looking over his app and seeing what he logged.

He’d done better about controlling his choices. He’d cut out most of the junk, other than the school pizza anyway, but he knew he needed some fat for his metabolism to burn. It wasn’t like he was planning to starve himself. He just liked the feeling denying himself gave him. When school and Spider-man had him stressed, this, this was something that he could control.

Happy didn’t say much as he drove, only calling over his shoulder once to see if Peter wanted him to swing by McDonald’s before they got to the tower. Maybe a few weeks ago, even a few days ago, he might have said yes, but today he wasn’t feeling it. He could only think about how many calories it was.

“No, I’m good. I ate at school.”

Happy met his gaze through the mirror, seeming to search his face. “If you’re sure. You used to eat half the menu. What changed?”

Peter shrugged, turning to look out the window. “Nothing, just not hungry.” He glanced back at Happy and tried for a smile. It probably looked forced.

Happy hummed to himself then raised the divider, leaving Peter to his thoughts.

When they got to the tower, Peter waved bye to Happy and then headed to the elevator, asking Friday to take him to whatever floor Tony was on. It turned out to be the workshop.

Music played from somewhere in the workshop, and Tony was bent over his workbench, tools in hand. The volume lowered automatically when Peter entered, making Tony look up.

“Hey, kid, how goes the spidey battle?”

Peter shrugged. “Nothing to report. Things have been okay. May’s working a lot this week, got detention once for falling asleep, but that was totally not my fault.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, Tuesday? I check the reports. You were out until a little after midnight on Monday.”

“Oh, yeah, well, May is working new hours.”

“So, you thought you should ignore your curfew?”

Peter winced. “Yes?”

Tony snorted, shaking his head. “Toss your bag on the chair and get over here. We have work to do.”

They worked together for a few hours until Tony’s stomach made an audible protest, making the man pause. “I think it’s probably time to call it quits for the night and get something to eat.”

Peter froze for a second. “Oh, um, yeah, I’m not really that hungry, though. I’ll be fine.”

“Give me a break, Pete. I’ve seen the data. I know how much you need to eat. I’ll order up some pies, and we can eat upstairs.”

He tried to smile, but he only managed to make the corners of his mouth twitch. “Okay, yeah. Pizza sounds good.”

When the food came, Tony set the pizza boxes on the counter and grabbed them each a plate, plopping two big slices on top of each other on Peter’s.

Following Tony to the living room, they sat on the couch, and Peter started nibbling on his pizza. After the first slice was gone, he paused, setting his plate on his lap to pull out his phone. Not thinking about Tony in the same room, he opened the app and started inputting his meal's data. He was already stressing a little about having two slices on his plate. It was going to be a lot of calories. It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten much before coming over.

Tony’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Isn’t that the metabolic recording app I designed? I thought we were all done with that. Why are you still using it?”

“Huh? Oh, this?” Peter flashed him his phone screen. “Um, yeah. It’s the same program. I was just—I was just doing a little more research to confirm our findings. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried about it, but I gotta say, now I’m a little curious as to why you’re lying about it. It’s cute how you think you can pass one by me, Pinocchio.”

Peter’s eyes went wide, and he stared at Tony, unsure what to say. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide anything, but Tony wouldn’t understand either. “I wasn’t—it’s stupid.”

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Tony said, taking a bite of pizza. “No truer words.”

“What? Is that a reference?”

“Heathen. Enough distracting me. What’s up, muchacho?”

Peter fiddled with his phone, and then stuffed it into his hoodie pouch, setting his plate on the coffee table after. Without meeting Tony’s gaze, he cleared his throat and tried to think of a way to explain it.

“It’s really not a big deal. I don’t know why we have to talk about it.”

“You not wanting to talk about it is precisely why we need to, so spill.”

Sighing, Peter bit the bullet and started his stuttered explanation.

“Putting in the numbers, it became sorta like a habit, I guess. It was cool seeing a chart of what I’ve eaten. I know it sounds weird.” Peter chanced a look at Tony. The man had set his pizza down on the coffee table, too. His expression was scrutinizing. “So, um, I kinda set myself goals, you know? Just like can I stay under a certain amount, or other days, I could eat better. I don’t know how it started. But the process, the numbers, they were soothing. They are soothing.” Peter kept his gaze on his hands that were clasped in his lap, unsure what he was hiding from. It wasn’t like what he was doing was that bad. “So, yeah, that’s what’s up. Told you it’s nothing big.”

Tony was quiet for a moment until Peter heard him let out a breath. When he glanced up, Tony was scratching at his chin, his head tilted to the side, eyes sharp and cutting right through Peter.

“Pete, that’s the definition of something big or the start of it. I don’t know a lot about head shrinking, but I’ve seen enough after school specials to know you’re on a slippery slope.”

“It’s not—I’m not anorexic or anything. I swear. It’s just the app. I’m not trying to lose weight. I’m not starving myself. You just watched me eat.”

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his mouth before dropping it. “Kid, I know you might not see it that way, but trust me on this. From the outside, it doesn’t look healthy.”

Peter frowned, trying to think over his actions through a different lens. If this had been someone else, MJ or Ned, Peter would probably be feeling the same way as Tony. Then why didn’t it feel like a big deal for him to do it? Was what he was doing really that dangerous? His brow furrowed in thought.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s that bad. Wouldn’t I know if I had an eating disorder?”

Tony shook his head a little, then shrugged his shoulder, wiggling his hand back and forth like he was weighing options. “You could, or it could just be the start of one. Either way, I think the first step should be getting rid of that app, remove the temptation. Though I think you might need more than that.”

“Like what?” Peter asked, already feeling a little anxious at the idea of losing his app. It was like a security blanket for him. He’d been logging for months. He didn’t want to lose all that data. It was like a journal of his good and bad days, his accomplishments, and his failures. Sometimes he did like looking back and studying the past weeks, seeing where he could have done better. The action itself soothed him. And now he was losing that.

“I don’t know, therapy would be my first guess, and I think your aunt needs to know, so she can keep an eye on things. I don’t know a lot about eating disorders, but I know about addiction, and I think they share some traits.”

Peter sank back into the couch, looking over at Tony with a frown. “Do we have to tell her? It just feels weird. Like it doesn’t feel like this is really a problem. I felt in control like I knew what I was doing. It doesn’t feel dangerous or like an eating disorder. I don’t want to worry her over nothing.”

“I need you to put on your listening ears here, kid. If this were anyone else, would you feel the same? I don’t think you would. I think Spider-Man would feel the same way I do. I’m not worried over nothing, and you shouldn’t just brush this aside. This could be the start of something that could take over your life. I don’t want that for you, Pete.”

Thinking back to MJ and Ned, Peter knew the truth. He knew that for anyone else, he would be concerned.

Sighing, he nodded slowly while twisting his fingers in his lap. “Okay, we can tell her, and I’ll delete the app. As much as I don’t want to believe it, maybe you’re right.”

“Okay, do you want to tell her together?”

Peter licked his lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it as he thought. He wasn’t sure he would have the courage to tell her on his own, but if Tony were there, maybe it would be the push he needed. If only he could get over the feeling of shame that was building in him, shame for letting this become a problem in the first place. He thought he was smarter than that. He should have known, should have seen the signs. How could he be so blind?

“Yeah, but can we wait until tomorrow to tell her? I’m not ready tonight.”

“That’s fine. I don’t think you're in immediate danger. If I thought that, this would have gone differently. I think we can take our time and figure out how to tell her. Your hot aunt probably knows a few things about this, given her career path.” Tony raised a brow, waggling a finger a Peter. “Don’t make that face. Didn’t anyone ever tell you your face could get stuck that way?”

“I’m not making a face.”

Tony scoffed. “You looked like your sucking on a Warhead.”

“Ew, I hate those.”

“The youth of today appreciate nothing.” Tony reached over to the coffee table and grabbed his abandoned dinner. Taking a bite of the cold pizza. He waved a hand in the direction of Peter’s remaining slice. “Eat up, kiddo. Cold pizza is the best pizza.”

With a nod, Peter sat forward and grabbed his plate, picking his slice of pizza up with his other hand. With probably too much thought about what he was feeling, he took a bite. He realized as he focused on what he felt that there was a tiny spike of fear, and he knew that wasn’t normal. This was something new in the last few months.

Now that he thought about it, he could remember that little feeling attached to most of his meals, getting more prominent as time went on. His fingers itched to record the calories, and he realized that he did have a problem. Something else inside him was steering his decisions, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. The knowledge hit him hard, making an invisible band tighten around his chest.

He pushed the feelings aside the best he could and focused on eating. He wouldn’t let this beat him. He’d tell May, and he’d do better. Spider-Man, Peter Parker, wouldn’t let this get him down. He’d find a way to fight it, and he was pretty sure he could. He had Tony and May in his corner.

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Tangled

Paring: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 4K

~Master~

~Marvel Master~

MJ, Ned, Peter and you loved to watch movies, but the thing is you don’t really watch them. You all just make comments and point out all the dumb parts.

“Why did she run past the near perfect car?” You asked through hands of popcorn, wiping the butter on your pant leg as MJ groaned. 

“Does she not see him behind her? Turn around! Look at the chainsaw!” She shouted as you and Peter stifled your laughs and continued watching the awful movie. It was an hour or two longer before the crazy chainsaw guy killed half the group of stupid teenagers before the movie ended. You picked up your phone, checking the time as you groaned.

“What’s up with you?” MJ mumbled half asleep as she kicked your side as you hung upside down off the couch next to her.

You swatted at her legs, noticing the tired stages of your friends. “It’s like 3 in the morning.” MJ snorted as you chuckled, far too tired not to control your laughter. “I don’t think I’m going home tonight.”

“It’s cool. Ned and Peter are long gone, and my parents are probably already sleeping.” You closed your eyes, grunting to thank her as you tried to fall asleep. You could feel her kick your side again, but you paid no mind to it until she rather harshly kicked your arm.

“Oww! The fuck do you want?” You growled out, rubbing the sore mark on your arm.

“Oh, stop whining, I didn’t even kick you that hard. I was gonna ask you when you were planning to finally kiss Parker.”

You lazily raised a brow at her, peaking at her in the dark, barely lit by the credits rolling on the screen. “And why would I kiss him?”

“Because you like him.”

The room went silent except for Ned’s snores as you processed MJ’s words. “How tired are you?” You whispered in disbelief.

“Whatever liar.” MJ just scoffed, rolling on the couch to a comfier position and soon she was asleep followed closely by you.

The next morning was awful. You woke up by literally slipping off the couch, landing right on your face as it hit the ground. “Ow.” You meekly said as you tried to move.

“You okay?” Peter asked next to you as you looked up at him. He just sat cross legged on the floor, a bowl of Lucky Charms in his hands as he brought the spoon up to his mouth for a bite.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes. “Oh, yeah. Peachy. You just sit there and eat your cereal.” Your voice was obviously dripping with sarcasm, but Peter just smirked, watching you twist your body until you were seated much like him. You sighed greatly, slumping in your spot. A piece of hair fell in your face and you blew it away only for it to fall again.

Peter just chuckled at you, sending a flutter of butterflies through your stomach. You reach over, stealing a marshmallow floating in his bowl as Peter stared at you betrayed. You gave him a grin and stood up to your feet.

“Alright. Imma go to the bathroom.” Peter nodded as he watched you leave, stretching your arms and yawning on the way.

You were half asleep by the time you were washing your hands, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your hair held its place in a lazy bun with several strands refusing to remain in their spots including the one insistent on being a part of your face. The old t-shirt was actually one of your dad’s you stole from him, some band from his childhood on the front. You honestly looked tired and given it was probably the crack of dawn, you should be.

Peter heard the sound of the bathroom door swing open as his head peaked over the couch, watching you quietly walk back to join him, your feet padding on the ground.

He pointed to the bowl of your favorite cereal sitting on the coffee table. “Got you cereal.” You found yourself chuckling, sending Peter a smile. You sat next to him, looking over at MJ and Ned who were still fast asleep as you and Peter ate your cereals, enjoying the comfortable silence. “What time did you wake up?” You whispered to Peter. He turned to you, sparing a glance at the tv’s clock with a shrug.

“Not long before you did.” He said but truth be told, Peter was awake for a while. When he woke up the first thing he did was check the time, seeing it was a little after 6. He was used to the late nights and early mornings being Spider-Man. After checking the time, he let himself sit, his eyes wandering until they found you sleeping upside down on the couch. He knew he let himself stare at you for longer than he was supposed to, but he couldn’t help it. Peter’s had a crush on you since the moment you met, a constant in his life he hadn’t known he needed.

You shivered as you took a bite, the milk a lot colder than you expected as you looked push Peter and nudged him. “Hand me that blanket?” you asked him. He nodded, putting his bowl on the table and leaning over to reach it. It was just out of reach as he groaned earning a laugh from you. “Come on Pete, use your webs and grab the damn thing.” You chuckled as Peter sat back, shaking his head at you with a smile. He grabbed his bowl, spooning more cereal into his mouth.

“It’s too far. Guess you have to suffer.” He shrugged as you feigned a scoff, only making Peter hide his laughter.

“Fine dork.” You were about to put your own bowl on the table and get the blanket before Peter stopped you, giving you a smile and pulled off his sweatshirt. You felt your cheeks heat up as he handed it to you. Peter gave you his hoodies before to wear, but every time he does you couldn’t help but blush. You liked wearing Peter’s sweatshirts almost as much as you liked Peter.

Peter was in the same boat, he liked seeing you in his sweatshirts. In his head, he pretended it was something more than just his best friend wearing his things, that you were more than just his best friend.

You snuggled in the newfound warmth, softly sighing at the scent of Peter lingering upon the fabric. As soft as it looked on the outside, it was a thousand times comfier inside and you barely had time to bask in it before MJ woke up, looking down at you and Peter.

You hadn’t realized how close you and Peter were after he took his sweatshirt off, and you knew MJ was going to notice. Yet instead of pointing it out, she smirked at you, raising her brow at the sweatshirt you were wearing.

See, MJ was in a special situation. She knew, despite your protests, how much you liked Peter, and she overheard Peter confessing to Ned a few months about how much he liked you. You both were just too oblivious to realize.

“You better not of eaten all my cereal.” She told you both as you chuckled, hiding your face in the hoodie covered palm of your hand. MJ stood up and stretched and you heard her back crack before she slapped Ned’s shoulder, waking him up with a start.

The next half hour was spent with you all officially waking up and, in your case, calling your parents to confirm that you had spent the night at MJ’s. By the time everyone was somewhat functioning and moving about, MJ turned the TV back on, the opening credits to some old daytime show playing through. Immediately you groaned, making Peter laugh as he plopped on the couch. “Oh, come on, you can’t tell me this isn’t as scary as those horror movie’s you made us watch.” He joked, glancing back at you peeking your head out of the bathroom, a toothbrush sticking out of your mouth before you removed it.

“The only scary thing about this show is that someone thought it was a good idea to make.” You could hear a round of laughs and a “nice one” coming from your friends as you finished up, wiping down your mouth and leaving. “Besides, I don’t only watch horror movies.”

“Yeah, you watch Disney Movies.” Ned snorted as you smirked.

“Damn right I do. I stand by my word that Disney movies just make life better.” Ned was sitting in the chair and MJ and Peter both were on the couch with their bodies facing each other, leaving a spot for you between them. No one was looking at you, choosing instead to focus on the screen as you bit your lip and backed away from behind the couch.

With a skip in your step, you ran to the couch. “Catch!” you yelled. Peter spun his head around just in time to watch you launch yourself over the couch. The top of your body went in his direction, your feet almost hitting MJ in the back of her head from not turning around faster. Peter’s hands went around your waist to make sure you didn’t overshoot your self and end up falling over from laughing.

“Don’t do that!” Peter shouted at you, feeling his heartrate elevate. You turned to look at him, trying to not smile, but there was no point as the smile overcame your face anyway.

“I’m sorry. It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.” Peter shook his head, knowing he should’ve expected you to do something like that. You moved around on the couch, resting your feet atop MJ’s lap as you practically laid in Peter’s lap. You reached up, ruffling his hair as he swatted your hand away before glaring down at you. You just smiled at him before looking to the TV, unaware of the fact his eyes remained on you. MJ continued to flip through the channels before you stopped her, making her change the channel back.

She followed your directions, flipping back to where the Disney movie Tangled played on the screen. A chorus of no’s erupted through the room as you shushed them, turning in Peter’s lap to curl into yourself. Peter watched as you moved, uncertain as to what he should do but when you settled, still in his lap he quickly decided he wasn’t going to move. He really didn’t want you to move from his lap.

The movie was halfway done when you started to watch it, humming along to the songs playing on the screen. Of course, you knew every word, and to be nice to your friends you decided to spare them your singing. Peter could feel you humming on his lap, the fond smile on his face only widening when your fingers mindlessly tapped along as well. It went on for a while, every time a song came on you bet you were humming along, sometimes singing under your breath. It caught MJ’s attention as she glanced over, seeing Peter no longer paying attention to the movie, but on you. She got Ned’s attention right away, putting a finger to his lip to keep him quiet. He furrowed his brows before seeing his best friend obviously staring at you before rolling his eyes. He was about to look back to the screen before mouthing to MJ to take a picture, something they knew they could use to blackmail Peter later.

MJ smirked, giving him a fist bump and pulled out her phone, snapping a photo of the two of you, but definitely the lovesick look on Peter’s face. Ned and her snickered as they looked at it, catching both yours and Peter’s attention. You pushed yourself onto your elbows, raising a brow at them. “What’s so funny?” You asked them, slightly terrified of what the answer was.

Ned’s eyes went wide as he looked to MJ making both and Peter exchange confused glance before Peter tried. “Guys?”

“It’s nothing!” Ned squeaked out as MJ mentally cursed, shaking her head.

“Flash went live. Just something stupid.” She lied as you nodded slowly, eying Ned before MJ rolled her eyes. “Just watch your dumb movie.” She told you as you scoffed, snuggling into Peter’s legs again.

“It’s not a dumb movie.” You muttered, hearing MJ and Ned laugh at you, but Peter didn’t say anything, just squeezing your arm. You spared a look up, seeing him holding back his own laugh. The sight alone was enough to make you giggle, the action soon turning into laughs. You felt Peter’s hand on your side as he doubled over, his eyes closed. He looked so carefree and untroubled. He looked happy.

The music on the screen caught your attention as you sat up quickly, making all your friends jump as you told them to quiet down. Peter was confused until he listened to the movie, smiling and looking over to MJ and Ned, both watching you curiously. “Her favorite song.” He whispered only to earn another shush from you. His hands went up in surrender as he sat back, beginning to watch the movie only to get distracted as you leaned forward onto your knees, sighing at the screen.

“I want someone to look at me like that.” You mumbled, not believing anyone heard you. But of course, you weren’t as quiet as you thought because not a second later MJ groaned, pulling up the picture of you and Peter on the phone. She couldn’t help but laugh. Rapunzel didn’t see Flynn Ryder looking at her with such adoration and you didn’t see Peter.

Without so much a second thought, MJ sent the picture to your group chat, hearing the scattering of phones buzzing as she sat back satisfied. You heard the buzzing but ignored it, too engrossed in the movie to pay attention to someone texting you. It wasn’t until you heard Peter choke on his own breathing before you looked away, seeing him wide eyed staring at his phone. You furrowed your brows and looked to MJ smirking and Ned slack jawed before you picked up your phone, trying to figure out what was happening.

Peter was terrified. He didn’t know MJ took that picture and if you saw it, he wouldn’t know what would happen. Probably nothing good, that’s for sure. As soon as you reached for your phone, Peter knocked it out of your hands, making you gasp as it landed on the floor in front of you, the notification just out of range for you to see. “What the hell Peter? Why did you do that?” You furrowed your brows, standing up to get it before Peter scurried off the couch.

“I got it!” He shouted.

“No, I’ll get it. You’ll just throw it again.” You meant it as a joke but by the way Peter was so anxious to get to your phone, you weren’t sure if it was a joke. You both got there the same time, but Peter picked it up first. He turned so his back was to you as you scoffed and looked to MJ and Ned for insight. Ned shrugged and MJ was recording for her own amusement. You groaned, reaching around the boy to grab it. Peter was trying to go as fast as he could, unlocking your phone with the password he knew by heart, your birthday, so obvious. He wanted to delete the picture. If he deletes it, you won’t see it, right? When your hand shot around him, he pulled away and tried to run, only to feel you wrap your arms around him.

“Peter, what are you doing? Give me my phone.”

“Just give me a minute!”

“Well, tell me what you’re doing!” He didn’t answer again, constantly dodging your reaching arms until finally he managed to delete the picture. He sighed, letting you steal your phone back. You weren’t really mad at him, confused yes, irritated yes, but not quite mad. You opened your messages, nothing coming up as you dropped your hands to your side, looking at Peter and waiting for an explanation. Instead of saying anything, or even looking at you, he just plopped down on the couch and took the remote from MJ, turning the volume up. “Um, Peter?” you said trying to keep your cool. Peter just hummed a yes, still refusing to look at you. You just huffed. “Mind explaining to me what just happened?”

Peter shook his head, turning the volume up even higher before MJ snatched the remote back, turning it down until she could hear you through her still recording home. You put your hands on your hips, looking like a mother scolding her child. Peter thought he was in the clear, he thought he managed to make it so you’d never find out he liked you more than a friend should.

The poor boy forgot you can resend a photo.

As soon as your phone buzzed, Peter’s stomach dropped, looking to MJ but she just shrugged and turned to Ned who wore a shit eating grin, shaking his phone in the air with your messages on the screen. The most recent showing the lovely picture Peter just deleted. By the time Peter stood up to grab your phone, you were already staring at it, your brows drawn in confusion.

“What am I looking at?” you asked genuinely, confused as to why this was a big deal. Peter could’ve sworn he left his body right there.

“Well this has been great!” He shouted, grabbing all of his belongings as you stood there even more confused.

“Peter, wait what-“

He turned around, seeing you still in his sweatshirt as he pointed at you. “You can return that later. O-or actually just keep it. Yeah, y-you uh, you keep it.” He was out the door before you could even process it. No one said a thing, the only sound in the room was the movie as you stood there confused.

“What the fuck just happened?” you looked between the phone and your friends who threw their heads back in frustration. You showed them the picture. “Why is this such a big deal?” MJ came up with an idea, rewinding the movie before coming to the perfect stop. On the screen, Flynn Ryder sat, smiling softly at Rapunzel. You still didn’t get it, turning to Ned for help.

“Peter’s Flynn, Y/N. You’re Rapunzel.” He deadpanned, beginning to wonder why he was friends with idiots. You slowly looked down at the phone, then up to the screen, then back to the phone before it clicked.

“Fuck!” you shouted and ran out the door, putting on a pair of MJ’s flip flops along the way. The cold air was nice when it hit you, but you couldn’t pay attention to that, you had to find Peter. The only problem was he was gone, probably flew away the second he had left MJ’s. You cursed yourself and headed inside, glaring at your friends. “Okay. How long have I been blind?” MJ grinned as she threw an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you into her side and telling you everything.

The moment Peter got into his bedroom, he collapsed into his bed and let out a scream into his pillow. May rushed into the room holding some trophy Peter got from the decathlon, not expecting Peter to be back already and she definitely wasn’t expecting him to come in through the window. Her hand rested on her chest as she calmed down, her features softening at Peter on the bed.

“Uh oh. What happened?” She asked as she sat down on Peter’s bed, putting a hand on his back and rubbing.

“Y/N.” He mumbled, having to repeat himself for May to hear.

“Y/N? Did you guys have a fight?” Peter shook his head, staying still for a second before flipping onto his back, letting his arm rest across his eyes.

“She kind of found out I have feelings for her.”

“And she turned you down?” May was surprised. There was no doubt in her mind that you were in love with her nephew. You both were way too close to remain best friends for the rest of your lives. Peter just grunted, making May quirk her brow. “Peter?”

He peaked out from his arm, wincing at May’s tone. “I might not have let her have the option?” His statement sounded more like a question as May sighed, scooting over on his bed.

“Ok. Tell me what happened.”

Peter sighed, recounting the story from when he woke up this morning all the way to Ned resending the picture. “And then I just sorta… ran out.”

May nodded, listening intently before chuckling and making Peter furrow his brows. “So, you don’t even know if she knows?”

“Oh, she knows.” He assured her, promising that MJ and Ned told you the second he left. “What do I do May? I mean, what if she doesn’t feel the same way.”

May nodded, about to comfort him before movement on his fire escape caught her attention. She watched carefully before seeing you in Peter’s sweatshirt, a worried look on your face as you finally reached his window. “I guess, you’ll have ask her yourself.”

Peter was confused before May stood up, heading to the window and just past her Peter saw you there, giving the woman a smile. The window was pushed open and you climbed inside. “Hey May.”

“Y/N. You two need to learn we have a front door.” She gave you a wink before turning back to Peter, mouthing for him to talk to you. Peter’s eyes widened, shooting daggers at her before she excused herself, leaving you and Peter to talk.

To say it was awkward would be an understatement. You didn’t know how to start this conversation. Well, you did have one idea.

“I like you.” you blurted out, catching Peter off guard.

“W-what?”

“I like you?” you repeated, slightly unsure before shaking your head. “I like you. I’ve liked you for years and I was too chicken to say anything because I thought you would only see me as that weird best friend you have and can’t get rid of. And I know you feel the same way because MJ and Ned told me. Everything. And I like you.” You cringed at your words, but Peter thought his jaw hit the floor. He couldn’t move. You liked him. You were standing in front of him, telling him that you, his crush for the last few years, liked him. “Um, Peter? Could you maybe say something?”

“Does that mean I can ask on a date tomorrow night?” He took you by surprise, jumping right into it. You scratched your temple, biting your lip to keep from smiling big.

“I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t.” You admitted sheepishly, feeling your cheeks heat up. Peter chuckled, slowly making his way over to you.

“I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I don’t really know how this works.” He confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. You grinned at him, bringing your hand up to the back of his neck and bring his lips to your own. It was better than Peter thought it would be, sure kissing was amazing, but kissing you? Peter knew he would already find himself doing it whenever he could. When you finally pulled away, both of your eyes opening, Peter had to hold myself back from doing it again. He smiled, looking down at his hoodie swallowing you whole before scrunching his nose up. “I’m not getting my sweatshirt back, am I?”

“Oh, no.” You deadpanned. “First rule about being a boyfriend.” You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his scrunched nose as he relaxed, pressing a kiss to your lips when you had pulled away, succeeding in getting you to giggle. “Your hoodies are automatically mine.”

Peter felt a chuckle erupt in his stomach as he looked at you. “That’s fine, it looks better on you anyways.” You bit back a smile, interlocking your hands with Peter’s and letting your forehead rest on his, staring into his eyes that alone were smiling back at you.

Finally, you caught Peter looking at you the way you wanted him too, only this time you were seeing him too.

A/N: This wasn’t actually a request, but it was something in my WIP’s for so long I got tired of seeing it so I had to finish it. Drop a follow and help me get to 2K! 

A/N EDIT: I actually really liked this piece and it’s not showing up in tags, so if you all would do me a favor and reblog I’d appreciate it. Please don’t let this piece flop. Thanks guys.

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[guildedlily6]

You Plus Me Equals Soulmates Part 6 (Peter Parker x Reader Soulmate!AU)

Summary: After the explosion from the last part, Y/N is trapped in the elevator.  Will Peter get to her in time?  Internally, Y/N still suspects Peter of keeping something from her.  Will Peter finally cave and tell Y/N he’s Spider-Man?  Or will this secret break them apart?

Author’s Note: I actually meant to release this yesterday, but I started editing too late at night, got distracted, and started reading another fan fiction.  Oops.  Part 7 should be out tomorrow, but we’ll see.  Hope you enjoy this chapter and if you haven’t read the parts before this, click on the links below.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Word Count; 2,063 (sorry it’s a little shorter)

Warnings: swearing, angst :), mentions of blood.

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

‘What just exploded?’ is a question you should never have to ask yourself while 400 feet above the ground in an elevator.

I got blown back into the elevator wall from the explosion and I can feel everything moving very quickly around me.

Panicked, I look around wildly at everyone else.  The purple thing has fallen out of Ned’s backpack.  Everyone is still in one piece so maybe it was a different type of explosion?

Was this because of the purple glowy thing?  What is it and why does Ned have it?  What does Peter know about it?

I have many more questions, but the most important one is probably ‘how am I going to survive?’.

From the feeling in my stomach and the shaking of the walls around me, I can tell the elevator is falling.  Very quickly. 

What was the elevator precaution the lady told us about?  I can’t remember so I just press myself against the wall, my lips pressed together unlike others, who are screaming.

Suddenly the elevator stops abruptly, but not as if we’ve hit the ground.  My head smacks against the wall and I see bright spots for several seconds.

Everything is quiet.  The elevator bobs a bit, suspended by something.

“Is everyone ok?”  Mr.Harrington silently examines us for injury, shaken by the abrupt stop.

The tour guide lady stands up and brushes herself off.  “I’m sure we’ll be ok.  Just stay calm and help will be on the way.”

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” shouts Flash, on the verge of hyperventilating.  

I grab onto the bar in the elevator and pull myself up to my feet.  I exchange a look with Ned, who looks pale and fearful.  I then look over to Liz, who just finished screaming from the fall.

“Shouldn’t we try to climb out or something?  Through the elevator shaft up there?”  I gesture up to the ceiling, where a latch is.

“Oh, uh… Yeah, she’s right.  That’s part of the procedure,” the lady agrees, nodding.

“Isn’t it more dangerous out there?  What if we get crushed by something?  What if the elevator starts moving again?  What if-” Flash’s expression is that of hysteria.

“We’re fine, Flash,” says Liz, reassuring Flash.

The tour guide gets out her keys and pulls out a special one for the latch.  She reaches up and opens it easily.  “I’ll get out first to help everyone,” she announces before climbing out with ease due to her height.

“Yeah… I-I’ll go out first to help,” stutters Mr.Harrington, clearly just eager to get out of the elevator.

With the help of Mr.Harrington standing on Flash’s back, he scrambles out of the elevator and to the room that’s to the right of the elevator shaft.

“Who's next?”  I look around, trying to stay calm, but panic seeps into my voice anyway.

What if the elevator DOES start moving and we’re all done for?  What if I die? What if I never get to see Peter again?

The last thought makes my heart ache.

“I’ll go next,” volunteers Liz, already climbing onto Flash’s back and out of the elevator with help from the tour guide lady.

Five more kids get out of the elevator.  Left now is Ned, Flash, Betty, and me. “C-can I go next, guys?”  Ned looks around, unsure of whether Flash will give up his hero facade and ask to go next.

We help Ned out of the shaft just before there’s a sudden snap.

The three of us, surprised from the loud noise and from the unexpected drop, scream.  The force causes me to fall on my back, knocking the air out of my lungs and making my head pound from my previous encounter with the falling elevator.

This time something else stops it.  From what I can see out of the escape door and floor of the elevator, it looks like… webs?

Spider-Man?

A head peeks in from the escape opening.  It is Spider-Man.  I can’t see through his mask, but it’s as if I can sense how panic-stricken he is.  

I get up quickly.

“Oh my god it’s Spider-Man.  Spider-Man came to save me, I-I… I’m going to puke,” Flash says, hand at his chest.

“Flash you’re next,” I state.

Flash gladly uses our help to get out and almost faints when Spider-Man grabs his hand to pull him out.

Betty and I look at each other.  Something metal groans and Spider-Man jumps up, webbing himself to the top of the elevator shaft.  He webs the elevator again, slowly pulling us and the elevator up.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

“You first,” Betty and I say at the same time.

“Really, Betty.  I’ll make it out.”  Realizing how grim that sounded, I offer a weak smile.

She nods gravely and climbs up, taking a boost from my knee.

I’m too fucking short, I register way too late, comparing my height to the distance I’ll need to jump to make it out.

I look up hopelessly at Spider-Man, but I don’t know why.  The way I look at him is similar to that when I look at Peter in a desperate situation.

Now is not the time for this, Y/N.  Besides, Spider-Man could be like 40 years old and you wouldn’t know.

I see Spider-Man studying the elevator and elevator shaft hastily, trying to form a plan, distressed.

________Peter’s POV_________

What am I supposed to do?  How can I save Y/N?  I never got to tell her… NO.  She’s NOT going to die.

As I’m frozen in fear, I don’t realize that the rest of the elevator supports are about to break.

There’s a bang as the supports break off and I’m yanked downward, taken aback by the sudden movement.

Being pulled away from the top of the elevator shaft causes debris to fall, making my web aim on Y/N more difficult.

Nonetheless, the webs still reach Y/N in the elevator shaft, wrapping around her wrist and pulling her through the escape door, suspending her in the air.

She screams and I realize a piece of debris must have hit her.  Her scream reaches somewhere deep inside me and fills me with pain.

Was I too late?  I can’t lose her.  I love her.

It’s probably too soon, but I love her and she’s my soulmate.

I pull her up to me and into my arms and she’s shaking with fear.  There’s a wound and blood trailing from her forehead, down the side of her face.

But she’s ok.  She’s here and she’s in my arms, safe and sound.

She doesn’t know it’s me.

Agony fills me as I realize she probably hates me for not showing up to the National Decathlon and not being here with her.

I softly land in the room to the right of the elevator shaft.  Her face is buried in my shoulder.

“Oh thank god you’re okay, Y/N,” Mr.Harrington says, rushing over to us.  “Thank you so much, Spider-Man.

I nod, hesitant to let her go.  I don’t want to leave her.  I want to tell her the truth about who I am and I want to be here to comfort her.

I take her shoulders and gently push her away, webbing out of the building.

________Y/N’s POV_________

He felt warm and familiar.  Like Peter.  There’s a connection between us.  Like with Peter.

I watch as Spider-Man leaves through a window.

Soon firemen come and we reach the ground.  Flash bursts into tears once he feels his feet on solid ground.  I don’t judge him.

I scan the crowd of people.  Peter is nowhere to be seen.

Where is Peter?  What the hell is wrong with him?  I could’ve died and now he’s not even here.

Ambulance workers hand us shock blankets and lead me away into an ambulance with the consent of Mr.Harrington.

I feel anxiety kick in when they ask me to lay down on a gurney.

Why are they doing this?  I feel fine.

In all honesty, I do feel fine.  But when I think about it, I just feel dazed and numb.

“She may have a concussion.  She doesn’t need stitches for the wound on her head, but it still could’ve caused trauma to the head.  Her wrist is broken,” reads the nurse in the ambulance, peering at a clipboard.

May have a concussion?  Broken wrist?

After a few minutes of them giving me some pain killers, even though I still couldn’t feel anything because of shock, I arrive at the hospital.

They wheel me into a room and start cleaning the wound on my head for a second time, this time bandaging it afterwards.  Someone carefully takes hold of my wrist, which causes pain to shoot through my hand and I flinch.  They wrap it up and begin on a cast after a quick x-ray.

Finally after all the activity, they leave me alone.

I want my mom.  I want someone to be here.  I want to go home.

I want Peter.

After a few minutes, my wish comes true.

Peter rushes into the room and instantly to my side.  “Are you okay?  How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?  You-”

“Where were you, Peter?”

“What?”

“Where were you?”  My voice cracks this time.

Ugh.  I hate crying.

“I- I was… Somewhere.  I- uh...I forgot about it… I guess,” mumbles Peter.  He avoids eye contact.

“Somewhere?  You forgot?  How could you forget?  Peter, the National Decathlon was something you know I’ve been looking forward to for the past month.  And you weren’t there.  And then everyone almost died.  You weren’t there.  Peter I- you…” I stop talking, now aware of the face that tears have spilled down my cheeks.

Peter’s expression is a mask of guilt.  “I’m sorry.  I promise I’ll tell you later-”

“Yeah, that’s what you said on the call earlier.  Later is now.  And if you don’t tell me now, there won’t be a later.”

Why did I just say that?  All I want is for him to tell me what he’s keeping from me.  Why can’t he?

Peter flinches as if I’ve just slapped him across the face.  He takes my hand lightly.  “I promise I will tell you.”  He glances around the room at the cameras.  “I just can’t right now.

“Fine,” I say simply.  “I think you should leave, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes fill with tears as he stops rubbing my hand with his thumb.  He stands up slowly.  “Y/N I- I have to tell you something.  I… I love you.”

I freeze.

He loves me?

Do I love him?

“Peter, I-”

“I understand if you don’t feel the same.  I mean, before all of this you didn’t even really believe in soulmates.  Who knows if it’s a load of crap?  But I love you, Y/N.  You deserve to know that.  I swear on my life that I never meant to hurt you or lie to you, but for now I have to.  I’m leaving, because if that’s truly what will make you want, then that’s what I want for you.”  Peter silently leaves through the door and it shuts quietly, leaving me in silence.

I didn’t want him to leave, so why did I tell him to?

I look down at my hand and stifle a sob, bringing my hand up to cover my mouth.

I love him too.

________Peter’s POV________

I quickly walk out of the hospital and jump up to sit on the rooftop.  Now I let a tear escape.

Does she not love me?  We’re soulmates.  Aren’t we?

I had wanted to tell her so badly.  She seemed so hurt and upset that I’ve been keeping something from her, reasonably so, too.  There were too many cameras.  Too many people that could’ve heard.  If protecting her from being used against me means keeping secrets, I’ll do what I have to.

Maybe I should try to be more like Mr.Stark.  He told the world who he was and yeah there was backlash and his loved ones were put in danger, but he dealt with it, didn’t he?  Mr.Stark won’t accept me and now even Y/N won’t accept me.

I put my head in my hands.

As long as Y/N is okay, I’m okay.  

I would do anything to protect her.

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

Yay relationship issues.  Sorry.  Not yay.  Thanks for reading!

@disfunctionalcellmembrane @marvel4geeks @ilovesupersoldiers @sovereignparker @averyfosterthoughts

Part 7

[official-impravidus]

5 Times Peter Did Someone Else’s Makeup

By @official-impravidus for @littlemissagrafina

Rating: General

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Happy Hogan, Happy Hogan/May Parker

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, May Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Morgan Stark

Summary: and the 1 time he did his own

(written for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange)

1

To put it simply, he had been in a rush. Competition season was just around the corner, and MJ was pushing the team to their limits with extra practice, which meant morning practice and after school practice. Peter had barely gotten out of the door once he remembered that he had to get to the school, being in the middle of a deep concentration as he perfected his winged eyeliner. Then, the after school practice ran a half an hour late because everyone was slacking on their ancient Greek philosophers. 

So there he was, scurrying out of the metal doors of Midtown and nearly ripping the car door off its hinges as he rushed into his seat.

“Hey Happy! I’m so so so sorry I’m late. MJ made us stay late because Flash didn’t know difference between Hypatia and Aspasia even though they have over a century apart, and then she started quizzing us on which philosophers specialized in Pythagorean, Peripatetic, or Pyrrhonist, and everyone kept mixing them up and we had to go over it for like twenty minutes until we all had it down and…”

“Don’t need the whole run down, bud. It’s okay,” Happy stated. “Couldn’t understand it if I tried.”

“Right. Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly. “How was your day?”

“Same old, same old. Once I drop you off, I’m heading back to the apartment.”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “Oh, it’s date night! Where are you taking May?”

“Do you remember that new restaurant near that bike shop?”

Peter’s mouth went agape. “That super fancy one where they put chocolate in everything?!”

Happy nodded with a soft grin. “That’s the one.”

“She always looks through the window when we pass by there! She looked up the menu and I swear she was drooling when she read about the bacon mac and cheese.” Peter smiled. “She’s gonna love it, Happy.”

“I hope so.”

“She will,” Peter reassured. With a content sigh, he pulled out his laptop. “I should probably get started on my research paper.”

“You know Tony’s rule,” Happy said.

“No lab work until homework is done,” Peter recited with a nod. “I know, I know. Which is why I’m doing it now.”

“Is it a blackout kinda day or a white noise one?” Happy asked.

“I could go for some of that boring piano music you like.”

Happy shoved Peter’s arm. “It’s not boring.”

“It just strips all the tenseness from my tight, aching muscles. It lulls me to sleep.”

“If it lulls you to sleep, then you shouldn’t be listening to it while you’re doing homework,” Happy said.

“Then, what do you suggest?” Peter asked.

Happy pressed the radio screen and a string quartet of Panic! at the Disco’s “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” began to play.

“Oh, you know me so well.”

Peter fell into a deep focus and had barely realized the car ride was over until Happy had said a soft “we’re here.”

“Thanks, Happy. Have a good evening!” Peter said cheerfully.

“You’re staying here tonight, right?” Happy asked.

“Yeah, I am. It’s a Compound weekend. Why…” Peter’s faced morphed into a disgusted grimace. “Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He shook his head. “See you later!” Happy gave a gentle wave before pulling out.

Peter let out a breath, shoving his hands in his pockets, as he headed into the Compound, fiddling with the watermelon gum wrappers crumpled deep in his jeans.

With a skip in his step, he entered the lab, plopping his backpack on the floor and hopping into his rollie chair with a little spin.

“Hello to you too,” Tony said with a laugh. “Bad traffic?”

“Late practice,” Peter corrected.

“She’s really drilling you guys, huh?” Tony asked. “Well, at least you’ll be prepared.” He looked up from his project, but stopped as he caught sight of Peter’s face. “New look?”

Peter furrowed his brows in confusion, but froze. He hadn’t used a makeup wipe on the drive there. “I… uhm… I… it’s not what it looks like.”

“Well it looks good. Would’ve barely noticed if it weren’t for the eyeliner it’s so natural. I mean really, you’re glowing. How do you get your skin looking so dewey and fresh?”

Peter’s brain could hardly catch up. “I mix highlighter with my foundation.”

“See, I’ve never thought about that. Mine always comes out so dull and flat. I’ll have to try that.”

“You, uh, you’ve worn makeup?” Peter stammered.

“When you’re on camera as much as me, you’ve gotta get at least a little pick me up. I mean, some of that shit is high definition. Do I really want people seeing my pores and pimples in high definition? No thank you.”

“Oh. Uh. Wow.”

“You can’t be new at this. I mean, it looks great. I’m jealous if you are.”

Peter shook his head. “I’ve been doing it for a couple months.”

“And why haven’t I seen it?” Tony questioned.

“I, uh, didn’t want you to think it was weird,” Peter admitted.

Tony softened. “Why would you think that?”

“I mean, I worry you think a lot of things are weird. I just, want to... impress you, I guess.”

“Well, wanna know what impresses me? That winged eyeliner. It takes Pepper ten minutes of fiddling with makeup remover on cue tips when she’s doing hers.”

Peter, nearly rendered speechless, nodded again. “It took a lot of practice.” He paused. “You’re really… you don’t think I’m weird?”

“I could never think you were weird, kid.” He pursed his lips. “Well, yes I can, because you put sour skittles in your chocolate ice cream, but that’s what makes me love you. Don’t be afraid to be weird. I’ve been weird all my life. Embrace the weird and conquer the world with your weirdness because one day, what used to be weird will be brilliant and people will want to be weird like you.”

Peter looked to his feet bashfully. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“You know, Pepper has a big charity thing tonight. She could really use your help with her smokey eye.”

Peter perked up. “Really? I’ve… I’ve done makeup on May before, but I’ve never done it on someone with an eye shape like hers.” “Then this will be perfect practice!”

Peter got a little mascara on her eyelid, but he made up with the perfect blend of silver sparkle and charcoal shades.

2

“Stop squeezing your eyes, you’re gonna make the eyeliner bumpy.”

“Well, it’s a little hard to relax when you’ve got a pencil pressing against my eye.”

Peter sighed. “Ned, you just gotta breathe. I’m not gonna poke your eye.”

“It sure feels like you’re poking my eye,” Ned grumbled.

“I’ll do it even lighter,” Peter reassured.

It was 9AM, and Peter was trying to use as much precision in his rush to finish Ned and MJ’s makeup for the pride parade. He had finished his look, a blend of pinks, purples, and blues with silver glitter eyeliner, and was finishing Ned’s rainbow look, or at least, attempting to.

“You were doing so good, man,” Peter whined.

“Because it was all fluffy brushes before this!” Ned groaned. “Just get it over with.”

“I could if you would stop freaking squeezing your eyelids!”

MJ sighed. “Some of us are in the waiting dock, Ned.”

“I’m sorry! I’m not used to this!” Ned exclaimed.

Peter pulled gently at the skin on his browbone, making the skin pulled taunt enough to slide the eyeliner on with one smooth swipe. He followed suit with the other and slumped back into his chair. “Okay. You’re done.” 

“Oh, thank God, because I had to go to the bathroom at like the contour.” He scampered out of the bathroom, legs held tight. 

“What’s in store for me?” MJ asked.

“I was thinking a sharp edged blend of pink and to the dark pink to brown in the crease with a cut crease,” Peter thought out loud.

There was a knock at the door.

“You expecting someone?” MJ asked.

“No?” Peter said, confused. He went to the door, eyes widening in shock at the sight.

There was Tony Stark in a bright blue, pink, and yellow vertical striped suit.

“Mr. Stark! What are you doing here?”

“Today is pride, right?” Tony said with a cheeky grin on his lips.

“I-it is.”

“Great! Then, I’ll give you three a ride. I’m meeting the gang later.”

Peter’s nodded, mouth still wide open. “Because New York pride is endorsed by the Avengers. Right.”

“So, what do you say? I may or may not have pulled out my holographic chrome Ferrari.”

Peter rolled his eyes but let out a light chuckle. “Of course you did.” He stepped out of the way. “MJ’s look will be quick. If you want, I can do something for you?”

Tony grinned. “I’d love that.”

Behind his tinted shades, Tony rocked a pink crease, yellow lid, and blue lower lashline, a big smile adorned by a bright pink lipstick.

3

After the big robot invasion of 2025, the Avengers were beyond exhausted from the dealing with the repercussions and volunteering for the rebuilding.

For the first time in weeks after being preoccupied with volunteering, charity work, and clean up, they could finally relax for a group get together outside of work.

“You know what I could use?” Tony asked to no one in particular. “Really crappy, artificial, not at all traditional Chinese food. Who’s in?” The team all muttered words of agreement, melting into the cushions of the recreation room’s couches. 

“Text me your orders. I sent the menu in the groupchat.”

More mutters of acknowledgement.

Peter settled on the floor, makeup scattered on the coffee table, mouth agape as he stared intently at his reflection, fake lash in hand.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

“Graduation is just around the corner and I need to perfect my look for commencements,” Peter explained. He blinked, checking for any warping. “How does it look?” 

The team let out a low murmur of “oo”s and “ah”s and “nice.” 

“That looks fantastic,” Natasha praised.

“The adornments to your face are absolutely astonishing!” Thor praised. “Would you be so kind to apply your pigments to my eyes?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “You want me to do your makeup?”

“I’d love if you did mine, too,” Natasha said.

“I bet you could do some great red, white, and blue for me,” Steve said.

Peter looked around. “That could be really cool. Avengers inspired makeup looks on the Avengers? I mean, that’d be an honor.”

So he got started. As they feasted on fried rice and General Tso’s spicy chicken, they jammed to ABBA and looked fabulous while dancing to Dancing Queen.

4

“So, I made you some of that green juice you like so you can sip on that while we get you ready. We also put together a playlist of all of your favorite dishwashing music which we both know is also your hype playlist and you need to get a little hype! Let loose! In addition, we also brought you some of your favorite hors d’oeuvres such as chocolate covered strawberries, that basil spread with the tomatoes on the crunchy bread, caprese salad, and just a big pile of prosciutto because I know you like to stress eat salty meats.”

May smiled softly. “Thank you, baby. This is amazing.”

“How are you feeling?” Peter asked.

“Nervous. Excited. Mostly excited. How are… are you okay? With this?” 

Peter nodded. “Of course I am. You’re happy, Happy’s happy, and I… I’m happy. I’m happy that you could find something like this after Ben.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I’m getting married.”

Peter grinned. “You are.” He spun her chair. “Now sit there and be pretty while I do you even prettier.”

“You know, you were at my first wedding.”

Peter looked up. “I was?”

“You were just a baby, but Richard and Mary didn’t want to leave you at home after you had just gotten over your pneumonia. You were wearing a little onesie with a tuxedo printed on it, and you had your foofie.”

“I remember my foofie!” Peter smiled nostalgically as he envisioned the fluffy scarf that he snuggled with for years.

“You had just gotten it, and you would just run your fingers on the blue fluff, entranced by the texture on your little fingers.”

Peter chuckled. “Yeah. I loved that thing.”

“But, you caused a little bit of a scene.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “I did?”

“Well, your mom had just come back from feeding you and Ben wanted to make you giggle, so he was dancing with you, twirling and spinning you around, and I guess he jerked you around a bit too much and you vomited.”

“Oh no.”

“In his mouth and all over his tux.”

“Oh no.”

“So, really, there’s no reason to worry about messing anything up because at least you’re not doing that,” she said with a teasing grin.

“Well, I’ll try my best not to do that again,” Peter said. He softened, squeezing her hand gently. “You’re gonna make so many new memories and it’s gonna be awesome, May.”

“So are you,” May said. 

“I’m really happy for you.” He shook his head. “Now don’t you start crying and streak this amazing foundation I just put on.”

She let out a wet laugh and held her arms out. “C’mere.”

Peter gave her a tight hug, snuggling next to her in her cushy chair.

She placed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He pulled away. “Now, c’mon. Stop stalling. I have to get this done so I can do mine.”

5

“Tony. Stop crying.”

“This is an emotional time and I am an emotional man!”

“It’s just homecoming.”

Tony crossed his arms and scowled at Peter. “Well you’re not one to talk about just homecoming.”

Peter pouted. “You crash a plane and nearly get killed by your homecoming date’s dad one time…”

“Look at my beautiful girl.” He pet her hairsprayed locks gently.

Morgan rolled her eyes with a smile on her dark red lips. “You’re so embarrassing, Dad.”

“So, when are we meeting this boy? Because then I’ll really be embarrassing.”

“Dad!” Morgan whined.

“You still have told me nothing about this boy. What are you hiding? Is he an Anti-Avenger protestor? Oh, oh! Or is he a scheming supervillain turning you to the dark side?” He gasped. “Does he work for Oscorp?”

“His name is Miles, he’s an artist, and he’s really really nice so please don’t screw this up for me because I really really like him.”

Tony softened. “I’ll behave.”

“Please,” Morgan pleaded.

“I’ll behave!” Tony repeated.

“He won’t,” Peter stated. “And we both know that.”

“Hey! I take offense to that,” Tony said.

“Well, as much as I love this wonderful family chat, I really gotta finish Morgan’s makeup, and when you stress her out, it makes her eyes scrunch up and I can’t get the blending right so… shoo. Scooch your booch outta here.”

“No. I want to stay,” Tony stated.

“Are you not gonna distract her?” Peter asked with a raised brow.

“Maybe…?”

“Tony!”

“Okay! Fine. I won’t say a word. You won’t even know I’m here.” Peter turned back to Morgan, packing a shimmery white on her lid, but flipped around when he heard a choked sob from behind.

“Tony,” he said exasperatedly.

“She’s just growing up so fast!”

1

Peter’s gloved hands trembled as he filled in his eyebrows in a room that did nothing to block the shutters of cameras and excited murmur from the large crowd on the other side of the wall.

Tony took his hand in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Because you can back out any time you’d like.” Peter shook his head. “It’s time. The new generation of Avengers deserve to have a real face to lead them, and for the public to trust us, they need to know that I trust them too. The world knows Spider-Man and his good. And now, they’ll know Peter Parker too.”

“They already know Peter Parker,” Tony said softly. “Peter Parker conducted the widest reaching scientific climate change campaign. He promoted carbon storage, protected and expanded forests in every country on every continent on the planet, and invented a reliable and accessible long-term energy source cheaper and easier to manufacture than fossil fuels. God, Peter. Once they find out that Peter Parker is Spider-Man, they’re going to love him even more.”

Peter’s face flushed a warm red. “Thanks, Tony.” He looked to his reflection and smiled sadly. Looking at his brown eyes, red blended to his crease and blue lining his lashline, he realized that this was the end to a lifetime of secrets and a new beginning where he could finally share the whole person he was.

“You ready?” Tony asked.

“How do I look?” Peter asked meekly.

“You look amazing.” He pulled him into a tender hug. “They’re gonna love you, kid.” He placed his hands firmly on his shoulders and gave a little squeeze. “Do you know how proud I am of you? Because I am. You’re really proving yourself to be quite the hero, and I don’t just mean in your bright red and blue, which really, are you sure we can’t negotiate something a little less gaudy…”

“Says Mr. Hot Rod Red and Gold…”

“I mean, bright blue? Even I have enough class and taste to know that bright blue is a little much.”

“Tony,” Peter said.

“I’m so proud of you kid. You’ve grown into a fantastic young man, and you’re gonna keep growing into a visionary for this next century. You might even outshine me.” He shook his head. “No. I know you will. Because I know you, and I know that you’re an intelligent, selfless, innovating, tenacious, unbelievably incredible person, and you’re gonna change the world.” He smiled a tight, teary smile. “And the world’s not gonna know what hit it once you give it all you’ve got.”

Peter slipped his mask on and took one last shaky breath. “Let’s go do this.”

My name is Peter Benjamin Parker and I am Spider-Man.

[cherriontop]

Worth the Hassle

This is my Valentine’s Day fic written for @starker-valentines​ and my story goes to @starkerkeyz​ I apologize for how late this is, but I hope you can enjoy it!

Prompt:  Peter is excited for valentine's because it's his first with a BF, Tony tries to be excited but is reminded of his past failures as a BF. Peter comforts him when he finds out

I changed the prompt a little bit (mostly because of my own failure to read) Mostly Tony’s been hurt in the past and no longer likes Valentine’s Day. 

Warnings: Peter’s age is unspecified, mentions of past cheating (not between Peter and Tony)

               “So. . .” Peter started as he plopped down on the couch beside Tony, careful not to jostle the laptop perched in the other man’s lap. Tony doesn’t even glance up, fingers flying on the keyboard. Peter purses his lips, letting his fingers walk across Tony’s shoulder, anything to draw the man’s attention. “When are you going to ask me?”

               It takes Tony a moment, but he does pause, tilting his head towards his boyfriend with an amused smile. “I can’t read your mind, princess.” He chuckles softly as Peter pouts some more, then makes a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Ask you what, darlin’?”

               A brilliant smile popped back onto Peter’s face, his cheeks swelling with sweetness. “Are you going to ask me to be your Valentine? It’s only two days away!” Almost immediately, the smile drops off Tony’s face, and he straightens, squaring his shoulders.

               “Pete-“ he starts, avoiding the boy’s eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, but this holiday just isn’t a good day for me. Do you think that maybe we could, I don’t know, just pretend it doesn’t exist?” He scratches the back of his neck, and Peter feels his heart sink. His first Valentine’s day with a boyfriend and Tony doesn’t want to celebrate?

               “Yeah, sure,” he answers, plastering on a fake smile. He doesn’t miss the way Tony’s shoulders sag a little with obvious relief. “Don’t worry about it.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the man’s head, then stood. “I’m going to go make something for dinner.”

               Tony hums and returns back to his work, not even noticing Peter’s sadness.

~~

               “My first Valentine’s day with a boyfriend, and he doesn’t want to even go out for dinner,” Peter complained, dropping his head down against Ned’s sheets. His best friend was currently putting together the latest Lego Star Wars set he’d gotten, and Peter was meant to be helping him. Instead, he was sprawled on the bed, watching the ceiling as if it had all the answers to his problems.

               “Did you ask him why he didn’t want to celebrate?”

               Peter turned his head towards the other boy, chewing on his lip. “No, but the way he said it made it feel like it was better not to ask. But what’s so horrible about a holiday that focuses on appreciating your lover?”

               “Well maybe you could ask one of his friends. There’s got to be a reason he doesn’t like it.” Ned shrugged like it was no big deal, connecting two more pieces. Peter released his lip as he pondered his friends words. Who could he ask? He didn’t want to ask Pepper because she and Tony seem to have a strained relationship. They always seemed to be dancing around one another, like they knew they were awkward but couldn’t tell anyone.

               He thought briefly about asking Steve, but he and Tony had a falling out recently over Steve’s new boyfriend, Bucky. Peter wasn’t sure what the issue was, but he figured that he’d use Steve as a last resort. He didn’t want words getting to Tony that he was hitting it up with his old friend. Tony wasn’t the kind of person to ban him from seeing anyone, but Peter didn’t want to start anything unnecessary.

               Rhodey seemed to be Peter’s next best option. He’d known Tony for years, so surely he would know what Tony’s deal with Valentine’s day was. And if he didn’t, he would be able to point Peter towards someone who would know.

               “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Ned,” Peter answered, rolling over onto his stomach to look at his friend. Ned didn’t even look up, sorting through the pieces in search for the one he needed.

               “Yeah, yeah. Just come help me. I can’t build this all on my own.”

~~

               Getting Rhodey alone was a task alone, and Peter was so distracted with it he almost missed his chance. They were at some kind of event, Tony insisting that they needed to make an appearance for the press, and he’d been focused on Rhodey in the background, waiting for him to go to the bathroom. Just moments before the man did, Tony tugged on his hand, looking concerned.

               “Sweetheart, are you alright?” He asked softly, letting his arm slide around Peter’s waist, more of a comfort than anything. “I know you’re not a big fan of these things, but it’s important I show my face for important Stark Industry events.” Peter smiles at his boyfriend, a genuine curve of his lips, and he leans close to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek.

               “I know, and I’m alright,” he promised, nearly missing when Rhodey excused himself to go to the bathroom. “Just a little distracted by how much I need to use the bathroom.”

               Tony barked out a laugh, his eyes glimmering with joy. “Baby, you’ve already gone twice since we got here. How much have you had to drink?” Peter rolled his eyes with a playful smile, then leaned up to kiss Tony again before he slipped away. He weaved through the crowd, trying not to spill any drinks or step on any toes, eyes zeroed in on the man entering the bathroom.

               Peter didn’t realize until he was pushing the door open that the bathroom was probably not the ideal place to talk.

               By then, though, it was too late and Peter really needed to talk to him. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and Peter would be miserable if he didn’t know why Tony hated it so much. Peter lingered by the sinks, waiting patiently for his friend to be done. He nodded pleasantly at the other men coming and going, trying not to feel too out of place.

               Finally, Rhodey came out of the stall, and if he was surprised to see Peter, he didn’t show it. “Hey, kid. Waiting for Tony?”

               “No, actually, I was waiting for you. Can we talk?”

               The door opened again, and Peter’s eyes darted to the man entering, making a beeline for the stall. He turned back to Rhodey, watching him wash his hands. “I don’t know if anyone ever told you this, but the men’s bathroom isn’t really the best place for a private conversation,” he admonished gently, drying his hands.

               Peter’s cheeks colored, and he fought against the urge to stare at his shoes. “I-I know that, but it’s just so hard getting you alone without Tony there.”

               “C’mon, kid.” Rhodey settled his hand on Peter’s shoulder, steering him out of the bathroom and towards the stairs. “Let’s go outside. It’s a lot more private out there.” Peter spares a glance back at Tony, but the man is surrounded by other people. Peter doesn’t think he’ll miss him if he’s gone for half an hour.

               The evening air is cool against Peter’s cheeks, but the suit around his body keeps him warm. He mentally thanks his boyfriend for forcing him to wear it that night. Rhodey nods to people passing, and Peter just feels like a small child, trailing along after the man. They head to the well kept garden, which is thankfully empty. Rhodey finds a metal bench and sits, watching Peter expectantly.

               Peter takes a seat next to the other man, his stomach suddenly tying itself in knots. What if Rhodey thought this was dumb? What if he didn’t know anything? What if there was no reason for why Tony didn’t like this Holiday? What if-

               “Well?” Rhodey has no problem interrupting Peter’s thoughts, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed manner. Peter’s cheeks heat but he sits up straighter.

               “Why doesn’t Tony like Valentine’s Day?”

               Rhodey snorts, leaning back against the bench. “Kid, you brought me all the way out here to ask me that? What are we, in middle school? Why can’t you just ask Tony yourself? He doesn’t normally like to talk about his exes, but he’s so hung up over you I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to deny you a thing. Though I guess I thought the same about Pepper and here we are.”

               Peter lifted his head in interest, his suspicions confirmed. “They dated?”

               “Pete, they were a whirlwind of a couple. They both love each other very much, but a romantic relationship was not what they needed. I’ve never seen anyone crash and burn as much as they did. Such a shame they can barely look one another in the eye now.” Rhodey shook his head, then stretched his arms out. “They’ve gotten better, though. Working in such close proximity does that.”

               Peter let it sit in his mind for a few moments before he allowed himself to speak. “Is that why Tony hates Valentine’s Day? Because he loved Pepper so much?”

               Rhodey paused, mulling the question over as he stared at the different colored flowers. “Nah, I don’t think that’s the reason he hates it. There’s many reasons, and Pepper might be one of them, sure, but he wasn’t too keen on the holiday even when he was with her. And you know her, she isn’t too big on holidays, either.”

               Rhodey seemed to think it over some more, eyes darting over to look at Peter. “I suppose he could hate the holiday because of Megan. He was with her before Pepper, and he found her in the bed with some other guy on Valentine’s day. He wasn’t super into her, but being cheated on is pretty awful no matter what. And then there was Stephanie the year before, and she broke up with him on Valentine’s Day. And before that was Amy, who exploited him for his money during the holiday and gave him a cheap belt in exchange. I guess Tony just hasn’t had any luck with his partners on Valentine’s Day.”

               Peter frowned, anger stirring in his gut. How dare these women ruin a special holiday for Tony? Peter doesn’t have much dating experience, but Tony is the sweetest and most thoughtful person he’s ever met. He can’t imagine cheating on him or taking advantage of him.

               “Okay, thanks Rhodey. I know what I have to do.” Peter stood up from the bench, knowing they’d been gone long enough that Tony was probably waiting for them. Rhodey stands up, and he slings his arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him into his side.

               “Of course. Just don’t be surprised if he doesn’t react the way you want him to. He’s only human.”

               Together, they head back upstairs, and once they enter the room, they slink to opposite sides. Peter slides back up to Tony, and the man gives him a fond smile, wrapping his arm around Peter’s waist as he presses a kiss to his temple. “Where’d you go, darling?” He asked, concern laced in his voice.

               Peter looks up into Tony’s deep eyes and his heart beats faster. He doesn’t know how the women looked at him like this and still managed to hurt Tony. “Just needed some fresh air.” The answer is enough for him, though, because he drops it, going back to talking to the other attendees. Peter just melts into his boyfriend’s side, a plan forming in his head.

~~

               Peter’s plan is going to shit. He’d asked Rhodey to get Tony to meet him in the park at 1, and it was only twenty minutes until one now. Peter was meant to be there first with all kinds of baked goods and gifts, but the kitchen was a mess, and all he had to say for it was a burnt pie. There was no time to start over, and even if there was, Peter had used up all the ingredients. The other dishes he’d attempted to make had gone much the same, and all he had to offer was an underbaked cupcake. Just one, though. He’d accidentally dropped all the others on the floor.

               He cursed as he tossed the pie in the trash, running his messy hands through his hair. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t show up to the picnic without any food. The only option he had left was to get some takeout and pick it up on the way over. Hopefully Tony would appreciate the thought and the effort and not what Peter was actually preparing.

               With his mind made up, Peter rushed to order some pizza, throwing in a side of breadsticks. Then he went for the gifts he’d bought Tony. Tony was a billionaire, which made him hard to buy for, but it was more the thought that Peter wanted to express. He’d bought a huge teddy bear, a bouquet of roses, a box of chocolate, and a nice watch because Tony refused to buy himself a new one. It was bound to break any day, and Peter wanted to be prepared so Tony wouldn’t have to go without one.

               Luckily, he’d left them in the car, so he didn’t even need to pack up as he raced to pick up the pizza. Tony would be getting to the park at any moment, and Peter didn’t want to be late to the date he’d set up.

               He spent longer than he’d planned to in the pizza parlor because they’d messed up his order and forgotten the breadsticks. He didn’t have time to wait for them to make them. He accepted his pizza and hurried back to his car. God, this whole plan was turning into one big disaster. He’d know better next year to plan in advance, so that he wasn’t running around at the last minute. He just hoped there would be a next year. If he didn’t woo Tony over with this flop of a Valentine’s date, Tony would still be against the holiday.

               He was late to the park, and he already had three texts from Rhodey asking where he was. He threw open the backseat, and to his horror, the teddy bear toppled out, right into the puddle of mud beneath it. Peter tried to snag it before it could touch the ground, but it was too late. The entire left side was caked with mud. He couldn’t give that to Tony.

               Panicked, Peter shoved it back into the car. No time to worry about it now. He grabbed the box of chocolates, lifting the lid to peek at the contents. He wanted to cry when he saw that the sun had melted every single chocolate, making a mess of the inside.

               At least he had the flowers.

               He grabbed the bouquet carefully, cradling them as he searched the rest of the bags for the watch. They were empty. He ground out loud, lightly banging his head against the seat. He must have left the watch at the store. God, what a disaster this was all turning out to be. How could he just present Tony with pizza and flowers? This was going to make the holiday even worse for his boyfriend. He was going to hate it.

               With that in mind, he trudged towards where he’d asked the other men to meet. His spirits were low and his nerves were curling in his stomach He was going to be added to the list of awful Valentine’s Days. He should just give up now before Tony can see how poorly everything is-

               “Watch out!”

               Peter barely has a second to look up before he was plowed over by an excited dog chasing a frisbee. He toppled to the side, outstretching the box of pizza but he was unable to save the flowers. He landed right on them, crushing them and the crinkly wrapping.

               Two girls were by his side in an instant, helping him up. “I’m so sorry!” The girl on his left exclaimed, brushing off his shirt. The other girl was dusting off his back. “We didn’t even see you there.”

               Peter wanted to cry and scream from frustration, but he just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I should have been paying attention.” He sighed, looking at the smushed flowers in his hand.

               “Oh no! Your flowers!”

               Peter glanced up at the girl when she spoke, then gave her a small smile. “Here, you can have them. They’re not much use to me anymore.” He handed over the flowers, and without even saying goodbye, he walked away. At least he had the pizza. At least he had the pizza.

               Tony and Rhodey were waiting by the blanket Peter had set out. Tony was sprawled out on it, watching a couple kids play tag. Rhodey was pacing in a small circle, looking mildly annoyed. Peter glanced at his watch and winced. He was fifteen minutes late.

               “Hey, guys,” he called once he was close enough. Both men turned to look at him, and Tony’s face only went more puzzled. “Thanks for bringing him here, Rhodey.” The man in question nodded, and without further pleasantries, he was gone. Tony sat up on the blanket, making room for Peter to plop down beside him. “I brought pizza. Happy Valentine’s day, even though you don’t like the holiday.”

               Tony took the pizza from Peter silently, popping the lid. “Pete?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Did you have a sudden urge for Hawaiian pizza?”

               Peter’s mouth dropped open with surprise, and he leaned over to peek in the box. Sure enough, he spotted the pineapple lying on top. He groaned and dropped down against the blanket. “Of course it’s wrong. Why wouldn’t it be? This day truly is a disaster.” He pressed his hands over his face, not sure if he was mad, embarrassed, or sad. Possibly all three. “Absolutely nothing has gone according to plan.”

               He felt more than heard Tony lay beside him, and then his hands were removed. His boyfriend’s amused eyes found his as Tony cradled his hands to his chest. “You had a plan, huh? Tell me about it.”

               With a sigh, Peter rolled onto his side to face Tony, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Well I know you’ve had a hard time with this holiday. People haven’t been that great to you. So I wanted to show you that you could enjoy the holiday. That it could be good. But nothing worked out. I was planning on cooking for you and having a nice picnic, but I can’t actually cook and everything turned out wrong. So then I ordered us pizza with breadsticks because I know you love them, but I ordered pepperoni, not Hawaiian.

               “And then I got here late and I had this huge teddy bear for you that fell into the mud. And your box of chocolates all melted in the car. And even the flowers were destroyed. And I know you’re a billionaire and you don’t actually need a gift, but it’s Valentine’s Day and I’m thinking you probably have never even gotten the stereotypical gifts, which is a staple for the holiday, by the way. I just wanted to give you a reason to like this day, but I messed that one up.”

               Peter had been so busy ranting that he hadn’t realized Tony had gone silent. But when he glanced up, he could see the way Tony’s eyes were misting up. “Tony?”

               “You did all this for me?” The man asked, voice deep and gruff.

               “Well yeah,” Peter answered, squeezing Tony’s hands. “Of course I did. You’re my boyfriend and I love you. You deserve to have someone do things for you.”

               Silence settled over them for a moment before Tony murmured a “come here, baby,” and pulled Peter in for a hard kiss. Relief flooded through Peter, and he melted against Tony’s chest, finally feeling like he can relax.

               “I don’t think I’ve loved anyone more than I love you right here, right now, Peter Parker,” Tony whispered against his lips, kissing him another time before he let himself continue. “I should have known things would be different with you. You’re not like any of the others. God, look at all the trouble you put in for me. No one’s ever done anything like that for me.”

               Peter’s eyes softened, and he lifted a hand to cradle Tony’s cheek. “You’re worth everything.”

               Tony wipes at his eyes and sits up, taking a deep breath. “Well, you’ve convinced me. This day isn’t wretched. Now how about we go get something to actually eat?”

               Peter laughs, leaning up on his elbows. “Sure. Not like we’re going to eat this pizza anyway.” Tony offers him a hand, and even after they’re both on their feet, Tony doesn’t let go. Peter lays his head on Tony’s shoulder as they walk, a smile on his face.

               “So, you tried cooking for me?”

               Peter’s face went red, and he was glad his boyfriend couldn’t see. “I don’t know if I’d call it cooking,” he explained slowly, earning a bark of laughter. The sound raised his spirits, and he couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he poked Tony in the side. “Hey, you laugh now, but you won’t be when you see the state of your kitchen.”

[dear-selena]

Omg, if you’re feeling it could you make a Caught Web Handed part two? I loved part one sm!

Caught Web Handed (Pt. 2)

Peter Parker x Reader

Request: “Omg, if you’re feeling it could you make a Caught Web Handed part two? I loved part one sm!”

Summary: When a new Tumblr blogger who claims to be Spider-Man starts reblogging a ton of Spider-Man fanfiction, including yours, the community goes into a frenzy and you confront the boy who promised not to say anything. 

Warnings: Some swearing, this is literally so meta be warned

A/N: I would like to thank the anon who requested this two months ago! I’m sorry it took me so long to write this out! I genuinely didn’t know how to continue this story until recently. If you want me to continue this, please let me know! I could possibly write one more part to this, but only if you guys want it. 

Words: 1971

REQUESTS ARE OPEN 

Part 1

—————-

You love that Tumblr started the group chat feature, but damn, you wish you got notifications from it.

Yawning, you cover your mouth and suddenly crave your bed. Last night, you stayed up messaging a ton of bloggers in a new group chat someone created for your favorite web-slinging hero and didn’t even realize how late it was when the conversation whined down. 

The group chat is called “Them Spider-Man OCs 😩😍🕸🕷❤️💙” and is filled with a bunch of your mutuals. The entire night was spent complimenting one another on each other’s fanfictions, and sharing anything and everything about everyone’s OC’s. You couldn’t help the giddiness you felt when people told you how much they loved Trevor Trenton, your Spider-Man OC. 

Because Tumblr mobile refuses to send notifications when you get new messages, you stayed on the app for hours to make sure you were as involved in the conversation as possible. You knew you could have left the conversation at any moment, but you were just way too excited to finally bond with all your mutuals at once. 

Walking down the halls of Midtown High, you lazily stroll to your first class as if you had all the time in the world to get there. You hadn’t seen your friends yet this morning, making time go especially slow. Not knowing what else to do, you decide to open the Tumblr mobile app and check for new notifications in your group chat. To your surprise, a green circle appeared on the group chat photo someone edited of Spider-Man swinging through Queens with heart emojis all around him. 

You open the chat, and your heart jumps immediately. 

(Your Favorite Spider-Man Blog): Guys did TheOfficialSpiderMan account reblog your work too or is it just me?!?!

Suddenly frozen in place, you reread (Favorite Spider-Man Blog)’s message. With your heart bouncing in your chest, full of uncomfortable adrenaline, you quickly leave the chat and check messages and had to stop yourself from screaming. 

An account called TheOfficialSpiderMan had indeed reblogged your latest update on your Trevor Trenton fanfiction. 

Tapping on the blogger’s icon, you start investigating if this was truly the “Official” Spider-Man. The first thing you do is read the bio: 

“Yes, I’m the real Spider-Man XD. Still trying to figure out how to use this site so bear with me.

Queens, NY | Avenger | Science Nerd”

Looking at the blog’s avatar, you see that it’s a selfie that the hero took while swinging in the air. You’ve never seen a photo of Spider-Man like this before, but you couldn’t tell if it was edited or not. If this is a fake account, this person must be really good at photoshop… 

Scrolling through the blog, you notice that this person’s not only reblogged your fanfiction but almost all your mutuals too. You recognized some of the stories as one’s you’ve read prior and almost all of them were from people who were in the Spider-Man group chat with you. Eventually, however, you scrolled to the bottom of the blog and found a simple text post. 

“Hey Everyone! It’s me, Spider-Man. I’m just here to interact with you guys cause I’ve heard that I have fans on this site. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for supporting me. Love you all

The post, although wholehearted and sweet, immediately fills you with worry. If this truly was Spider-Man, that means your favorite hero, the hero you’ve been fantasizing about through your writing, was reading your stuff. He was reading this personified version of himself that you created for your silly romantic pleasure, and that scares you shitless. A part of you feels exposed in a way you never thought possible, and even though your Tumblr username doesn’t quite give away your identity, you still feel extremely vulnerable. The thought of the man behind the mask seeing your work makes you feel quite uneasy, especially because you don’t know who the man behind the mask is. 

Suddenly, the bell for first-period rings, and you’re brought back to reality. As peers shuffle through the halls around you, you shove your phone in your pocket and pick up the pace to get to your first class. While walking, you couldn’t help but wonder Why Spider-Man chose to solely reblog fanfiction. There are plenty of Spider-Man Tumblr posts consisting of gif-sets, fan edits, and general news about him, so why fanfiction? 

It was as if Spider-Man has some sort of motivated intentions. 

——————

Peter Parker hits the reblog button on yet another well-written story about him. 

Well, better yet, him as a superhero. 

Ever since he found out that you write fanfiction about Spider-Man a couple of months back, Peter couldn’t stop wondering what else was written about him. After a self-debate for whether or not it’d be a good idea to actually make a Tumblr account and find your work, he decided to go for it. After all, he was pretty bored last night, and what better way to interact with fans that through a popular fandom website? 

So he created “TheOfficialSpiderMan” and immediately started reading fanfiction. 

He has to say, he was quite amazed at how talented his fans were. A lot of the stories and characters they created were so unique, and the plots they wrote up were quite clever! He instantly picked up on some tropes people would write about, including ones where the reader was Iron Man’s child (he has to admit, he found those stories quite meta). 

And after a ton of scrolling and reblogging, he came across a story about a version of Spider-Man named Trevor Trenton. He immediately knew that this story was yours, and took notice of your Tumblr name, (Your Tumblr blog name). He wanted to follow you but figured he should lay low right now. ‘I shouldn’t be giving certain fans special attention… especially if this certain fan is a good friend of his and possibly his crus-.’ 

“Hey, Peter!” 

Peter turns around to see Ned with his usual smile on his face. 

“Oh, Ned! Guess what?” Peter proceeds to shove his phone in his best friend’s hand. “I found (Y/N)’s Tumblr account!” 

Ned’s eyes go wide as he examines Peter’s phone, seeing a post with your blog name on it. “Oh my god, Peter,” Ned starts to laugh. “You did not just join Tumblr to find her fanfiction.” 

“Of course not,” Peter protests, going to show the blog account. “Spider-Man did.” 

Ned looks up at Peter with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “Damn Peter,” Ned says sarcastically. “Didn’t think you’d be one to join fandom culture.” 

Peter rolls his eyes as the bell rings, indicating that second-period was about to start. Saying a quick goodbye to Ned, Peter quickly makes his way to his robotics class, a class that you just so happen to share with him. As Peter enters the room, he scans it and instantly spots you at one of the workshop tables, head buried in your phone, and wide-eyed. 

Peter smirks. He knows exactly what’s going on. 

He makes his way over you, and plops down in the seat next to you, causing you to look up at him in surprise. “Oh, hey Peter.” you squeak out, completely caught off-guard. 

Peter couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. The last time he saw you this flustered was when MJ caught you writing Spider-Man fanfiction back at his place, and he had to admit, you looked pretty cute. “Hey, (Y/N). What are you looking at?” 

You look back at your phone and quickly snooze the screen, shoving your phone in your pocket. “Oh, i-it’s nothing…” You say unconfidently, a blush appearing on your face. “Just a stupid Tumblr update.” 

“Oh?” Peter asks, knowing what you meant by ‘update’. “Does it have to do with Spider-Man?” He couldn’t help but push the conversation on you. He was too excited to see your reaction. 

“Actually, yeah.” You finally admit after a moment. “My mutuals and I are kinda freaking out cause a blog that claims to be Spider-Man is reblogging our stories. It’s weird.” 

“Really, weird?” He questions. “What makes that so weird?” 

“Why would a superhero go online just to read fanfiction. Superheroes shouldn’t even know about this kinda stuff. They should be focused on, I don’t know… saving the world or something. It’s just weird that he’s only reblogging fanfiction and-.” You cut yourself off when you look up at Peter and see he’s just sitting there, head propped up against his hand, leaning on the table with his elbow, sporting a knowing smirk of some sort. Confused at why he was looking at you like that, you almost question him. But that was when you started to connect the dots. 

It feels like Spider-Man has some motivated intentions. Peter Parker is intentionally talking about this with you. 

You squint your eyes at the boy in front of you. “Peter, did you tell Spider-Man about fanfiction?” 

Peter blinks, his smirk off his face. “W-what? No, I didn’t.” 

Your glare intensifies, and Peter sits up straight. “Are you lying to me? You just had your ‘I-know-something-you-don’t face on.” 

Peter swallows, suddenly nervous. He didn’t think you’d react like this. “I’m not lying, (Y/N). I did not tell Spider-Man about fanfiction.” 

You did… a couple of months ago… 

You look away, now glaring at the table. “Then explain how Spider-Man knows about fanfiction and why he only reblogs it?” 

Peter starts to sweat. “Uh, I-I don’t know. Maybe he likes to read?” 

“Or someone told him to find it?” You look back up at Peter, whose clearly uncomfortable, making it easier for you to believe that he’s lying. “Maybe while they were at their Stark Internship or something?” 

Peter mentally facepalms. He’s not getting out of this, is he? 

“(Y/N), please.” Peter pleads. “I promise I didn’t say anything to S-Spider-Man. And even if I did, why is it so bad? Why is it bad that he’s reading fanfiction?” 

“Because!” You shout, catching the attention of some of your classmates. Embarrassed, you force Peter to crouch down close to you so you can whisper. “The stories on Tumblr can get a bit uncanny. What if he finds smut about himself?” 

Peter raises an eyebrow. “What’s a smut?” 

You roll your eyes. “Exactly, and I’m NOT going into that right now.” You shudder, realizing what could happen if your favorite hero finds stories like… that.

Nevertheless, you push those thoughts out of your head and continue on. “But seriously Peter. You told me you wouldn’t tell him about this stuff, and how he’s reading a ton of it? Something doesn’t add up.” 

Peter wants to argue back, but he honestly doesn’t know what to say. He can’t assure you that your writing is good and that he’s enjoying seeing his fans’ creativity because he’d have to reveal his secret to you, and that’s the last thing he wants to do. Especially now. 

Before he knows it, your packing your stuff back up, getting out of your seat and slinging your backpack over your shoulder. “Find me when you can tell me the truth.” With that, you walk to the other side of the room and sit at a new table, just in time for the teacher to walk in and discuss the new project. 

Peter couldn’t help but mentally beat himself up. Was doing all this a mistake? He genuinely just wanted to find your work and actually interact with his fans. He never expected it to backfire like this. Now he has to find a way to assure you he wasn’t technically lying, all while keeping his identity a secret. With all the thoughts racing through his mind, there was one that stood out: 

He fucked up.

————–

-Peter Parker Tag List-

@sweetcoffeeblandtea // @house-arya // @jovialpeanut // @bookstoreblossom // @jackiehollanderr

-Marvel Tag List-

@sammghgecko

-Permanent Tag List-  

@mindset-jupiter // @romance-geek // @imcharishope // @fakindob // @cutiekoa // @wowursofunny // @cals-cigarette // @supernerdycookietrashblr // @delicately-important-trash // @unlikelygalaxygive

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

"Sunday mornings make me nervous"

do the thing - send a number and i’ll write a little ficlet

I had a good time with this one - thanks for the prompt, nonnie! 

warnings: minor character death, pain, angst, canon divergence, hurt!tony

Nothing good ever happened on Sunday’s – Peter felt more than sure about that. In all of the craziness of his life, Sunday seemed to be the day when all the shit hit the fan, when the worst of the worst came out to play. If he could obliterate the day from the week, he would – the calendar without Sunday had to cut down on some of the terrible things that continued to happen in his life.

His parent’s car accident happened on a Sunday – the early morning still something that Peter can remember vividly. He clung to his mother’s leg the night before, Peter was still at the age where not having her around felt like torture – the only relief coming when he got to be back in her presence. Aunt May pulled him back and tucked him into her chest, soft lips pressing against his forehead. “They’ll be back, Petey,” she said to him, her words sounding so true, so believable. It took another minute or two for him to calm down and let them walk out the door.

They laid them to rest exactly a week later – that Sunday morning rainy, the skies a dark grey and battling between letting the sun come out to play and subsiding to the storms that were gathering. It seemed appropriate – even at 6, Peter understood that this was only the beginning, that life was long and hard; there’d always be a battle waging.

It sucked having to learn that so early – but in a way, it hardened him a little, made the soft-looking world sharp and crisp like it actually was. He wondered how the rest of the population managed, how those rose-tinted glasses didn’t fall to the floor and reveal all. From that point on, he came to expect bad things.

Which – in his case, turned out to be a good thing. The day that Ben died, Peter was coming back from a Saturday night sleep over at Ned’s. It took them late into the night to get the Diablo stage complete and he was tired. When he walked in to find May and Ben completely done up for Sunday brunch, Peter shook them off – his eyes already heavy from the lack of sleep.

His cell phone ringing not even two hours later woke him up – a feeling of dread sweeping over him with each successive chirp of the phone. May’s broken voice on the other end of the line shook him to the core – the Sunday morning curse.

Making his way down to the hospital to watch Ben die in May’s arms was not how he expected the day to go – the break down that followed bled late into the evening. And when he resurfaced, Peter got his shit together and stood by May’s side. They laid him to rest a week later – the weather this time beautiful, the exact way Ben would have wanted it.

Superpowers and becoming an Avenger came next and for a while, it seemed like things were going to be okay. Sure, sleepless nights and bruises were a commonality – but so were patrols and missions with Iron Man and Captain America. Every battle scar he collected only made Peter stronger – for the first time in his life, he felt like there wasn’t a black cloud over his head

Then, Thanos happened. It didn’t take a genius to realize that things turned to shit on a Sunday morning – the subtle snap of fingers tearing the entire world apart, not just Peter’s. He doesn’t remember much about the dusting – he was in Tony’s arms and then all of the sudden, he wasn’t. The look on Tony’s face when they managed to reunite told him the journey to get to that moment in time was long and hard – the Sunday curse multiplied by a thousand.

When Tony slumped against the rock with all of the infinity stones powers absorbing into the Iron Man suit, the early morning sun was rising – the sky was filled with purples and pinks, the orange right before the sun came up really juxtaposing the scene. They’d done it, the world was just a little safer now that everything was set right. But – everything wasn’t set right. As he kneeled down in front of Tony, he felt his heart shatter.

In the time between coming back and that very moment, he and Tony grew so very close – like maybe Tony worked so hard to bring Peter back for reasons they hadn’t had a chance to get around to talking about. There were shared glances and touches – intimate quiet in the labs and in the seconds when they could sneak one or two alone together. Nothing happened – of course it didn’t, there wasn’t time for that. Tony carried the world on his back and Peter needed to do whatever he could to help with that.

His hand trembled when Tony slumped into it, his eyes sliding shut slowly. He looked around wildly, the rest of the crew standing behind, looking on with sad eyes. “We have to help him – someone, please!” Peter exclaimed, his arms already working to pick the man up, the lifelessness within him frightening – Tony Stark shouldn’t feel like a rag doll in his arms.

The improbability of Dr. Cho keeping Tony alive pushed the doctor harder than ever before – with every passing day, Peter could see more of a hopeful glint in her eyes. They stabilized Tony after a couple of days of uncertainty – and he’d been in a coma ever since. All of the others came and went throughout the day, but not Peter – no, he stayed by Tony’s side day and night, talking to him, holding his hand – hoping with everything within him that this, someone so special, didn’t get taken away from him, too.

A weird sort of feeling settled over him when Tony’s eyes blinked up at him at 1AM on a Sunday morning. It’d been a solid five weeks of worrying, helping Dr. Cho whenever he could, and holding Tony’s slowly diminishing hand in his own. Time’s passage took a toll on Tony’s body, he was thin, the hair on his face course and thick – but he was alive, and that’s all that really mattered.

After waking up and finding out about how much time and care Peter put into being there for Tony and keeping the faith alive, it was pretty easy for the two of them to transition into something a little more permanent – something that could grow and build between them.

Tony and Peter met the rest of the Avenger’s out in front of the hospital, the entire group of them finally looking whole now that Tony was back. They all knew he’d never be able to be the action hero that saved the world again – his entire right side was riddled with scars and nerve damage, the tissue littered with the remnants of the infinity stones powers in the form of long black streaks. Never mind the fact that he was frail and weak looking – Peter missed it the first time around but understood how much Tony’s body had already been through.

They only wanted Tony Stark back, anyway – Iron Man be damned.

Getting Tony home and into a routine that didn’t make them want to throw the other out the window took a little while – Tony was healing, and Peter still felt so drained from everything. They slowly found a way to make it work, though – Peter loved Tony enough to understand and did what he could to keep both of their nightmares at bay. The job was a lot harder than he thought, though – there were so many things they both carried, so many demons that chased them through the night.

Peter woke up from a particularly bad nightmare after a long Saturday night of soothing an aching Tony – the man finally falling to sleep a little before midnight after an entire evening of muscle aches and tremors. When sleep finally overtook Peter a couple hours later, he dreamed of losing Tony, of darkness overcoming him – the man just out of Peter’s reach. It wasn’t new, either. Most nights Tony struggled, Peter’s subconscious played around with his weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

Despite so much loss in his life, losing Tony still ranked number one. His worst fear. His ultimate downfall.

After gasping awake in a cold sweat and making sure the man was still snuggled into the mattress next to him, Peter got up out of bed, his limbs still shaking from the aftershock. There’d be no sleep for the rest of the night – there never was after that dream. Without making too much noise, he crept out of the room and wandered down the long dark hall into the tower’s living room. Maybe the Switch would take his mind off of the thoughts still lingering in the back of his mind.

He never managed to even turn the thing on – Peter fell into the cushions and let everything wash over him, instead. The pull of his emotions too great.

It didn’t register that tears were streaming down his face until the collar of his shirt was soaked through – he couldn’t be sure about the amount of time that past, either. The sound of footsteps had him sniffling, the sleeves of his shirt becoming the perfect tissue.

“Tony, what are you doing up?” Peter asked, his voice still tear heavy and thick, like he hadn’t used it in a while. There was no disguising the red streaks on his face or the puffiness of his eyes – but he tried anyway, a half smile sliding across his lips in an attempt.

Tony didn’t try to move any closer to him for a few minutes, the older man leaning heavily against the wall. His left hand moved to scratch at the longer hair on his chin, Tony’s eyes never leaving Pete’s. “I felt the bed move when you got up. I thought maybe you were gonna head to the lab – but I heard whimpers and decided to come out to investigate. What’s the matter, baby?”

A part of him wanted to laugh, there were so many things wrong – so many parts of him that didn’t feel real, or right – so many fears were swimming within him, superpowers be damned. The one good thing he could claim stood in front of him calling him baby, those amber eyes looking at him so sincerely. Sighing, he got up and walked until he was standing right in front of Tony, his shoulder leaning against the wall in the same fashion as the other.

“Sunday mornings make me nervous,” he whispered, his free shoulder shrugging, trying for nonchalance. “I had a bad dream and just – I guess I was still stuck in it a bit.” When he finished speaking, he took a step closer and pulled Tony into his arms, Peter especially careful with the still healing right side of the man’s body. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Lips pressed against the shell of Tony’s ear and lingered, both men content to be in this familiar embrace.

“It’s okay. I missed you,” Tony mumbled back, his body sagging into Peter’s, the fatigue from earlier so very evident. “Stay next time – I’ll help make it better.”

Peter didn’t understand how much he needed to hear that until the words sounded in his ears. Eyes wide, he pulled back just enough to lock gazes with Tony, the softness in the other’s glance making the sincerity evident. Nodding, he enjoyed the weight and sureness of Tony in his arms for a couple minutes longer, the earlier anxiety seeping away bit by bit.

Tony leaned up and pressed a sleepy kiss to Peter’s lips, his hand lingering on his cheek.

“Come back to bed.”

[tabarnaks]

It’s around 7 p.m. on a day in the middle of December, and, for the first time, Duck has just told Minerva that he won’t be her pawn in the crazy future she predicts. The air in the room is cold, numbing the tips of his fingers. The heating broke last week, and money’s been just a little too tight to comfortably pay to get it fixed. Duck knows he should get up and turn on the space heater in his room, but he’s laying on his bed staring up at the ceiling, considering the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars he stuck up there as a child. He knows he’s avoiding the actual questions he should be asking himself. He knows, he knows, he knows. He wonders why he hasn’t taken them down. They haven’t glowed in years, and he isn’t a child anymore. He knows it doesn’t matter, and the real issues he should be thinking about sit heavy in his chest. Duck moves his arms, ignoring the needles in his cold fingers, and crosses them over his chest, pushing everything he desperately wants to avoid down.

It’s around 11 p.m. on the last day of March, and Duck doesn’t know it yet, but, today, he saw Minerva for the last time in decades. It’s been a rough few months for everyone. They fixed the heating on the first week of March, just in time for the temperature to start rising again. Duck had a long tumultuous talk with his mother. A new inn opened, apparently unaware of the failing tourism industry in Kepler. Duck cut his hair, gave half his clothes to Jane and Juno, and slowly got used to the stares on the street and whispers in the school halls. They stopped on the second week of March, when the new gossip finally came in. It’s much more interesting to talk about the kid who disappeared in plain sight by the river. But Duck can’t think about it. Duck won’t think about it. He’s been forced to consider many things since his initial refusal in December. He’s considered things about the state of the world, about himself, about his choices. He’s made the right choices. He must have. Still he doubts.  “Juno,” he says, knowing there’s little chance he’ll remember the conversation the next morning, “Do you think I made the right decision?” And Duck knows she’s just as messed up as he is right now, and Duck knows they’re not talking about the same thing, but he decides to just let her words ease all of his guilt. For now.  “Of course you did,” she smiles at him, and the weight on Duck’s chest finally melts off, joining the snow spring has slowly been eating away. He wakes up the next morning, and though it’s all a blur, the heaviness hasn’t come back.

It’s around 3 p.m. on a special day in November, and Duck has just woken up from surgery. He knows already that he has no regrets about any of it. He feels like a new man. Jane is so proud of him. So is Juno. His mother is too, according to Jane. He’s a grown man, he shouldn’t be so hurt by her absence, but he is. 

It’s around 2 p.m. on a more regular day in December, and the doctor has just finished telling Duck how amazing he’s healing. A memory that’s not quite yet an old dream comes to Duck. Something about having superior protection from harm. Duck shakes the thought away, and thanks the doctor for her work before leaving.

It’s around 10 a.m. on the first weekend of May, and Duck is walking through town holding a tightly wrapped relic of his strange past in his right hand. He almost misses his destination, though the new owner has apparently made sure it’s impossible to miss. The new sign is big, and very bright. Duck’s sure Victoria would have hated it. Well, at least the guy waited six months before putting it up. Duck walks in, ignoring the exhibits, and heads straight for the main desk. The man behind it is entirely unfamiliar, Duck knows instantly he’s not from Kepler. The man starts talking, introducing himself as Ned, and starts trying to sell his museum. Duck interrupts him, “Sorry, I’m not here for any of the exhibits. I just heard you deal with strange objects and I have something I think you might be interested in.” He puts Beacon on the counter with a heavy thud.  The man’s face shifts, from cheesy salesman to an unreadable half smile, “Well, what is it? Please, I’m always open to making deals, especially in regards to things directly from this beautiful town.” Duck pulls away the cloth tied around the sword, letting Ned eye it for a few seconds before motioning for him to inspect it more closely.  “It’s a sword…” Duck’s mouth suddenly feels very, very dry, “that I have.” Ned picks it up, puts on a pair of small glasses that Duck suspects are just for show, and starts slowly inspecting Beacon, “And what’s so special about this thing?” he asks. “Well,” Duck swallows, biting his tongue to keep from saying anything he’ll regret, “Well, it talks sometimes.” It doesn’t make sense, but Duck knows it’s true. It had talked this morning when he’d taken it out of the box at the bottom of his closet. It’s the final proof that Minerva was something more than a weird side effect of teenage hormones, dysphoria, and weed. And Duck’s determined to get rid of it right now, leaving it with this stranger. Ned looks up at him then back down at the sword, “With the mouth?” “Y-yeah. Also, you’ve never seen anything like it, right?” The other man puts the sword back down on the counter and puts his glasses away, “Well, you’re right about that.” he pauses, finger gently tracing the sharp blade, “It actually is a real sword, huh? How much for it?” “Oh, you can have it for free. Consider it a donation to your museum.” Ned smiles, a genuine smile this time, “Why didn’t you tell me that immediately! Of course I’ll take such a fine item if it’s a donation from one of Kepler’s esteemed residents, the very generous, um, I don’t believe you’ve introduced yourself.” “Oh, sorry. I’m Duck Newton,” he reaches out a hand to shake Ned’s, “I’m a forest ranger.” “Well, it’s great to meet you Duck,” answers Ned, “and it’s even greater to humbly accept your donation to The Cryptonomica.”

It’s around 1 p.m. on the second Sunday of May, and Duck knows he’s already dreadfully late, but he’s dragging his feet anyway. He doesn’t know how his sister looped him into this. He finally pulls up in front of his childhood home. He wants to stay in the car, he wants to turn the ignition back on and drive away, he wants an escape. He wants to do the easy thing. But Jane had made him promise before leaving for her first international trip. Duck gets out of the car, locks the doors, and doesn’t even have to knock before the door is open. “Duck,” his mother says, the word feels foreign in her voice, Duck almost doesn’t register it as his name, “I’m so glad you came.” She looks a lot older than she did before. Duck guesses he must look older now too. He looks into her eyes, and he knows the conversation they’re about to have. Maybe she’ll push it back for a while, maybe she’ll wait until dessert, maybe they’ll finish eating and then she’ll ask him to stay. Duck doesn’t know her well enough anymore to know what she’ll do. But he looks in her eyes, ignoring the ache in his chest, ignoring the old wounds that never really healed opening up again, and he knows what he’ll say to her. He knows she’ll be genuine, he knows she’ll mean her apologies. He knows he won’t be able to forgive her. He’s not ready.  “Me too,” he answers.

It’s around 7 p.m. on a hot day in July, and Duck’s looking at the sword sitting heavy in his hand. It’s still as heavy as when he’d first held it when he was a teenager, but this time there’s something different about it. He knows he’s not ready to accept the destiny Minerva’s imposing on him again. He can’t do that, even now, it’s too much for him. He’s just a regular guy. But the sword sits in his hand, steady and warm to the touch, and Duck knows that he has to at least do something. He’s never going to save the world, Duck knows that, but he can at least do some real good using Minerva’s gifts.

It’s around 2 a.m. on one of the days following Christmas, and the world somehow doesn’t make sense anymore. Duck is awake, and has been for too long now. His eyelids shut despite him, even though the light is open, even though he’s on his old couch and not in his bed, even though he desperately wants to stay awake until things start to make sense again. He never wanted Minerva’s powers. He never wanted to be some hero doomed to save the planet. Still, he finds no relief in the possibility that he doesn’t have that responsibility anymore. Sure, he’s still part of the Pine Guard and he’s going to continue that, but the pressure’s off. It all feels meaningless. The cat makes something fall in the other room, and Duck can’t remember what he was thinking about anymore. A few moments pass, and the realization of how easy it would be to kill him right now comes back to the forefront of his mind. One unlucky step, one scratch, one bite, anything, anything, anything could kill him now. His eyes close for a second and he opens them back up fifteen minutes later. He passes a hand through his tangled hair and lays down on his couch, ignoring how uncomfortable it is. He closes his heavy eyes again. He hopes Minerva’s okay. He needs Minerva to be okay. His world fades away for the night.

It’s around 4 p.m. on one of the last days of February, and Duck’s burying a friend. Not many people are here, just Aubrey, Kirby, Dani, and Barclay. He can’t really blame the other Sylfs for being absent. Being out like this with all the FBI presence around is dangerous. He sticks close to Aubrey, who’s holding Dani’s hand tight. Duck wants to cry, feels like he should be crying, but he can’t muster up any real emotion right now. Kepler’s cemetery is small. Duck’s acutely aware of how close he is to the last person he buried here. He wants to stay for a few minutes after they’ve paid their respects to Ned. He wants to tell her about what’s going on in Kepler right now. He wants to tell her about what’s going on with him right now. But then Aubrey’s hugging him, and he’s hugging her back, and there are tears in her eyes, and, finally, finally, Duck is crying too, and he knows he can’t go wandering off, even for a few minutes. He needs to stay with his friends, at least for tonight. 

It’s around 4 a.m. on the first hot day of March, and Duck is woken up by some shuffling in the living room. Since the mountain, it’s been a pretty common occurrence, between Minerva who seems to follow a different sleep cycle and some of the Sylfs who are just naturally inclined to get up at various hours of the night. He turns in his bed, ready to go back to sleep, when he hears a fumble, the breaking of glass, all followed by a soft “Fuck” which Duck recognises immediately. He sighs, silently moving out from under his covers and heads to his living room, where Aubrey is picking up pieces of glass off the floor. “At least use the broom,” he says, heading to the kitchen to get it. “It’s just for the big pieces,” she answers, but she takes the broom anyway when Duck hands it to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” “It’s okay, it happens.” They stay silent while Aubrey finishes cleaning up. As the last pieces of glass go in the trash, Duck speaks up again, “Are you alright?” “Yeah, yeah, I didn’t get cut or anything. Though we should probably pass the vacuum when everyone’s awake just for the super tiny pieces.” Duck shoots her a look, and Aubrey sighs throwing herself down on the couch next to him, “I just keep thinking about Ned.” She moves her hair out of her face, showing the tired, impossibly sad look on her face, “You know the last thing I ever said to him was essentially to fuck off and never come back to Kepler again.” Duck’s surprised, but it does explain the state of The Cryptonomica when they’d gone back there, “I’m sure you didn’t say it like that,” It also explains the letters he’d left both of them, Duck realizes. “It might as well have been. What difference does it make? He died-” Aubrey voice breaks and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Ned died thinking I wanted him gone.” “Did you?” “I don’t know. Maybe? I did before he died.” They stay in silence for a few more minutes, staring at the black screen of Duck’s old TV. “You know, Aubrey, when I came out to my mom, she took it really bad. Like, real bad. She didn’t,” Duck bites his tongue, he’s never talked about this with anyone. It’s always felt like a bit too much, but if someone’s ever going to hear him out, it’s going to be Aubrey, “She didn’t kick me out or anything, but it was rough. I went into dorms for college, and I chose not to go back to the house until a decade later. She apologized when I came back. We had lunch, we talked, she explained how she was obviously wrong. She meant every word of it. She regretted her old actions, she regretted every wrong thing she’d done to me, every wrong thing she’d said about me. I still couldn’t forgive her. I wasn’t ready.” “Oh,” Aubrey gasps, barely even audible in the quiet of the room. Duck sniffs, and wipes away the tear that had started to fall down his face, “We saw each other a little after that, Christmas dinners here and there, but nothing real. She died a few years back. She died and I hadn’t ever really forgiven her. Well, I hadn’t told her if I had anyway.” “I’m… sorry.” Aubrey says. There’s another pause, this one feeling even heavier than the last one. “Do you regret not telling her?” “Oh yeah, definitely. It’s hard, because I think that I only would have really forgiven her last month if I still could, but, man, people dying makes forgiveness way easier than it actually is.” “Do you think I’ll ever… I don’t know. Do you think I’ll ever stop feeling so guilty about Ned?” “Yeah, of course you will, Aubrey. ” Duck takes her hands in his, squeezing reassuringly, “It’s awful to live with, and maybe it’ll never be easy to think about Ned’s death, but life continues on, and your grief will slowly ease away.” She looks at him with her bright eyes, and Duck thinks for a second that she’s about to argue, about to tell him he’s wrong, but she just sighs, “Thanks, Duck. You’re a good friend.” She pulls her hands away from Duck’s to get a tissue, “I guess we should go back to bed now, huh?” “Only if you want to.” They watch the sunrise that morning, both smiling at the memories of Ned’s shenanigans.

It is 9:30 p.m. on the day of the apocalypse, and Duck is surrounded by friends. He’s been terrified of this moment for his entire adult life, even when he wouldn’t acknowledge it. But now that it’s here, now that he knows that every part of their plan is in place, now that there’s no choice but to face the monster that lies just beyond the gate, Duck is calm. Well, as calm as he can be anyway. He’s holding Beacon in his hand, Aubrey to his right, and Arlo to his left, and they’re waiting for it all to kick off. He takes a deep breath, and realizes, that maybe for the first time in his life, he’s ready.

He’s ready.

[unspokenfaith]

I’ll Love You Too Tomorrow

Pairings: Peter Parker/Michelle Jones (mention of Ned Leeds/Betty Brant) Rating: M (really just for strong language idk) Word Count: 2330 Prompt: College AU (Spideychelle Month Week 1 - Day 3) Summary: After two months without seeing Peter, and minimal contact, MJ refuses to become the “crazy girlfriend,” no matter how upset she is. Betty’s party invite seems like the perfect opportunity to forget about him for the night. 

I know this is a day late, but it’s longer than I expected it to be. I thought I was going to do an actual college au where they’re first meeting, but this is pretty canon compliant after FFH with Peter and MJ having been dating since then :’)

AO3

It took two and a half years and many pep talks in the mirror, but Betty finally summoned the courage—or the stupidity—to use her fake ID. 

Unlike MJ, who refused to let the college scene affect her in any way whatsoever, Betty saw it as an opportunity to reinvent herself, to start over. From what, she wasn’t so sure. Being the perfectionist she was, she took it upon herself to order self-care journals, watch inspirational TED talks on YouTube, and read articles about how a new haircut is the start to a new you—all before move-in day. 

Although she couldn’t bring herself to get more than a trim, MJ was impressed with the “new Betty.” No more plaid skirts and cardigans. Now she exclusively wore ripped jeans and tank tops. It was edgy enough for Betty, and she seemed comfortable with herself, so who was MJ to judge? 

What MJ couldn’t get behind, however, was the excessive partying. She never judged anyone for how they liked to have fun. In fact, MJ often enjoyed herself when Betty dragged her along, but only if she was drinking, which she only did to avoid standing awkwardly in a corner and wishing she never came in the first place. 

Betty was far from being an alcoholic, but on more than one occasion in the three months they had been at Yale, MJ would have to pull her from the bathroom and walk her back to their dorm, only for Betty to vomit all over the carpet. In their tiny shoe box of a room, the smell wouldn’t go away for days. But since Betty apologized profusely every time, and MJ could never stay mad at her for more than a minute, she never held it against her. 

MJ didn’t even know why she agreed to go with her to a party at a house off campus—something neither of them had done before. Truthfully, the idea scared her, but she wasn’t about to let Betty know that. 

Still, maybe her friend’s newfound you-only-live-once attitude rubbed off on her just a tiny bit. And maybe she just couldn’t spend another night sitting alone in their room missing Peter so much it ached. 

MJ pressed the power button for the radio before remembering Betty’s car had been off for too long. She was beginning to worry that her friend finally got in trouble for the fake when she saw her coming out of the liquor store.

“You look kind of pale. Are you cold?” Betty asked, getting into the driver’s seat. “You could’ve turned the heat on.”

“You took the keys with you.”

“Oh, right...sorry,” she said. “You know, I’m really glad you’re coming with me tonight. I don’t think I’d be able to find this house without you.”

“You wouldn’t be able to find anything without me,” MJ said, looking out the window. “Will you be really disappointed if I change my mind?”

“What?” Betty nearly stopped the car. “Why would you change your mind?”

“I don’t know if I’m up for it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are not sitting alone in our room tonight. I know you want your ‘me time’ and all, but this will be the third weekend in a row. You promised you would go.”

“What if I promise to go next time?” 

MJ’s phone lit up and she quickly grabbed it. It was Peter.

Have fun with Betty tonight. Love you :)

Betty gave her a look as she turned her phone back over on her lap. 

“This is about him, isn’t it?” 

“No it isn’t! Believe it or not, my life doesn’t revolve around a boy,” MJ said, sinking into her seat.

“A boy that you haven’t seen in two months. Look, I know you don’t like to talk about it, but if you want to, I’m happy to listen.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Betty drawled. “But it’s not good for you to keep all of this to yourself. I know you miss him. And I know it’s hard with him being like three hours away, but you should just tell him—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” MJ snapped.

Betty frowned, but kept her mouth shut and her eyes on the road. MJ regretted it as soon as she said it. The only thing she hated as much as talking about her feelings was hurting Betty’s.  

“I’m sorry,” she said, then after a pause, “You’re right.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Betty said. “I know you don’t like talking about it. I just wish you would because I hate seeing you so upset, you know? It’s hard being in a long distance relationship. I get it.”

MJ gave her a look. “You see Ned every two weeks.”

“Well…” She appeared to be thinking about it for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, okay. But I still get it. You miss him everyday. Like you can’t concentrate on anything in class because you’re just thinking about when you’ll see him next, or the last text he sent you, or—”

“I get it,” MJ mumbled.

“I’m really not helping, am I?”

“No, it’s really not you, Betty. I promise,” she assured her.

Betty smiled. “Just don’t be sad forever, okay? You’ll see him soon. It’s Peter, remember? He’s the furthest from a….a fuck boy I’ve ever met.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say the word ‘fuck,’” MJ said. “And I’m going to tell Ned you said that.”

If Betty thought she was joking, she sure didn’t after MJ took out her phone and started typing. 

“Please don’t! You know how fragile he is.”

****

“He isn’t answering me!” 

MJ threw her phone across the bed and heard it clatter on the floor. That would be the fourth time this week she cracked her screen. 

“You’re beginning to sound like high school me,” Betty said, straightening the final strand of her hair. 

“You realize your hair is already straight, right?” MJ raised an eyebrow at her.

She set the straightener down carefully on her desk with a sigh. “It’s a party. I just wanted to do something a little extra. Want me to do yours?”

“I’m good, thanks.” MJ leaned over the bed to retrieve her phone. 

This was exactly what she never wanted to be when she came to college. Never in a million years did MJ think she would become the crazy girlfriend. She always hated that term anyway. Invented by men who don’t have the balls to own up to their mistakes when women are upset with them. 

She knew the distance would be hard, Peter being nearly 3 hours away at MIT. Still, they had been together since the end of junior year, and maybe it was foolishly optimistic, but MJ believed they could make it. Peter wasn’t just her boyfriend. He was her best friend. He understood her better than anyone else. And even when he didn’t, he listened. He loved her, and she loved him. And even though she knew the same could be said for so many high school couples who broke up in college, MJ knew what they had was special.

The fact that she was beginning to second guess herself, that she was getting upset over nothing, was what drove her insane more than anything. As much as she loved Peter, he wasn’t worth all the strain.

MJ was going to be upfront, and if that made her psychotic in Peter’s eyes, she wouldn’t give a damn.

“What are you doing?” Betty asked, nervously eyeing MJ on her phone. 

“Texting Peter.”

“And...what are you saying?” 

“Just that we haven’t seen each other in months and we need to talk face to face or I’m going to dump him.”

Betty blinked. “Uh, okay. Maybe don’t say that last part. You’re going to scare the shit out of him.”

MJ groaned, falling back on her pillow. “I know, okay? I’m sorry. I’m just mad.”

“And I don’t blame you,” she said. “But you’re getting way too ahead of yourself. Just ask him when he can talk.”

“I’ve been asking him that for weeks,” MJ said. “It’s always ‘Soon, I promise. I’m really really sorry. I miss you. I love you. Blah blah blah.’ I’m busy, too, but at least I’m making an effort here.”

She bit her lip, at a loss for words. “Let’s just go to the party. You need to get your mind off this for a while. Text him later.”

“I’ll be drunk later,” MJ mumbled. “Maybe that’s a good thing though.”

Betty rolled her eyes, then grabbed her arm and pulled her up from her bed. “Come on. We’re going.”

*****

Betty wasted no time when they showed up at the house, which she never would have found without MJ’s help. But to her credit, if it weren’t for her astounding confidence, they wouldn’t have made it into the party at all. Although they looked like freshmen, anyone would think they were seniors the way Betty walked in like she owned the place. Luckily, she happened to know one of the girls who lived here from the radio station. 

“Betty! So glad you could make it!”

“Alicia!” Betty hugged her, and Alicia disappeared into the crowd shortly after. MJ felt Betty grab her hand and pull her through the crowd to the table with drinks. Already a littered mess. Betty, ever the white girl, grabbed a white claw. The entire walk here, MJ debated whether or not she should drink anything. On the one hand, it probably wasn’t a good idea with where her emotions were at. On the other, that seemed like the perfect excuse.

MJ grabbed a plastic cup and poured herself whatever jungle juice they were serving. Normally she was more picky about what drank, but tonight she didn’t care. 

“You’re drinking that?” Betty looked at her in disbelief. 

“Yep,” she replied, taking a large sip. “Try it. It’s good.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

MJ turned away so she couldn’t see the concerned look on her friend’s face. Betty could afford to give MJ one night where she was the wasted one. 

Unfortunately, that meant catching the eye of a boy leaning on the wall on the other side of the room. Maybe it was her drink, which was a lot stronger than she was expecting, but he looked a lot like Peter. He smiled at her in a way that made her want to throw up. She downed half the cup. 

When she turned around again, Betty was laughing with a group of girls from their calculus class. Some guy brushed past MJ, nearly knocking her off her feet, and mumbed a half-assed apology. She resisted the urge to mouth off on him. 

The other half of her cup was gone by the time she walked to the other side of the room. She somehow ended up standing in front of the boy standing by the wall, who appeared far too smug. 

“You know, you’re one to laugh right now,” she spat.

“Uh, okay.” He was standing so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She flinched when he reached out to touch a curl hanging down the side of her face. “Cool hair.”

MJ grabbed his hand, pushing it away with more force than she intended. He yelled when it hit the wall. 

“Fuck off,” she said, leaving him clutching his hand as she squeezed herself through the crowd until she was by the front door. Everything was dizzy now, so she leaned on the wall for support and tried to concentrate. At this point, MJ needed to find Betty and get out. She knew her limits and finishing a whole cup of mystery alcohol in less than 10 minutes definitely exceeded them.

MJ moved her hand along the wall until she found the door, pulling it open to be met with a comforting breath of fresh air. She stumbled outside and sat down on the front steps, holding her head between her hands. 

“MJ?”

She thought she was seeing things again when she looked up and saw Peter standing in front of her. There was no way he was actually here.

“MJ, are you okay?” He kneeled down in front of her, brushing her hair out of her face. His touch was warm, familiar. Peter.

“What the—” She blinked, focusing on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you. Betty said you guys would be here.” MJ must’ve looked completely ridiculous because Peter was grinning ear to ear. “You don’t look so good.”

“You don’t get to laugh right now, Petey.” She meant to cover his mouth, but she spread her hand over his entire face. 

“Petey?” Peter lowered her hand, holding it with his own. “I know. You’re right.”

“We haven’t seen each other in months, Peter. And you come here expecting everything to be okay just because...just because you came here.”

Peter looked down, stroking her hand with his thumb. He knew that always calmed her down. “I’m really sorry, MJ. I know I screwed up. I never want to be that kind of...I don’t want to be…”

“A fuck boy?” 

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t want you to think that’s what this is. That I just got bored after high school and I was trying to get rid of you or something. I know you’ve been busy too, and that’s no excuse. I promise this will never happen again. I promise I’ll—”

MJ put her hand on Peter’s nose. “Can you just shut up and take me back to my room please? Apologize to me when I’m sober, okay?”

He nodded vigorously, lifting her up and wrapping an arm around her waist. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll love you too tomorrow.”

Peter smiled. “What did you drink anyway?”

“I have no idea, but it was terrible.”