#pp: peter fics

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

V. the christmas special.

parts: previously / next plot: it's the most beautiful time of the year. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: christmas shenanigans, alcohol mentions, harry gets drunk for norman osborn related reasons, peter is a little ball of anxiety because he likes you, can I share with you what jobs I think ned and mj got after graduation. words: 8.4k.

a/n: this was gonna be a two-parter but I thought. no. so instead it's just super long :D

Peter has started visiting more.

There were the surprise visits on weekends. Something was just too important to wait a week, and too important to give you a call, and you liked that he made a note of bringing you food for the trouble. Then he was popping in on Wednesday nights—sometimes Friday mornings—because he'd forgotten to tell you this or he just couldn't wait to tell you that.

And he has texting you more, too. Not super serious things either, and after a few days of it, you had worked the fight or flight reaction to his ringtone out of your system. At some point, you had started feeling like this was becoming... a genuine friendship.

"I mean... I... yeah. We talked about it, didn't we?" Peter stops pouring, brownie batter dribbling off the lip of the bowl, "Friends. I- I think of you as a friend. If you think of me... as a friend."

You gnaw on your pen as you study him. It's another weekend surprise visit, and this time he's brought you boxed brookie batter as an olive branch. You'd actually been busy this time, and so you'd put him to work baking it while you made your vacation list, "It's just... crazy. I mean, we went from being strangers to only seeing each other once a week—purely professionally—and now you bake me things. And we hang out."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's just weird," he continues to pour as you talk, "I used to see you as this unattainable hero. I couldn't believe you trusted me, felt comfortable enough to tell me your name, to care enough that even EDITH knows who I am. And now we're friends."

Peter's nose scrunches at that, and you've never wished more than now that you could see the rest of his face. He starts placing balls of cookie dough in the batter, "You talk about me like I'm Beyoncé or something."

"You're the Beyoncé of superheroes."

"Hey, that is not true. That title goes to Captain Marvel."

"Not to me."

"Well, of course not to you. You're my biggest fan."

"Wow, demoted to a fan already."

Peter slides the pan into the oven, "You know what I mean. You're biased."

"You're starting to sound like Jameson now."

He kicks the oven door closed and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to you, nudging your knee with his knee, "Oh, you haven't heard my Jameson impression. Watch this." Peter clears his throat, clenches his fist, and shakes it in the air, "Spider-Man is a menace and should be charged with domestic terrorism!"

You giggle, "Do more."

"5G isn't giving your kids cancer, it's Spider-Man leaving his webs all over the city!"

"More!"

"Spider-Man is laying eggs in our city's sewers so that one day, all his freaky spider children will rise up and take over New York!"

"Please, keep going."

Peter groans. You see his head tilt toward the notepad in your lap, "How's the vacation going? Or vacation planning, I guess."

You sigh. Your list to pack kept getting longer, and yet, anytime you tried to focus on what to bring, you would just remember something else you needed to do before leaving New York. "How do you think, based on my utter lack of excitement?"

Peter raises a brow, "Whaaat? You're not excited for Miami?"

"I was, but... everything in the world is happening at the same time. Jameson wants me to get two more articles out before I leave and my family wanted me in Florida three days ago. At this rate, I'm just barely going to make it there before Christmas. Not to mention..." You trail off as you look to Peter, whose mask eyes have gone comically wide in interest, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"You know I've been Spider-Manning since I was like, 14, right?"

"Well, yeah, but- wait, 14?" Peter grimaces. You gloss over it before he can worry himself about it, "Anyway, I just worry. I mean, with Fisk turning the PR tide and God knows what he's planning, I don't wanna just fly to the other side of the country. It feels wrong."

Peter smirks, "Nah, nah. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Don't make me remind you about how all of this," you gesture between Peter and the oven, "started." He looks away from you, sheepish. "You know what I mean, right? Maybe I'm overestimating my worth to you, but-"

"You're definitely not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." That stuns you. It stuns both of you, clearly, if Peter's frantic peek at your face was anything to go by. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, "I just mean that... you've made being Spidey... easier on me. It's nice knowing someone's actually on my side in this city. So yeah, it will feel really weird without you being just a swing away."

"You can still call, Peter. I won't mind."

"And when your family asks who's bothering you while you're sunbathing on the beach?"

"I mean, my little cousins will be impressed if I name drop Spider-Man."

He smiles. He kicks his feet out, heels bumping the cabinet doors beneath you while silence settles. You take this chance to examine a slight fraying on the fabric of his suit, a hole beginning to form on his upper thigh that you could just fit your pinky through. You remembered a time when his suit was made out of sweatpants and a dream.

He was 14 when he first started all of this. When you were 14, you were stressing over high school essays and alien invasions. You couldn't help but think that maybe he'd lost his youth to this thing. This thing that brought you together.

Spider-Man who, back then, was really a kid. He'd had to grow into it. You couldn't imagine having to grow into that. "Well, that's enough about my holiday plans. What about you?" Peter prepares to answer, then deflates. "What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, "I don't... have any."

Your heart sinks, "What? Why not?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll probably be out on patrol making sure everybody else is having a safe, criminal-free winter break."

Sliding off the counter, you come to stand in front of Peter with your arms folded, "Absolutely not."

"Okay, before you say anything-"

"It's Christmas, Peter! You're supposed to take time off! Be with friends and family. If you never take a break, you'll wear yourself out."

"Just hear me out-"

"No! I won't have it. You're not the only hero in New York. You're taking Christmas off. I don't care if I have to stuff you in a carry-on and take you with me but you will not be working-"

One hand clamps around the back of your head and the other silences you, turning your complaints into mush, "If you would let me finish..." you huff indignantly against his hand, "you'd know that a friend of mine is throwing a Christmas party and I was invited. There. I have plans."

Your face softens. "Really?" You ask, but the sound is muffled and it comes out more like, "Will-ee?"

Peter laughs, hand slipping from your mouth, "Really. I'll at least take a few hours off. Maybe more if I fall into a food coma."

Peter's other hand is still cradling your head, but you don't bring it to his attention. "You promise? I won't have to fly back early and check up on you, will I? 'Cause I'll do it."

"I wouldn't stop you." You glower, making Peter's mask eyes squint with amusement, "I promise."

"Sometimes I think you like making me worry over you."

"Would you believe me if I said that I'm just this awful all the time?"

"Yes, but that would make me worry even more."

The hand at your neck gently curls around the side of your throat, Peter's thumb angling your chin up to his own. The brush of it makes you tremble just slightly.

Was he trying to make you dissolve into a puddle?

"I'll be okay. Just... come back to the city, will ya? Don't fall in love with Miami."

You place one of your hands over the hand on your throat. The other hovers somewhere near his knee on the countertop, unsure of yourself. When you admire his exposed mouth, you think of Peter. Parker.

You remember you hadn't actually talked about that since it happened. It was Peter's intention to skirt around Parker, regardless of how certain you were that they were the same person. It was all in jest, sure, but some small part of you (some incredibly small, minuscule, microscopic part of you) wondered if your reporter brain just fit the two pieces together because it wanted them to fit.

Perhaps he wasn't Peter Parker. Perhaps this really was all a coincidence, and perhaps aliens didn't fall from the sky and gods didn't save the world.

You wouldn't push him on it. You wouldn't look into it either, because reporter brain be damned. You cared more about the Peter you knew than the Peter you didn't.

You smile up at him, "How could I? Miami doesn't have you."

"Nice to see you could finally make it, kiddo." Jillian is grinning at you when you arrive, her baby tucked at her hip and her wife entertaining the little monster over her shoulder. She sees the winded look on your face and immediately motions you over, pressing a hand to your cheek, "Did you crawl out of a snowdrift? You're freezing!"

You lean into it, chasing the warmth in hopes that it would restore some feeling to your skin, "The storm's getting awful out there."

"Came outta nowhere, didn't it?" Jillian's wife snorts, booping the baby's nose. "We almost didn't risk coming with the little one, it was so bad."

Said little one looks perfectly warm wrapped up in her blanket, an envious sight as you shiver and shuck off your coat to hang. You would offer the kid a boop on the nose yourself, but with your fingers frozen solid around your offering—a plate of sugar cookies—you don't want to make her cry. You give her a smile instead.

"Oh, and would you believe it?" Jillian whispers, sidling up to you, primed for gossip, "We've got a real treat here tonight. Take a wild guess who decided to show up."

"Jonah's wife?"

Jillian cackles, "God no. The stalker."

As soon as she says the name, your eyes zero in on him.

He's wearing that plaid shirt again, but the collar and cuffs are all that peek out from underneath a wrinkly blue sweater. His hair is free and gelled back, revealing his nervous expression more clearly. Nursing a cup of apple cider, he just barely looks like he wants to be here. But then he catches your eye across the room.

And he waves.

"Oh my," Jillian teases, "you must've left quite the impression if he came all this way just to see you."

"He did not come just to see me." You reply in a hushed tone, but she laughs at you all the same.

"Sure. And that's not him heading over right now, even though he's been hugging the wall all night."

You jerk your head to where Parker was standing, and, sure enough, he's pursuing you.

You part from Jillian before she can get the chance to embarrass you (she accepts your cookies as payment), and so you all but jog to meet him halfway.

He doesn't get the chance to be polite before you're interrogating him, "Where did you go?"

"Uh... What?"

"At the gala. When I ran back inside the ballroom, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Peter's eyes slowly widen, "You went back inside?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Wh- I... I was there. You didn't see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"It got crazy after Fisk rushed the stage. I got swept up in the crowd. You must've missed me."

"Really? 'Cause I was with the crowd, you know. In front of the building? Where Fisk was giving his big speech about how he saved the day? I didn't see you anywhere."

Peter blinks, then gasps as if he'd just remembered something important, "You know what? That's right. I went to go find Harry. I wanted to make sure he was alright, and then I couldn't find you in the crowd so I just assumed... I'm sorry for leaving you back there all alone." You watch as he fumbles for something convincing, "I texted Spider-Man about it, though. He said you were safe."

You fold your arms, "...Is that all he said about me?"

"Well, that. And something about your conspiracy theory?"

"Conspiracy theory."

The topic change gets some of the tension in Peter's shoulders melting away, replaced with a smile faint enough to not pass as overtly smug. He waits for one of your co-workers to move out of earshot before continuing, "You think... I'm Spider-Man."

Your jaw tightens. You know that anyone would draw the same conclusions you did after that night. You also know that no matter how logical your reasoning is, you sound highly illogical when you admit to it out loud. If you brought up the same accusation to Jillian or Jameson, they'd both laugh you out of the office.

You have to stand your ground, though. If there was one thing you were learning about Peter, it was that he was easy to fluster, "And if I do?"

"I'm flattered, really, but I don't really have the hand-eye coordination."

You know it's bullshit. He should know you know it's bullshit. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, you and Harry would've been trampled under the masses at the gala. It's bullshit and he's waiting for his checkmate that will never come.

You do not give it a second thought. You toss your phone at Peter's head.

And he catches it. Of course he does. He stops it mere inches from his face.

If anyone saw you try to give him a concussion, they don't come over to question you on it. "Can you..." Peter starts after a breath, a bit dazed, "...can you stop trying to hit me?"

You go to defend yourself because, at the very least, you hadn't meant to try to punch Peter—which meant it didn't count—when someone barrels right into you.

And, to prove you right twice in a row, Peter is quick to catch you. He scoops you up into his arms before you end up a reporter pancake on the floor. One of your co-workers, already blitzed off spiked eggnog, had bumped you on their way to the drinks table for what looked like the umpteenth time tonight, and didn't have enough marbles to apologize before bumping someone else.

Peter is careful in how he holds you. There's that unmistakable strength behind his grip, but also... he was gentle. He felt safe.

You don't make to escape just yet, all your bravado knocked right out of you. "Jesus, you okay?" His eyes dart over to your co-worker and a scowl turns his expression sour, "Jonah should put a cap on the drinks."

You feel more than embarrassed stumbling to your feet, even more so when Peter still coddles you after you're standing upright. "I'm fine. Thanks." Peter's looking at you, brows drawn together, with so much concern it makes that second thought from earlier come in hot with a sizable topping of shame, "Talk about instant karma."

Then it's gone. Peter laughs and... it sounds just like your Peter. Undeniably. You can't help but give in. For a fleeting moment, the question of secret identities has melted away and it's just the two of you, giggling about something silly.

You're ashamed enough to apologize for throwing your phone at his head when the laughter dies down. You succeed in stealing it back and lead him over to the windows, far away from any more drunken disasters, "It's alright. I've had worse thrown at me before."

You raise an eyebrow, "Oh? Like what?"

His voice catches in his throat at first, "A... carton of expired milk. High school bully, Flash Thompson. We were both on the same academic decathlon team but he never gave up on his dream of professional baseball."

"Flash Thompson? You mean, Silicon Valley, MIT grad, tech startup millionaire Flash Thompson?"

Peter winces, "The one and only."

You frown at the distant look on Peter's face, aware of some regret there at the mention of Flash. "You and Harry went to ESU together, right? Is that where you always wanted to go?"

Peter shakes his head, but a smile comes to his face regardless, "MIT was my first choice, actually. But... even with a scholarship, I just couldn't imagine leaving New York behind. So I stayed. Went to ESU. Helped my Aunt May with the mortgage on her first house since my... my uncle passed. And now I'm selling pictures of Spider-Man to pay my rent."

You can't help the way you soften. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Peter. Your Aunt May is lucky to have you around."

His eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and his smile grows wider. If it were even possible. "I'm lucky to have her."

You stand there together in silence after that, but it feels more comfortable than before. All the scrutiny and speculation you'd come in with had faded away, and now you were left wondering more about Peter. His hopes, his dreams, his life before all of this. What would it have been like if he'd gone to MIT? Where would you be? Or Spider-Man?

Peter's eyes peel open, "So, what about you?"

"Oh. Well, I took a shine to my school newspaper. After... everything in 2012, I knew the world would never be the same. So I had dreams of becoming a journalist, covering the street, being the first on the scene. Took my ass to college on part-time jobs and a dream, and interned at nearly every newspaper in the city before Jameson gave me a shot here. As much as I can't stand the way he talks about Spidey... he's not that bad of a guy. All things considered."

Peter agrees, "He did hire you, so..."

"Yeah, well," you lean your cheek against the window, glass cooling your blush, "At least Spidey doesn't hold it against me... but, I have to ask: why the Bugle? I mean, with photos like yours, you should be fighting off every publication in the city. Instead you turn in these... absolute masterpieces, freelancing, for a guy who can't even give you due credit, and you only stop by for a paycheck."

Peter looks to the window, the wind howling over a crooner's cover of Santa Baby. The storm was still raging on outside, and you dreaded the thought of having to walk through it to get back home. The taxis wouldn't have much luck either from the looks of it. "I... like my job, but it's not what I wanna do forever. I don't care about fame or Pulitzer prizes. It's always been about taking care of me and my Aunt May, and Jameson is a lot of things but he's always understood that. He pays me enough that I can have a place of my own and a little leftover for my aunt, and he doesn't ask questions.

"I don't need to be seen. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" His expression gradually warms as he recalls something, "It's not who's behind the lens that matters, but who's in front of it."

Your expression warms too, "I can see why Spidey likes you."

A notification disturbs the moment. Raising a finger at Peter, you check the latest notification... and your stomach drops.

Peter takes a step forward, sensing the change in atmosphere, "What? What is it?"

"My flight's been cancelled. I was leaving tomorrow for Miami but the storm..."

"Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

"I should've left sooner, I should've left when my family..." You lose the motivation to even finish your sentence, feeling exhausted all at once, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm stuck here for Christmas."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet as he searches for something to say. You're about to tell him not to worry about it when he speaks up, "You know," he starts, the uncertainty in his voice giving you pause, "it's no... Miami, but my aunt throws this Christmas party every year? For Christmas Eve. We invite a few friends over for dinner. She'd love it if you came."

"Oh, Peter, that's sweet but... I don't really want to intrude on a friend thing-"

"No, no, it's okay! Anyone can come. It'll just be my aunt, some of her co-workers from F.E.A.S.T., a few of my friends, my ex-girlfriend-"

"Your- what?"

"Oh. Well, I mean, we were friends before we dated. Well... technically? She sort of just... hung around me and Ned in high school and then we started dating for a while but then we broke up in university. But we stayed friends. Became better friends, actually. So, she's my ex but also a really good friend. I promise it's not weird or anything. She's super cool about it. And I am too! Her name's MJ. I think you'll like her."

You stare at Peter. You think you see a bead of sweat twinkle on his forehead underneath the Christmas lights above.

He insists that you're welcome to come, and staying home alone for Christmas would be pretty hypocritical after your argument with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

"...and Spider-Man will be there."

Spider-Man?

You abruptly lock eyes with Peter. "Spider-Man?"

Peter's smile is tight-lipped, "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, he's just stopping by real quick, but I invited him. He might not come. But... he also might."

Was this the friend of his throwing a Christmas party? Why in the world would Peter (Parker) invite you to the same party Spider-Man would be at, unless he could stand in the same room as him at the exact same time? There'd be no other way to convince you otherwise, and you'd be forced to accept that they really were two completely different people.

Yeah, right.

You'd go to this party and suss it out for yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt, would it? Peter was nice, if not the most awkward person you've ever met. To offer you a place at his aunt's Christmas dinner not long after hurling an object at his head was a sign of true Christmas spirit. You could learn a thing or two from him, "Okay. You've convinced me. What's your number? You can text me the address."

Peter blanks for a moment, "Um... yeah, um..." You watch him flounder, growing increasingly suspicious, "Can I see your phone?"

You drop your phone in his hand. His fingers move quickly across the keyboard before returning it to you. Peter Parker is now in your contacts. You check the number against Spidey's but there isn't a match. "Thanks," you glance at his wobbly smile, "I sent you a text."

Peter gestures behind him, "Oh, cool, awesome. Will you excuse me for a sec? I gotta use the restroom." And he doesn't wait for you to affirm before he's rushing down the hall and out of sight.

A full minute passes before you receive a text back from Peter.

15 Amfan Ave Forest Hills, NY 11375 7pm :) Hope you can make it! He never shuts up about you *I *shut

Hm.

So... I hear you're throwing things at people now Who told you that? You lose one phone, then you try to bludgeon an innocent man with another. I should lock you up and throw away the key I wasn't trying to bludgeon him, because I knew he'd be perfectly *fine*. And he helped me prove a point Which was... That the chances of him being you are more likely than either of you would have me to believe Could it be that you just have a thing for attractive, masked men? That is That is irrelevant to the conversation HA you so do Literally nothing to do with anything I just said It's okay. The mask makes it really easy to project one's ideal man onto me. Or so I've learned through Twitter I'm not projecting *anything* onto you Do you picture Ryan Reynolds when you talk to me? It's okay if you do Peter, shut up Maybe someone more boyish like Timothy chalet Timothee Chalet Timothee Chalamett I'd say you just like hearing yourself talk but this is a textual conversation I like that we can talk like this :) I like it too :) What about Tom Holland? We've got the same jaw If you think me accusing you of being Parker is me projecting a handsome man onto you, I can only assume you think he's hot. Which means I can assume you have a thing for him. Because I can also make things up Like Batman and Clark Kent? Are you saying Parker is the Clark Kent in our fictional relationship? More like Superman and Jimmy Olsen And you're my Lois Lane? ... Goodnight, Peter

Aunt May's home is beautiful. There's a lovingly sculpted garden out front that has since given into the snow, but you can tell it's a sight in the spring. For now, the Christmas garland lining the doorframe—wrapped in a rope of rainbow lights—brightens up the porch. As does the collection of little striped sweater-wearing gnomes gathered around the front door.

There's a commotion of voices behind it as you approach. You shift your plate into one hand, pressing the doorbell with the other, and the voices get louder. You swallow down your nerves when the door is ripped open by a stranger.

The stranger in question is staring out into the dark at you like they weren't expecting you. Your eyes quickly dart to the plaque beside the door and see a bold "15" emblazoned there. Nope. This is the house.

Their eyes zero in on the plate in your hand. Smiling, they open the door wide and step back, "Sweet! Peter said you'd bring dessert."

You kick the snow off your boots before stepping inside. The stranger shuts the door behind you before any more of the cold could get in. "It's peppermint bark," you explain, returning a smile of your own, "but I hear May's making a cake."

"May and Peter. May's great with everything but the oven- don't tell her I said that. I'm Ned, by the way." Ned holds his hand out for a shake.

Ned is really talkative, you find out. He holds your peppermint bark as you undo your boots and coat at the door, rattling off about how Peter and he had been friends at Midtown. He tells you about his job as a cybersecurity specialist, a job he'd naturally floated toward after graduating from MIT, and how he'd stayed with the Parkers for a few months after moving back to New York. It's how he knows that the downstairs bathroom door won't close unless you lift up when you shut it. You only remember about half of what he says by the time you get to the living room.

There are considerably fewer people than you expected, one of which makes his way over the minute you catch his eye.

"Hey," Harry grins. Unlike the nice suit he'd worn to the gala, he's dressed down in jeans and an ugly sweater with "I've been naughty" printed in big letters across the front, looking a lot less tense than when you'd first seen him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same." You can't help but ask, "Don't the Osborns host Christmas Eve at Oscorp tower every year?"

Harry's good mood fizzles out right before your eyes. You feel pretty awful about it. "Uh, yeah. Norman does. But it's more business than anything, so I dipped. I'd rather be here watching Pete fuck up a perfectly good cake."

"I heard that!" Peter's voice calls from a room away.

Harry's good mood returns, "Well, it's good to see you at the annual Parker holiday celebration. And I'll forgive you for poking into my family business if you hand over those treats."

Bashful, you let Ned pass the plate into your hands before passing it to Harry, "Sorry. Reporter brain."

Harry's nose scrunches up, "Don't apologize. Unless these taste like ass."

"I promise they taste better than ass."

"Good enough," he backs away, turning his head to shout down the hall, "Peter! Get in here already!"

When the redhead is immersed in a game of UNO, you turn to Ned, "And that doesn't... feel weird? Having Harry Osborn at family dinner?"

"There are weirder things about Peter. Speak of the devil."

The ugly sweater is the first thing you notice. A companion to Harry's, it is nearly the exact same design, except for the "I've been nice" where the "I've been naughty" had been. He's dusting his hands of something when he comes around the corner. His eyes soften when he sees you with Ned, "Hey, you came." He says in a much too gentle voice. Harry and his opponents nearly drown him out with their cheers and boos.

Unlike at the office party, you notice, Peter's hair isn't tamed by hat nor hair gel. Instead, it curls incessantly around his flushed cheeks. He looked like a damn Keebler elf. It was frustratingly adorable. "Of course. I heard there'd be cake."

"How is that cake, Peter?" Ned pulls on a piece of the ugly sweater as he walks by, and you realize that some of the red had been singed. You follow Peter's frantic gaze from the hole to you.

"This was unrelated to the cake."

"You burned something else?"

"No! One of the stockings fell into the fireplace and I-" Peter trails off as you begin to smile, "you don't get to laugh at me if you didn't bring sweets."

"I did! Harry stole them." You nod over to the coffee table where the group is devouring your peppermint bark with reckless abandon. At least you knew they didn't taste like ass. Peter rushes over to steal the plate before they could polish off the last handful, much to their protest.

"Dinner's almost ready, I swear. You've met Ned, uh, Harry..." Peter scans the group, using his free hand to point out people, "...that's Yolanda, Katie, Lexie, Eduardo: all May's friends. May's in the kitchen but I'd stay out of her way until the ham comes out unharmed."

You notice that out of everyone gathered in the house, he does not mention his ex-girlfriend. "And MJ?"

You wait for an answer. Instead, something heavy shakes the house from above. It doesn't sound like it came from outside, but rather somewhere in the house. Not quite above your head. Weirdly enough, only you seem to be concerned about it.

Peter just glances at the ceiling, "And MJ."

MJ is tossing an empty storage bin to the side when you crawl up through the floor behind Peter. She's crouched on the balls of her feet, shoulders slouched, the sharp bones of her back poking through her tight graphic tee. Her head snaps toward you both when she hears you grunt up the last rung of the ladder. Her eyes narrow on you, then Peter, "I can't find it."

Peter offers you a hand to hoist you further into the attic, "Did you check the-"

"Yes. And I checked the one next to it. And the one next to that."

You look at Peter for an explanation, but he doesn't provide you with one. He walks over to where MJ has now fallen back on her ass, rifling through one of the bins. His mouth twists to the side. "Maybe she meant the box next to her old CDs?"

"There's like 15 boxes in here, Peter."

Off to the side of the room, where MJ was currently facing the mysterious dilemma, were about nine—not 15—storage bins in disarray. Two were off to the side, emptied of their contents: there were piles of men's clothes, women's clothes, baby blankets, and more. The third box that MJ was poring over had Halloween decorations in it.

"Well, you're getting close." Peter encourages.

The way MJ grumbles resentfully has you squirming. As time ticked on, your presence unannounced, you were starting to feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and MJ looks over at you for the second time, "Maybe I could help?" You offer.

At this, MJ brightens. "Finally! Someone cares about my plight. I don't know you, do I?"

You crawl over to where MJ is sitting and Peter gestures to you, "MJ, I told you about the reporter from the Bugle, right?" You give your name for good measure, and MJ's eyebrows raise. She gives a quick, indecipherable look to Peter. He returns it. Then she examines you.

After a moment, she dusts her hand off on her khakis and holds it out for you to shake, "Michelle Jones. Call me MJ." You repeat her nickname warmly. "Peter never shuts up about you."

Peter chokes on his spit.

"He... he does?"

MJ continues shaking your hand for longer than necessary, smiling secretively now, "Oh, yeah. He's got your blog bookmarked too. Post notifs for your Twitter, the works." You cut your eyes to Peter, appalled that he'd ratted you out to someone else, but MJ is quick, "I figured it out on my own ages ago."

"Is it really that obvious it's me?"

"No." And she smiles wider.

Peter is about to cut in with something when a woman's voice rings out, shrill and clear despite two layers of flooring in between you. He's needed with the ham. He looks between you and MJ, reluctant, "Look, if you can't find it-"

"We will." MJ's reply is confident, leaving no room for failure. You feel a little pressure applied to "we".

Peter nods. He mouths an apology at you and skitters out of the attic.

Left alone with MJ, you notice that she is staring at you now. You feel like you've been left alone with an oracle, prepared for your innermost being to be laid bare before you: past, present, and future. She looks like the type to know what makes people tick.

"What are you looking for?" You try to break the silence, though your voice comes out meeker than you'd have liked.

She doesn't look away from you as her fingers grip the container in between her legs, "Uncle Ben's favorite Christmas sweater. All I know is it has a reindeer holding a beer on the front."

Reinbeer. You almost laugh at it. You imagine it would tickle an uncle pink too. "Then I'll get to looking."

You've only just crawled over to a bin of your own when MJ asks you outright, "You like Peter, right?"

Your hand stills as it pries the top off. You feel her eyes burning into your back. "He's... nice, yeah."

You can hear how unimpressed she is with that, "I don't know if it's obvious, but Peter isn't exactly popular." You think that's kind of a cruel thing to say about someone you consider a friend, but MJ keeps going, "All he had was Ned back at Midtown. And me, eventually. I've known him since high school and he's made maybe a handful of friends, maybe less. The last time he invited someone new to Christmas dinner was Harry."

And that had been at least a few years, judging by how long Harry had been away at Oxford.

But why was she telling you this?

"He likes you." You yelp when you realize MJ's voice has gotten close. You turn, and she's kneeling behind you with no interest in your fear. "But do you like him?"

In her hands is a faded, toy Iron Man mask. "I... I think he's nice. I mean kind," you correct yourself when MJ frowns, "but I... I don't really know him. I mean, I don't think I do. I've only actually spoken to him twice and one of those times, there was a gun involved. Everything I know about him is through his pictures and Spidey, and I trust Spidey. So, I trust Peter."

"And Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Do you like Spider-Man?"

You swallow. Like didn't really sum up how you felt about him. He was a hero, an inspiration, a friend, and also... yeah, you felt something more there too.

You think about why she would ask. Why it would have anything to do with you liking Peter or not. You look at her and it feels like she hasn't really asked you that different of a question at all. Your answer is much more definitive this time, "I do. I like him more than I know what to do with."

MJ leans back on her haunches. She appraises you, "He's pretty great, isn't he?" Her tone is considerably softer.

"Yeah. He really is." You smile.

MJ hands the mask to you and you take it, admiring the chips in its paint and the lovingly worn edges. She scoots between you and the bin you'd been looking into and pops the lid off. Almost immediately, she swears in relief. Sitting folded on top is the most gaudy sweater you've ever seen. A deformed reindeer is embroidered on the front, and sure enough, holds a can of beer in its hoof. When MJ shakes it out, little specks of dust fly everywhere.

This, too, she hands to you. You look at her in bewilderment. "You'll wanna make a good first impression with May," she advises, "just be prepared for the water works."

And there are water works.

May throws her arms around your neck and just about sobs her thanks to you, squishing the sweater between your chests. You note that she smells like candy canes. When she draws back, her glasses are all askew, "And I'm so glad you could make it! Peter wouldn't shut up about you. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Peter's eye twitches. "I'm gonna set the table. Ned, you wanna set the table?" And he scoots past you and May without waiting for a response.

"Don't mind him, he gets testy when he's cooking. Did Petey give you the tour?" You shake your head and May kisses her teeth in Peter's direction, "Okay, this is the kitchen, around the corner here is the dining room. You've seen the living room and the attic. The bathroom is by the front door, and the bedrooms are upstairs. If someone's in the bathroom down here, do not use the bathroom by the stairs. That's Ned's favorite when he gets bubbly guts, and he will get bubbly guts."

Ned complains under his breath as he walks by.

"If you need somewhere to get away from the festivities for a bit, backyard's that way and my room's upstairs, first door to the left. All good?" She pets your shoulder. Then, she looks down at the sweater still in your hands and takes it from you, tenderly. "I'm gonna go change into this and then dinner is served. Help yourself to anything, okay?"

May leaves you in the kitchen with that. Around the corner, Peter and Ned are fussing over where to put the ham and sides. Around the other corner, Harry is drunkenly singing Christmas carols with Yolanda. MJ watches on from the corner of the room, recording on her phone. She catches your eye and mouths, "For blackmail."

You peek into the dining room and Peter is worrying over one of the chairs. You can hear Ned scold him, "Sit next to them. You don't wanna talk over the ham. It'll kill the mood."

"But how do I... subtly get them to sit in this chair and not next to MJ or something?"

"Tell MJ not to sit next to them."

"But what if-" You jolt a little when Peter suddenly spots you eavesdropping. He straightens up with a death grip on the chair he'd been messing with, "Hey! Hi. This is your chair by the way." And he tops it all off with a smile.

It's warm in May's home.

You don't even register the cold at first. You do register Harry's frenzy, the way he grabs far more napkins than he needs to, pressing them to your stomach where the majority of his spilled drink had gone. When you finally do comprehend what just happened, you place your hands over his, "How long have you been plotting your revenge?"

Harry is red-faced. He lets you hold the napkins there while May rushes to find a towel, "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was- sorry."

You don't get to dwell on the déjà vu of it all. May is ushering you up the stairs with a beach towel pressed to your front, muttering about how she'll have to put Harry on ginger ale for the rest of the night. She guides you into what you're certain is Peter's old bedroom.

It's been cleaned out, and most of his personal belongings must be at his own place, but there are still old posters on the wall, and a calendar dated in April, two years ago. His bed is ruffled like he'd slept overnight. It's neat, and looks like it usually is neat, but there are traces of him everywhere, like picture frames with Peter and May and a man you don't recognize.

"Peter probably has something here you can wear. It's all stuff from college." She digs through the top drawer of his dresser, finally stopping on a sweatshirt with Empire State University in college block across the chest. "Here! You think this'll fit?"

She stretches it out and you nod, thankful, "Yeah, thank you so much, May."

She smiles, "Okay. Bathroom's across the hall if you need to wash off. I can run your shirt through a wash while you're here if you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"

May is, perhaps, the sweetest woman on earth. She leaves you with a thumbs up and shuts the door behind you, reminding you to lock it after she leaves.

Your shirt had absorbed most of the drink, and you're relatively unscathed besides some sticky residue. You wipe at your stomach with the towel she'd given you and slip Peter's sweater on. It feels... odd, wearing it. It smells like May's house with little traces of Peter.

Your eyes drift back to the picture frames.

One such frame sits on top of the dresser, a photo of Peter and the man who you assume is Uncle Ben. He holds Peter in a headlock but they're both smiling at the camera. You smile too, tracing a finger around the wooden edges.

Another picture is of Peter and MJ and Ned, standing outside of MIT with their fingers pointing at the school. Another is of Peter and MJ sharing cotton candy at Coney. Another is of Peter as a little boy, with two people flanking his side that you do not know. You realize you'd never asked about Peter's parents.

There are other photos of him around that age with May and Ben, and as you piece together what feels like an undoubtedly tragic story, you catch something outside the window.

A person. Hanging onto the side of the house.

Your heart hammers in your chest as a hand pushes the window up, and then, "Did I scare you?" Spider-Man perches on the sill with what you can imagine is a shit-eating grin.

You stomp over to the window and shove at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge in the slightest, "You almost gave me a heart attack! Were you watching me get dressed?"

The mask's eyes blow open, "What? No! I swear I just got here."

"Do you ever use the front door?"

"Not if I can help it," he crawls in, staying planted by the window, "don't tell me you're snooping through Parker's things."

"I was just... looking. At the pictures. And Harry Osborn spilled his drink all over me so I had to borrow Parker's shirt."

"Hm. ESU looks good on you."

You look up at Peter, who keeps his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall by the window. "Aren't you gonna say hi to the party? Make Parker look cool?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Might just watch from afar."

"No, nuh-uh. You said you had holiday plans and that you were going to a party. That doesn't count if you're watching from afar."

Peter's head sways to the side, "I never said this was the party I was going to."

"Is there another?"

"Well... maybe. Maybe not."

"Peter-" You whine, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not a party guy! Sue me."

"Well, then Parker's got you beat two for two. Unless you're lying, since I haven't given up on my conspiracy theory."

Peter presses himself off the wall, sauntering toward you in a zig-zag. Your eyes follow him, back and forth, back and forth, until he's a step or two away. His hand reaches out to play with one of your sleeves, its seams resewn with mismatched thread, "Leaving a party as Peter Parker to come back as Spider-Man. Give Parker some credit. That's the kind of plan you come up with in high school."

You shrug, trying not to act like Peter playing with your sleeve wasn't giving you goosebumps. "You never know."

Peter nods, "Yeah, you're right. I mean, he was really excited to see you."

"Oh yeah?" You swallow.

"Yeah. Was kind of pathetic, actually."

Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and twists, catching the web between his feet so he could hang upside down. The suddenness makes you stumble back with a breathless laugh, "That's not a very nice thing to say about a friend."

"Weren't you the one who said he'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at him?"

You sigh, "I was... I was teasing you."

"Because I'm Peter Parker."

He says it matter of fact. You stare at him, "Yeah," you whisper, "that's right."

He pulls himself up the web until he's face to face with you, "Then that wouldn't be very nice to say to a friend, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. If you were Peter Parker, I guess I'd have to apologize to you."

"Yeah? How?"

You breathe deep. Everyone is still laughing downstairs. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you hadn't locked the door. At any moment, someone could walk in and...

Peter waits, curious.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, pressing into the fabric of his mask, feeling over the ridges where black lines broke red. You know what you want to do. And you also know that there is no going back if you do it.

Your fingers reach the place where the mask meets the rest of his suit. Hooking two fingers under the fabric, you pull.

Your fingernails trace over the curve of his Adam's apple as it bobs, over the jut of his chin. Peter's breath is heaving. One of his hands releases its grip on the web and you see it glide toward yours out of the corner of your eye. You just feel the skin of his bottom lip under your finger when you realize how this might look. What he might think you're trying to do.

Mask in hand, questions of his identity hanging in the air, your curiosity and his vulnerability. You release the mask, awash with worry. You want to get it out before there's any misunderstanding, but as your hand drifts back to yourself, his catches it. You would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.

Peter lets your fingers fall. Silently, he drags the mask over the tip of his nose and leaves it resting there. An invitation. "I trust you." He promises. And kisses you.

He has to stretch a little to reach you. You understand this and press closer, taking the back of his head in your hands and holding it steady for you, but you know you're trembling. You curse yourself for how much your body reacts to this, how uncool you must look, how you shake with all the excitement and terror of this. You kiss him and feel silly about how you claimed to know his lips so well before now. That was nothing.

This is everything. So many things. Each time you go back in for more, you lock away some new little detail about him.

Peter places a hand against your neck and tugs you even closer, but the momentum makes him swing a little bit so his nose bumps your chin. You're too stiff to laugh, but he does, "Sorry," his voice is raspy, "this looked cooler in my head."

You lean into him, dizzied, "Was this... did you plan for me to kiss you? When you got up there?"

"I've wanted to kiss you plenty of ways." Peter's admission is followed by a sigh. He presses a hand to your chest and nudges you back a step before he's dropping to his feet and advancing upon you once more, bumping you against the dresser as the picture frames rattle. Your fingers sneak under his mask at the back of his head so they can sink into his silky hair.

He probably kisses you a hundred more times after that. Every kiss you think might be the last, but then you feel a tug in your chest and go in for one more. An itch that no scratch can soothe.

Peter's mask starts to slip and you feel one of his hands leave your waist to fix it, but the warmth your fingers had snuggled into disappears and-

You keep your eyes screwed shut, "Peter." You gasp against his mouth. Your fingers twitch in his hair, finding no resistance.

"It's okay," he nudges your nose with his, still pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, "it's okay."

"But-"

"Don't you wanna know if you were right?"

You squeak when his lips find the underside of your jaw, "I don't need- you don't need to-"

"You're always right," Peter interrupts you, kissing down your neck, "I was never fooling you. You're so smart, you know that?"

"Peter." You say his name with no real plans for it to do anything, letting your head fall back.

"Please." He says back. Urging.

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

[ccherrybloom]

Ashtrays & Antihistamines Pt. 1

oc, m, hayfever, wc: 2.8k

Part 2

CW: foul language and allusions to gay sex lol

~~

a.n. + summary: i don't think i've ever posted a snzfic on this blog, but there's a first for everything, right? featuring my lovely little ocs and their stupid dumb little band. i don't normally write them in snzcerions, but...every now and again i can’t help myself and one slips through the cracks lol. This particular one centers around my absolute shithead of an Irishman, Peter, as he deals with a hayfever flare up for the first time in like…twenty years, lol. of course, ever the lucky one, this begins to happen during the band’s first mini-tour. Cue shenanigans. I hope you all enjoy!

~~

“hH’RRSHhiue!” Peter fell into himself with a harsh sneeze, the band’s rundown van jerking sporadically with its driver’s sudden movement. “Goddamnit!”

“Bless.” Geoff offered lazily from the passenger seat as he turned a page of his book, unbothered by the vehicle’s erratic veer. “That’s like the tenth one since we’ve left Dublin.” The bassist pointed out, shooting the guitarist a pointed look from the corner of his eye. “You alright?”

“Fuckin’ hayfever,” Peter answered as he scrubbed his palm aggressively against the underside of his nose, careful not to put too much pressure against his nose rings. He followed it up with a drawn-out sniffle. “I’m fine. Christ.”

“I don’t remember ya being like this before,” Maurice quipped from the back of the van, leaning forward to join in on the conversation. “I mean hell, ya lived in Dublin fer how many years…?”

“Longer than you, Frenchie.” Peter retorted as he thrust a tattooed hand backwards to try and shove the singer away. Maurice easily dodged with a laugh, swatting at Peter’s hand as Geoff instinctively reached out to steady the van as it began to swerve again. “You can piss right off.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’, yer born and bred Irish — who knew all it took was a few months in London for yer own country to turn on ya.”

“I said piss off.”

“Who gives a shit!” Chris suddenly interjected as he pulled his headphones from his ears, a curly lock of the drummer’s dark hair falling between his eyes. “Just keep your bloody eyes on the road! I dunno ‘bout you lot, but I’d like to get there in one piece.”

Maurice backed off with a snicker, hands up in surrender as Peter quickly flipped Chris off in the rear view mirror before returning his full attention to the road.

After Peter and Maurice had both left Dublin for London a few months shy of one another, the four men began to pour almost all of their free time into their passion project, The Undergrounds. Much to their genuine surprise, people seemed to really enjoy their band’s sound and performances, so much so in fact that they’d hit a point where pubs across the UK were beginning to reach out to them, asking the group to come play for their open mic nights, with some even offering payment. With the requests getting further and further away from their homebase in London, the band finally decided to bite the bullet and buy themselves some transportation, namely their shithole of a van lovingly referred to as Van Halen. Despite its old clunkiness, it really did do the trick, and allowed the men to head across the border on their first ever ‘Let’s-Not-Call-It-A-Tour’ Tour. Realistically, with two of the four members being from (or as close to ‘from’ as one could be, in Maurice’s case) Ireland, the band had picked up quite a bit of traction across the small country with the men getting many open mic night requests which they normally had to turn down, much to Peter’s dismay.

At least until now, that is.

Peter had noticed something was off after their show in Dublin the night prior. At first he just assumed he strained his voice singing backup vocals — a product of over-excitement from getting to play in his old stomping grounds. But by morning the scratchiness in his throat lingered and was now accompanied by faint itchiness in his nose that forewarned him of worse yet to come. 

By the time the men packed up their gear and filed into the van late that afternoon, the unwelcoming prickle that had been festering in his nose demanded more attention, and his eyes began to itch in a maddening way that he hadn’t experienced since he was a kid back in Belfast. Initially he tried to ignore it, chalking it up as a residual reaction to dust from the old pub, or that it had been awhile since Van Halen had gotten a good clean. But as time slowly passed on their nearly three hour drive to Cork, and the itchiness in his sinuses progressed into full-blown sneezing, the reality of the situation began to dawn on him. He was immediately thrust back to Belfast, memories of summers spent constantly sneezing thanks to the fields near his old home, his eyes watering, his nose running, each summer spent absolutely miserable. He hadn’t had a hayfever flare-up in years, thinking it was something he had thankfully outgrown once his mum had moved them to Dublin, but yet here it was, back to rear its ugly head once more all these years later. The familiar lush scents of the countryside that used to conjure such vivid memories of home were now turning every intake of breath the guitarist took into a gamble. 

The itchiness in Peter’s nose only seemed to increase in urgency as Van Halen bumped its way through the Irish countryside. The landscape blurred past the windows, a mix of greens and greys under a sky that threatened rain.

“Nearly there.” Geoff hummed, taking a peek at the map app on his phone. “About another twenty or so.”

“Thank fuck.” Peter grumbled with a sniffle, his eyes squinting past the relentless itchiness. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and pulled his glasses up slightly before slamming his wrist into one eye and scrubbing hard.

“I think we could all do with a pint,” Maurice chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. “Especially you, Peter.” He added, gently poking the man’s shoulder.

Peter managed a weak chuckle in response, his wrist still pressed hard into the corner of his eye. 

“Just keep it steady Pete, yeah?” Chris leaned himself forward and rested his elbows onto his knees, eyes scanning the road ahead. “Not much longer and you can go ahead and drown yourself in whatever local brew you fancy.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but the van hit a particularly bumpy patch of road, jolting everyone inside. Instead he just swore under his breath, turning his full focus back towards the road as Cork began to appear on the horizon.

“There she is.” Geoff whistled, pointing ahead. “Welcome to Cork, lads.”

Peter managed to manoeuvre Van Halen expertly through the narrow streets of Cork despite battling his allergic reaction, the van’s tires crunching over cobblestone as he pulled them into the parking lot of their dingy motel.

“Home sweet home.” Maurice hummed as he clapped a hand onto Peter’s shoulder, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the other two members filed out. “At least fer the next few days.”

Peter leaned back into the driver’s seat and let his eyes drift closed as he exhaled deeply, shutting off the engine. He only cracked an eye back open when he felt Maurice give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You alright?” The singer asked, his voice low and expression soft.

“I’m grand, Mur.” Peter grumbled, his voice heavy with sarcasm. The real truth of the matter was that he was miserable, itchy, and absolutely dying for a cigarette — not that he cared to say any of that out loud. 

The guitarist pulled off his glasses to give his watery eyes another scrub before continuing. “Just got a fierce bad dose of this nonsense…This shite best be all said and done before our show or I’ll–hh! hH’ITSHHhiue!”

“See, but that’s what we don’t wantcha doin’, actually.” The blonde teased as he patted the guitarist’s shoulder before the other quickly slapped it away as if he were swatting a mosquito.

“You fuck right off, Murry.” Peter sniffled hard, dragging the backside of his hand beneath his nose. “Just get yer shit and get goin’.”

Maurice did as he was told and hopped out of the van with Peter not far behind as the pair hurriedly began to help the others unload. With the sky steadily darkening the four moved quickly, eager to avoid the potential rain. Luckily the unloading and reloading of Van Halen had become more and more familiar with each passing gig, and it didn’t take them long to have all the necessities laid out beside the van, ready to go.

The motel itself was a shabby vintage looking two-story building, its neon sign flickering with an almost uncertain intermittence as if it were clinging onto its last shred of life.

Maurice and Geoff took the lead, carrying the group’s heavier equipment while Chris and Peter followed suit with their four bags. They bustled their way to the reception desk where they were met with a disinterested looking clerk who simply handed them a single worn key with a faded plastic tag attached.

“Yer in room 107.” He mumbled, barely looking up from his magazine.

“Cheers, mate.” Geoff scoffed as he shot the others an exasperated look and snatched the key. He led the group down the dimly lit hallway, their feet dragging against a carpet that had clearly seen better days. When they reached their room Geoff wasted no time unlocking the door and shoving it open, revealing a tightly packed space with two queen beds, a small television, and a bathroom that looked like it hadn’t been updated in at least two decades.

“Alright, how we doin’ this?” Chris asked as he tossed the bags he had onto the closest bed.

“By drawing straws, of course.” Geoff instructed as he pulled a set of straws he had prepared earlier out of his pocket. “Shortest straw shares with the other shortest straw.”

The others agreed on this being fair enough and drew their straws, quickly comparing them.

“Well, it’s you and me, innit?” Chris said as he held up his short straw next to Peter’s. He gave the other a playful nudge and smirked. “Just don’t go tryin’ nuffin, yeah?”

Peter sniffled thickly and shoved Chris away before pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, careful to avoid the rings, and itched it aggressively. “I got enough of ya the first time.” He moved from rubbing his nose to scrubbing his eyes, trying to ignore the way Maurice bristled at the mention of their one-off fling. “Won’t be doin’ that again.” Chris flipped him off and called him a wanker, but he went ahead and ignored that too.

“Hey, Pete,” Geoff called out as he tossed his bag onto the other bed. “Why don’t you take a shower? Might help clear up a bit of that hayfever.”

Peter, who’s eyes had started to glaze over, did his best to nod in the ginger’s general direction. “That’s the best ideee-hha I’ve heard all d—hh! hhUH’DITSHhhiuew! ‘IGKSHhhiueww!” He doubled over hard into cupped hands, his entire body tensing violently with each sneeze before he groaned thickly against his palms. “—all damn day.” He finished on an exhale, voice cracking. “-snf- Jaysus…”

“Bless you.” Geoff offered, a twinge of sympathy in his voice. “You know you really ought to—”

“G’way outta that.” Peter interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand as he trudged his way to the bathroom, eyes half-lidded. “Last thing I need is yer bloody mother hennin’, Geoffrey.” He added before pulling the door closed behind him. 

Flicking the light switch, Peter had to wait a full second before the dull fluorescents sputtered to life, illuminating the unsightly bathroom as he dragged his feet towards the shower. The tiles were cracked and the floor was splotchy, but he didn’t care, he just wanted some relief. 

The pipes whined in protest as he turned on the taps before water began to sputter out from the shower head. The water pressure seemed abysmal at best, and Peter cursed to himself as he leaned his weight against the sink, waiting for the water to warm. As steam steadily started filling the small space, he could feel the tightness in his sinuses ease up slightly, making his nose run. The liquid caught on his septum ring and trailed rapidly down towards his upper lip. Blowing out an annoyed breath, the guitarist took a second to wipe his nose haphazardly against his sleeve before stripping and stepping into the tub, letting the warm water cascade over him with an appreciative sigh.

Outside of the bathroom Geoff and Maurice were seated on each side of their shared bed as they sorted through their bags.

“Think he’ll live?” Maurice asked as he pulled out his plastic toiletry bag, setting it to the side.

Geoff gave a small shrug in return, glancing towards the bathroom door. “I reckon it could go either way with that dumb git.”

Maurice snorted at this, but his knit brow betrayed his feigned air of nonchalance. “Just hope the shower helps, I s’ppose. Don’t think we can really afford to have him down fer the count.”

Chris, already sprawled out on the other bed, headphones back on, piped up. “Eh, he’ll be alright. Just needs to wash off whatever’s settin’ ‘im off. It’s no big, yeah? You French people are wound too tight.”

Maurice rolled his eyes at this but chose to ignore the drummer’s comment. “I just don’t want anythin’ to screw this up for us.” He murmured as his eyes fell onto the bathroom door. “That’s all.”

“hh-Hh! hH’dDZTShiueww!” Peter sneezed loudly and openly, his head snapping downwards as the shower’s stream continued to steadily pelt against his tattooed back. He blinked hard, eyes bleary as the need to sneeze lingered in his nose like an unwelcome houseguest. Instinctively he brought up a hand to hover over the lower half of his face as his breathing began to come out in shuddering, shallow gasps. “hah…Ha’TdSHhhiuew!” This one bent him double and he swore immediately afterwards, more than a little frustrated as he blew his nose harshly into his hand. Had his hayfever always been this maddening? He couldn’t remember. It had been a long time since he’d had a flare-up, probably pushing two decades at least. The thought that it had come back now during the band’s first tour just pissed him off further.

Sighing, Peter turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, reaching out for one of the worn threadbare towels from the hotel rack. He dried himself off quickly before wrapping the towel dangerously loose around his waist – the only member who had yet to see his dick was Geoffrey, and the guitarist couldn’t give less of a shit if today was the day that changed.

Wiping a hand across the fogged bathroom mirror, Peter allowed himself a moment to peer at his reflection as he dragged a hand through his damp, dark hair and threw on his glasses. His green eyes were still red-rimmed and watery, his nose and cheeks were decorated with a soft dusting of pink…he looked pathetic, but at least the shower was helping him breathe a little easier.

Residual steam billowed out into the cooler room as Peter made his way out of the bathroom, catching the eye of Maurice.

“Peter,” The singer looked up from his bag and offered the dark-haired man a small smile, taking in the other’s lean frame. “How ye fairin’?” 

“Bit better, I’d say.” Peter hummed, though a small sniffle still escaped him as he wandered over to his bag, making Maurice frown.

“Reckon you’re up for a drink?” Geoff asked, not looking up from his phone. “We were thinking of checking out this pub nearby. Interested?”

Peter mulled it over for a moment, turning his back on the others before dropping his towel and pulling on a pair of boxer-briefs. “Yeah, g’wan then.” He finally affirmed, clearing his throat against a fist as he fished an old t-shirt from his bag. “Pint’ll do me some good.”

“Are ya sure?” The singer asked, chewing on his lip nervously as Peter wiggled into a pair of jeans. “If yer not feelin’ up for it–”

“Sod off, Maurice, will you?” Chris suddenly retaliated as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Actin’ like you’re his bloody mum or somefin’ just cos you’re shaggin’. Prat.”

Peter couldn’t help but snort as Maurice glared daggers at Chris, his face turning a delightful shade of crimson. The fact that he and Maurice slept together on occasion wasn’t exactly a secret – their initial one-night stand was how the two had met in the first place, after all – but it wasn’t something that was often discussed amongst the group. Peter personally didn’t care, but Maurice clearly did.

“You don’t see me actin’ like a bloody bellend even though I’ve also sucked his–”

“Ça commence à bien faire!” Maurice shot up suddenly from the bed, cutting Chris off as his native tongue spilled rapidly from his mouth. “Fer the love of God, no more, thank you!” 

The singer hurriedly made a beeline for the hotel room door, grabbing his coat as he rushed past the others, his face absolutely aghast as the others snickered. “Just…hurry up, then! Christ, I need a feckin’ drink…”

“I think we all do.” Geoff huffed as Maurice stepped into the hall. “C’mon, lads. Let’s go.”

[ellecdc]

Writer Friends

hey all! I was thinking the other day about how I've had the opportunity to chat with a lot of wonderful people on this app since starting this blog in January, and how many of my mutuals are also writers! so I wanted to share some of my mutuals who share their work on here so that if you're ever going "holy shit, this bitch (me) hasn't posted in forever, I need something else to read", you can check them out and maybe give them some love! [be nice to my friends tho, or else 😤]

ps. the order in which I'm sharing these names are only the order in which I followed them

pps. if you want your name removed from this list, please message me

@sunnami -> queen of poly!marauders + lily x fem!reader!! [some are canon complaint though, so take care of your hearts!]

@moonstruckme -> writes for the marauders, Steve & Eddie, Spencer Reid, Carmy Berzatto, tasm!Peter Parker

@writtenbymoonflower -> writes for the marauders, tasm!Peter Parker, Jamie Tartt [but is open to more! check her request guidelines]

@fourmoony -> writes for the marauders and is currently working on a James x reader series!

@dreamingofmarauders -> writes for Fred Weasley & the marauders

@suugarbabe -> writes for the slytherin boys & Fred + George, but I've seen her post the odd Sirius Black fic too!

@kquil -> on hiatus but is going to be returning to us soon! I found her for her marauders content, but her masterlist is beautifully organized and I recommend checking her out

@bobluvbot -> writes for the marauders and for characters from Top Gun: Maverick

@ttulipwritezz -> writes for the marauders and some anime characters

@super-clearlysaltybouquet -> I don't know if they still write BUT they're responsible for part one and two of one of my all time favourite poly!wolfstar fics so they're added to the list hahaha

@loving-and-dreaming -> writes for the marauders & Steve Harrington

@underoospeterparker -> writes for the marauders and other fandoms [check her masterlist!]

@benedictscanvas -> found her for her marauders works but writes for other fandoms too which you can find in her pinned post!

@ghostwritermia -> writes for the marauders as well as some works with o/c's

@amethystheart2421 -> moonwater truther [not reader insert]

@luvindrr -> writes for James, poly!marauders, and poly!moonchaser, plus other fandoms

@romxnticdreams -> writes for marauders era characters & supernatural fandom

@luizd3ad -> writes for marauders era characters and other fandoms - also open to crossovers

@calliopesdiary -> found her from her marauders works but writes for other fandoms as well!

@empress-simps -> writes for the marauders and some golden trio era characters

@nightsmarish -> writes for marauders era characters

@trohpi -> writes microfics for marauders era characters [not reader insert]

@peterplanet -> found them through her Steve & Peter fics but writes for other fandoms as well

@pretty-little-mind33 -> currently obsessed with James potter or any ATJ character

@moonpascal -> Remus & Theodore Nott + other fandoms

@sun-kissy -> writes for marauders era characters

@hogwartssexpress -> marauders era characters

@iamgonnagetyouback -> writes for marauders era characters and golden trio era characters

[robins-egg-bindery]

ever in your favor by @iron--spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him. 

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

fic by @iron--spider

art by @angel-gidget

624 pages / 153,984 words

Title Font: PP Hatton, Rustic Printed

Body Fonts: Californian FB, Moonglade, Bebas Neue, War Is Over, Architects Daughter

More on the process below the cut!

I have...SO much to say about this project! This fic was one that I've wanted to do ever since I started fanbinding, and it was one I saved until my technical skills caught up with my vision for the book. @iron--spider is my favorite author and a wonderful friend, and I wanted to be able to do this masterwork justice!

Given that it's a Hunger Games AU, I wanted to touch on the Hunger Games aesthetic while still being unique. I started with the cover; I knew I wanted red and yellow, something bold and evocative of the Iron Man, Spiderman vibe. It also doubles as an implication of the blood spilt during the games, especially in volume II - when Peter actually enters the games. I chose the spider for the cover, and painted it on the cover paper with inky black paint; I cut a stencil, and while the images did have some drippy areas, I don't mind it so much. It's meant to look like graffiti, Peter's symbol that the people of the Districts scrawl everywhere they can get away with it.

In turn, I also experimented with a paint pen on this one of the titling, done on the spine piece, which is black Better Than Goat leather! Again, I went in with a stencil, and opted for blockier letters, like something you might see spray painted onto a wall.

The endpapers are custom; I messed around with a weird cityscape I found and came out with the image you see above. The setting for the games is a futuristic city, much like MCU NYC would be, complete with an Avengers Stane tower.

And then of course, there's the typeset itself! The Hunger Games books don't have particularly striking typesets, but I did go for the dystopian vibe with the Rustic Printed font on the chapter numbers, and Moonglade for the chapter titles, giving it a very industrial feel.

It was also a pleasure to include the art that @angel-gidget did for the fic as well! Her book covers are so gorgeous and I love her manip style so much <3 I also included the short drabble @iron--spider did on her Tumblr, a post-story snack-sized fic, as well as a meta question she answered via her asks that I thought was particularly interesting. The District guide at the back, including what Districts each character belongs to and whether or not they are deceased was interesting to put together, and I hope I didn't make any mistakes!

Last, but certainly not least, this book was the first one I was able to do really nice headbands on. Shoutout to @morningstarbindery who helped me learn how! They look phenomenal and I never would have figured it out on my own <3

I'm excited for everyone to see these books! One day I'll have all your works on my shelf ;)

[callmemaeverick]

TL:DR. A rant about Gabe/Peter’s Tattoos

Whoever’s decision it was to leave Gabe’s tattoos on for Peter deserves all the happiness in the world okay! I’m not really a sleeve-tattoo kind of girl but I love Gabe’s so much!! It was the first thing that caught me onto the show when I saw someone made a Tiktok of it.

And! And it’s not the normal cop sleeve tattoo we normally see painted onto these guys yknow! It’s normally a cross, some skulls, flowers, Chinese/Japanese calligraphy etc. But Gabe’s is like a mandala blooming from the inside of his elbow and going up his biceps. There’s also some geometric triangles going down his forearms that reminded me of shark teeth motifs. (Like Jason Momoa’s)

Then theres the simple one at the top of his spine. Thats my favorite cuz it’s hidden most of the time. I hope it has meaning cuz it’s so cool.

I also like that they didn’t use it as like a thirst trap as much. There was the part where they showed the spine one in Ep1, but that’s mostly to show the scar (AND I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THAT SCAR) But for the rest of them, they were just there.

They painted Peter as this boyscout, never disobeying, never step a toe out of line. So the tattoo was something unexpected. But they don’t shove it into our faces. It was just all of a sudden there, in Ep6, when he got patched up by Rose. I LOVED that reveal.

Anyway, I love tattoos, if you can’t tell, and I love men with tattoos. So, sorry if this rant got long.

Ps: Im writing this as im writing a monster of a reader fic. Im almost done, so stay tuned lol.

Pps: check out my post after this one!! I mightve discovered that the scar. THAT SCAR, might be real also

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

After School Plans

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54846901 by inkinmyheartandonthepage The panic still blooming, Peter opened his text thread with Tony Stark and quickly typed out a message. Mr. Stark! Is everything okay? Happy never showed. -PP He chewed on his thumb as he stared at his phone, wishing for a reply. But his phone faded to black and there was no reply. OR Happy forgets to tell Peter that he's not coming to pick him up and everything spirals. Words: 1578, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 256 of We Forgot Peter Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker Additional Tags: Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker Whump, Teen Peter Parker, Insecure Peter Parker, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Issues, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Happy Hogan & Tony Stark Friendship, Worried Happy Hogan, Happy Hogan Needs a Hug, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Complete read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54846901

[irondadfics]

Hi! I was looking for this fic where Peter and Pepper both get buried alive and Tony has to come rescue them, he can only save one person at a time but he doesn’t know which is which cuz the villain put PP marks on their graves so Tony finds Pepper first and Peter almost dies but survives somehow. Thanks in advance!!!

here you go. Enjoy!

Burying Grounds by blondsak

As he looks between the two graves, Tony’s mind grasps at the one thing he knows beyond all doubt. The man was right. Tony was going to hell. Indeed, he’s already there.

[psychedelic-ink]

Categories:

Click for part one:

Marvel ➞ peter parker, moonknight, doctor strange

Series ➞ AU's, horror vibes, fluff/slice of life, hurt/comfort

Part 2 because tumblr is annoying and glitching or there's too many links we will never know

The Mandalorian ➞ no categories direct top five

Miscellaneous Fandom ➞ no categories direct top five

PP characters ➞ AU's, fluff/smut, hurt/comfort & smut, smut, slice of life, fluff

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧

Tight by @frannyzooey

This was the first thing I read of yours and I still remember everything so vividly. The tight space, the absolute filth falling from Din lips and that promise to clean you up and lastly the way he shut the bunk door with such urgecy. It's been replaying in my head ever since and I simply fell in love with your writing just like that.

2. Soft Moments by @jazzelsaur

I said this before but I still believe this would be how Din would react in the show, it's one of my favorite Din's and I've been in love with this ever since.

3. Revelation by @the-scandalorian

One of my favorite din smut fics, love the reactions both Din and reader had and the aftermath just warmed my heart. Just like reader, I also think that Din saying it first make the whole thing a lot better.

4. Uncharted Territory by @pedrito-friskito

I screamed about this so much but I've been thinking about Din and Sweets so much you have no idea. The bond they have, and the way you wrote Din was superb, this one deserves all the love and I'll never tire of rereading it.

5. Posession by @ezrasbirdie

Just thinking about this still sends shudders up my spine. This one is absolutely splendid and the way you've gradually made Din's conditions worse and worse is engraved in my mind. The ending, the voices, it was all hauntingly beautiful.

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦

The Last Supper by @laters-gators (duke leto)

This might be one of the most beautiful things I read. The way you described the environment, the feelings reader was having in response to Duke Leto having to leave, all of it was stunning and I kept on thinking about this even long after months passed since I read it.

2. somewhere in the belly of the beast by @ozarkthedog (llyod hansen)

I actually haven't watched gray man but read this and it stuck with me, the chase, Llyod's taunting, all of it I still remember so vividly.

3. Firecracker  by @pedrito-friskito (ransom drysdale)

I still stand by the fact that Ransom would act exactly like he did in this fic. The ending was absolutely touching and it made me fall in love with this man even more.

4. Discretion by @inklore (ransom drysdale)

This one nearly killed me, the orgasm denial, the dirty talk, the teasing--It's a miracle I'm able to write this sentence.

5. Roadside Attraction.  by @inklore (ransom drysdale)

The tension you made me feel with this one was outstanding. I loved everything about it, your writing never cease to amaze me, the way you set the mood was amazing.

𝐏𝐏 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝑨𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 

Euclidean Geometry by @leslie-lyman (pero trovar, jack daniels, frankie morales)

This was the first fic I read of yours and I fell for it hard. I still have the image of frankie and jack engraved into my brain, basically becoming useless whenever I think about it. The way you intertwined their stories was outstanding and I read it again multiple times after.

2. Snakes and Ladder by @beskarberry (oberyn martell)

This is hauntingly beautiful. The way you described oberyn and the world is amazing and I will never forget about the smut. I think about it whenever I want to feel my blood rush to my head. Amazing writing.

3. Unbridled by @/beskarberry (pero tovar)

Again this one also lives in my mind rent free. I will never forger about centaur!pero, and I will never forget his amazement when reader too the entire thing. Aside from the smut I enjoyed their banter thoroughly and the ending was just like a fairy tail.

4. Icing on the Cake by @/beskarberry (pero tovar)

Pero eating is one of my kryptonite and reading this scratched that itch perfectly. The way you written this was amazing and comforting and I'll never forget the way Pero fed her. Also really enjoyed that this was also rather emotional, one of my favorite pero fics.

5. My Bluebell Song by @prolix-yuy (jack daniels)

I loved reading this, it was so soft, so tender and just so sweet. The way you wrote their interactions made me smile all the way through and even if this was a recent read of mine there's no way I'm forgetting it.

𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇/𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕

Green Light by @outercrasis (marcus pike)

I still remember this so vividly, and this is the first thing I read of yours. It's the perfect friends to lovers, neighbors, and I loved how this entire thing played out. Everything that happens in this just screams Marcus to me and their interaction with each other was just so natural. I loved every little part of it.

2. What If by @lowlights (frankie morales)

This was just so soft, and so hot at the same time. Loved the scene where Frankie pulls reader on his lap and this fic alone just made me feel loved. And I really enjoyed Frankie making her wait.

3. The Warrior and The Witch by @pedrito-friskito (pero tovar)

You already know how much I love this but that's not gonna stop me from saying it again, I absolutely love this. One of my favorite autumn reads, it's cozy, it has action, it has spice and magic. The way you're able to build works will never not amaze me and the side characters I still hold dear to my heart.

4. howdy, pumpkin by @magpie-to-the-morning & @/radiowallet (jack daniels)

I shall never forget the kitchen scene, NEVER. Whenever I see a pumpkin weather (or a pumpkin for that matter) I think of this. I love it so much, it's just so soft and so spicy, it just makes me wanna curl in my bed to read it again and again.

5. cool girl by @ezrasbirdie (dieter bravo)

I'm not even kidding when I say I think about this fic whenever I'm on Instagram (and especially if Pedro has posted a new story) you have no idea how tempted I became to send this man racoon memes after reading this. Tbh I'm still tempted. I remember the exact moment when I was reading this and I'm still in love with it, you nailed Dieter's essence with this one and I love it.

𝑯𝒖𝒓𝒕/𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 & 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕 

Fire and Whiskey by @pedrito-friskito (joel miller)

I thought about this while watching the gameplay every minute. It' so good, and really made me feel for them both. The desperation they both had and the ending with joel telling her not to go. Absolutely stunning.

2. Stars Hit the Ceiling by @jazzelsaur (frankie morales & agent whiskey)

I will never forget the softness of this, you can clearly feel how much those three care and love each other, and the way they understand what any of them needs really just made me a puddle on the floor.

3. Rekindled by @queenofthefaceless (javier p)

This one made my heart go out for Javi, that man deserves to be loved and I adored the vibes and feelings this one has.

4. Killing Me Softly @astroboots (dave york)

I remember the way a shudder climbed up my spine despite the heat of summer. This was so good, you can feel the tension between each word and the smut was to die for. One of my favorite Dave fics.

5. Cherry Flavored by @pedrito-friskito (dieter bravo)

I read this one on a bus with wide eyes, I think this might be one of the first fics I read of yours but I'm not sure. The emotions and the angst here were stunning. I loved reading this from Dieter's perspective.

𝑶𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕 

Salty Caramel by @iamskyereads (jack daniels)

I will never ever forget this. Hands down my favorite sex drug (or in this case candy) fics, it was stunning, so hot, and I couldn't get out of the effects of it for a good hour or so. And the way Jack was at the end just made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

2. Mechanical Bull and a Ghost by @honestly-shite (ezra, jack daniels)

This is the first fic I read of yours and after that it was quick to get hooked on your writing. It was so hot and my chest heat up whenever I think about it. I loved how you've written their first meet up and their dialogue, I'm still so head over heels over this.

3. My Girl by @/foli-vora (dave york, frankie morales)

This is the one that made me fall in love with you. I haven't reread this for a while and I still remember the way Dave beckoned frankie and pulled at his hair when Frankie got a little rough. The effects of this one lasted a good while I'll tell you that much.

4. Rare by @ezrasbirdie (dave york)

The moment where reader looked down and saw Dave covered in blood and went "oh good finally he's consuming you" is still in my brain. That moment never left and never will. I read this every time I'm on my period I kid you not. My biggest comfort while I'm cramping.

5. Party favor by @/inklore (javier p)

The way you've wrote Javier was perfect and I loved that he saved her from the party because honestly we all need Javier to save us from unwanted conversations.

6. Weight Gain - Pero Tovar by @absurdthirst

I read this one quite often. It just became such a staple comfort for me whenever I'm feeling down, and the way you managed to written Pero's need in this one is outstanding, I think about this one a lot.

𝑺𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆

suck the rot right out of my bloodstream by @redahlia-writes (javier peña)

This one truly was emotional, I felt every word, every sentence and the way you write always reminds me of poetry and I adore that so much. The way you described how javi would never hurt reader haunts me always but in a good way.

2. Near Miss by @/pedrito-friskito (frankie morales)

I screamed about this both publicly and privately but this one was just amazing. Hawk and Frankie has a special place in my heart and the gradual way you showed us how their relationship came to be was amazing.

𝑶𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 

A Bit of A Fright by @leslie-lyman (agent whiskey)

This is just so sweet and thinking about it makes me smile. I love your jack and how he stepped up for reader, so wholesome, so heartwarming.

2. Roasted Almonds  by @toomanystoriessolittletime (marcus pike)

This is one of the best holiday reads, it's so soft and made me melt into my bed when I read it. And the ending was the perfect cherry on top.

3. On the right flight by @prolix-yuy (javi g)

The world needs more Javi fics so when I saw this I was so excited and when I read it I became the most happy person on earth. Loved the interactions, the subtle flirting and just over all Javi being a puppy in human form.

4. you can by @radiowallet (marcus moreno x dieter bravo)

The way you managed to convey so much emotion and sweetness with so little amount of words is amazing. I still think about these two quite often and will never forget the time they smoked together

5. Saturdays with Javier by @wildemaven (javier p)

This is the softest thing I read. I adore the playlist you made for this and seeing how Javier is despite being away from danger was written beautifully. I love this one so much.

[khalixascorner]

WIP Ask Game

Ok I'm sure everyone has seen it but if you haven't. Every title on your WIP list, no explanations no matter how ridiculous or random. If you ask, I'll tell you what it's about and share a snippet.

Due to the fact that I literally have over 100, it's below the line. Tagging @tell-me-no-again @starkerscoop @monster-cock69 @shivanessa and any other starker out there.

Bound by Darkness

Drop

Finding Home

Guard Your Soul

Indebted

Into the Fire

Patterns in Our Pinions

Run For It

Penny's Multidimensional Adventure

Sanctuary In Your Arms

Shelter from the Storm

Terms of Use

The Price of Royalty

Undying Affections

Warm My Black Heart

You're My Only Hope

Your Eyes Can't Lie

By My Side

Forced Devotion

Keeper

Kept it a Secret but now you know

Take What's Mine

Unexpected Consequences

Unintentional Oversight

Alpha Knows Best

Bind you Tight

Fill You Up

More Than a Breeder

Respectfully, The Iron Queen

Whiskers and Wings

Prove My Worth

Held in Trust

Anything for You

Beloved Daughter

Keep it in the Tower

Only the Best

Safe in My Arms

Teach you Everything

Made From Love Pt 5+

Untitled

A Fresh Start

Consentual Kidnapping

He's Taken

Ours

The Things We Do For Love

Behavior Hacks

To Have and To Hold

Under Your Skin

Beneath the Sakura Tree

Bound Among Stars

Elder's Blessing

Enchanted

First Rites

Flames and Fury

Guilty Pleasures

Iron Butler

Nothing to Lose

Save a Horse

Second Chances

Trapped in your field

Forever

Know What You Need

Rare Bloom

Temptation

Unintentional

Worth It

Dark Temptations

Did We Make It

My Greatest Treasure

Found my Family

Family Ties

Bound by Blood

The Lady Down the Street

Love through the Lens

A Matter of Time

Forever My Peter Pan

Half Life

Acceptable Losses

A Princely Offering

Fins and Fantasies

Harley's Dad (has got it going on)

I Hear You

In Every Universe

Magic of Neverland

That Time I got Summoned to Another World

The Lie in Your Love

Three of a Kind

Unlikely Shelter

Aftercare

Fixed Points

Pretty Pet

What Money Can Buy

Love Languages

Our Definition of Love

Fury Ex Machina

PP Bingo Fic 2

Don't Tell HR

Best in Show

Dragon Kisses

Kittens and Cuddles

The Ugly Duckling

Found my heart in the alley one day

Man's Best Friend

Of Fires and Flames

Babydoll

Better than Fiction

Can't Let you Go

Connections

Daddy's Toy

Rebuilding Home

Written in Code

Abandoned

Fairy's Blessings

How to Raise Your Superhero Child so They Make it To Adulthood

Spidersister V1

Spidersister V2

From the Shadows

Kintsuji Spider

What Makes a Family

Moment of Truth

Supervillain Parenting 101

The Meaning of Legacy

After Dark

Beauty and the SIM

By the Books

Caring For You

Daddy's Boy

Hide My Darkness

Say it with flowers

Take you and Keep you

Ties That Bind

WinterIronSpider

April Fool

I'll Make a Shrine to You

If You Can't Do Crazy

Nothing to Lose

Stand by Your Man

The Fragility of Trust

The Scent of You

Touch you, Feel You

Turned up Tuned in

Ways to Say I Love You

Back for More

Friends in Low Places

Greener on the Other Side

Thinking of You

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

No pressure, absolutely. Just to make sure I'm leaving no doubt with that.

Curious minds (all right, me) would very gently ask how Of Coffee and Cinnamon Rolls is progressing?

I was looking at my *recipe (good Lord was that a cool front of 80 degrees I saw on my weather app, halle-freakin-lujah) for cinnamon rolls this past weekend and in the strange and slightly odd way that various fandoms coexist in my daily life, your PP fic came to mind. You might be saying to yourself, "Self? Why not Chef Bun-Buns Matt?" The answer is unfathomable, except somehow I associate Chef Almighty Abs Matt with pastries of a slightly more refined variety such as the tiramisu, dessert crepes, or the crème brûlèe and no shade for that, nor do I believe he would ever turn down an ooey-gooey cinnamon roll. It is just that in my less lucid moments Peter Parker, on the other hand, I can easily imagine devouring said cinnamon roll and ending up with just an eensy bit of warm filling or frosting on the corner of his mouth. Oh gawd, what am I even saying. I've entirely lost the thread here. Yeah, um anyway, I'll be here, standing in the kitchen doorway staring off into the distance and looking forward to your next updates regardless. Much love to you!

*I've used several different recipes since HS, but lately have been using The Pioneer Woman one. I had to cut back on the icing though because S.O. prefers the cinnamon spice flavor over the sweet.

Ahh, thank you for asking about OCACR!

Chef Beefy Buns Matt is demanding all of my time and attention right now, so my main focus is admittedly on him. (He's hard at work making ladyfinger dough since in case he needs to make Reader some apology tiramisu later, although he wouldn't mind trying to perfect a cinnamon roll recipe to serve her during a lazy morning in together.)

(Don't get ahead of yourself, Matt. You haven't even kissed the girl yet.)

That being said, Chapter 2 of OCACR is at almost 3k words and is close(ish) to being done (if I can figure out how to get to my planned stopping point without being too more wordy).

Peter will definitely be enjoying more of Reader's cinnamon rolls soon though (as well as her banana bread, croissants, muffins, coffee cake, and maybe even some icing off of Reader's lips birthday cake)!

(I'm with your S.O. -- I don't have much of a sweet tooth so I'm definitely team less icing.)

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

VI. growing pains.

parts: previously plot: you and peter are getting used to each other, but there are growing pains. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: mentions of several injuries, mildly suggestive content, hurt/comfort, peter being a problematic vigilante boyfriend (not telling you he got his ass kicked). words: 5k.

a/n: something a little shorter and sweeter (after the pain, of course).

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

He fits him perfectly. The curls, his lips. But now there are eyes that fill in the gap, honey-color eyes that speak to that soothing feeling he gives you. He's leaning his forehead against yours now, looking up into your own eyes. You've thought about this exact moment happening before, but you had never gotten around to what you would say when it finally did.

Peter's thumb brushes up against your hip—having sneaked underneath the hem of his sweater during your reverie—and it jolts you back, "Well, come on," he nervously laughs, "don't leave me hangin'."

You take a handful of his hair in your grip, passing the silky strands between your fingertips and recalling the first night you'd ever felt them, "Why now?"

Peter's nose scrunches up, "I told you. I was never fooling you."

You shut your eyes, stretching your neck forward to brush your nose against his, "No, but... why right now? Why like this?

"It might be obvious but I really, really like you. I... I just kept thinking that I really wanted to tell you, because you're this smart, ambitious, funny—amazing at baking, by the way—person that I didn't want to miss out on, but you don't really know Peter Parker. You know Spidey. You know Spider-Man. And that's a lot to live up to which is weird to say because it's... also me? And eventually, the more comfortable I got with you, the more the lines started to blur together. But I just worried that if I dragged it out any longer, I might set you up for disappointment and I just... wanted you to see me. Really see me. At least once, before I told you. Does that make sense?"

And you do see him. You're seeing everything you imagined and more mystery yet. The pictures in this room could only tell a fraction of the story of Peter Parker, your time with Spider-Man telling another. You let the little voice in your head that drives your curiosity get excited at unraveling it. Just this once. "I told you at the gala, didn't I? That if anyone in that room was you, Peter Parker would be it."

You hear a low grumble in Peter's throat, "Mm, yeah. Yeah, you did say that. You also said that... I'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at me-"

"That's irrelevant."

"You say that whenever I'm right."

"I say that whenever it's irrelevant."

"Yeah, but you do have a thing for me, right?" Peter smiles, taking your cheek in his hand. The bliss on his face knocks you right out of whack. The dresser digs into your back as you try not to get lightheaded just looking at him.

It's so unfamiliar to put a face—a whole face—to Spidey, and now you can see it all. Every wrinkle, every flutter of his eyelashes, every brow-furrow. Everything, everything.

Your lips part to tease him, but Peter's door suddenly shakes under three firm knocks.

"Hey. Is Harry. You okay?" Harry Osborn is slurring over his words, and you can tell he's got his mouth pressed up against the door because it sounds a little muffled when he speaks, "I'm really sorry."

Peter's shoulders had tensed at the knocks, pulling you closer to his body for the fraction of a second when neither of you knew it was Harry. But once he recognizes the voice, his mouth drops to your shoulder to muffle his laughing. You press your face into his hair to stifle your own, barely able to choke out a sincere, "It's no biggie, Harry. Really!"

"Ya sure? I feel really awful about it. May's... May said I stained the tablecloth too."

"I'm so sure, Harry."

"I can buy you a new shirt. As many-" He pauses to hiccup, "-as many as you want."

"You really don't have to!"

A few seconds later, Harry mumbles, "Are you mad at me?"

You whisper to Peter who is biting his bottom lip to keep from giving himself away, "Is he always like this when he's drunk?"

"After the tequila mellows out," Peter snickers, "he won't let it go until he makes it up to you, you know."

Through the door, you can hear Harry say something like "you really are mad at me" to himself. "Seriously, it's not a big deal, Harry. Look, I've already got a new sweater on and everything!"

You kind of hear Harry's question, but you notice Peter's reaction first. He stiffens, tilts his head toward the door, inhales deep.

The door barely cracks open a hair before Peter's webbed it shut.

The look Peter gives you tells you everything you need to know: Harry doesn't know.

Your mouth falls open as you slip from between Peter and the dresser and rush over to the door. You slip two fingers between the web and the door frame, testing the strength, and the lack of give is impressive. "Uh, sorry Har! I'm not decent right now."

"But you... you said... a new sweater-"

"Yeah, but..." You glance over at Peter for help which ends up being the absolute wrong thing to do. You'd taken your eyes off him during the mere second it took to reach the door, and now he's half naked standing in a pool of red and blue and frantically pulling a shirt over his naked stomach. You stare at the ridges of his abdomen as they flex, and even a little longer after Peter pulls a "You Compute Me <3" t-shirt down over it. He gestures vaguely at you, even as his cheeks go pink watching your eyes dart to his boxers and back up to his face, "...it got on my pants too?"

You hear Harry whine a little, thumping his forehead against the door, "I'm really sorry."

"If you think about it, it's kind of like payback. I spill my drink on you, you spill your drink on me. We're even now." You peek at Peter who's now bent over digging through his drawer for a pair of shorts and force yourself to keep your thoughts elsewhere.

"I'll buy you new pants, too. I'll buy you so many pants."

"The stain isn't even that bad! I'm just spot-cleaning it, really. You can go back to the party."

"Oh... well, I was gonna, but I can't find Pete."

You open your mouth to dig up some reassuring lie when Peter presses himself into your back, snatches the webbing off the door frame, and opens it to reveal a flustered looking Harry on the other side.

Whatever embarrassment he felt over the whole drink ordeal washes away instantaneously. He frowns, blinks, stands upright at once. He stares between you and Peter.

Peter is the first one to say something, "Hey... man. Hey. I'm here. You found me."

Harry raises a finger to point accusingly at you two, but nothing comes out of his mouth for a bit. Like he'd forgotten to say what he was thinking out loud, "Have you been here the whole time?"

You look at Peter. His right hand rests on the small of your back like an awkward prom date, and when he meets your gaze, a nervous laugh tumbles out of his mouth, "Yes... yeah."

Harry's eyes narrow, "Why'd you change clothes?"

"Hot flash."

Both you and Harry give Peter a bewildered look this time. How he'd kept his secret identity a secret this long was truly a plot armor miracle.

"I can take a hint, you know," Harry's demeanor deflates, even though he sounds less sad and more disappointed, "I just wish you guys would've told me you were dating earlier. I know I've been gone but I still wanna be in your life, Pete."

Your heart softens at that. You feel kind of terrible about how clumsily you've all stumbled into this moment. You feel Peter stiffen and swoop in to save him, "No! You've got it all wrong, we're not dating. We just... kissed. For the first time, actually. That's why I didn't let you in at first. It was... you know."

You watch Harry process it for a moment. Then, as if all transgressions had been forgiven, he smiles. With a deep bellow the whole house can hear, Harry turns to yell down the hallway, "That's 20, Leeds! I called it!" He gives you both a fleeting goodbye, throws in a "congrats", and runs downstairs.

You let the door quietly glide shut. Peter runs a hand through his hair, letting out a rough exhale. "So, Harry, one of your best friends since college, doesn't know you're Spider-Man? But I do?"

"It's complicated." Peter groans, "I didn't tell anyone at first. Not MJ, not Ned, not even May. Then it all just kinda happened. With Harry, though... it's not that I don't trust him, I just don't know how to bring it up."

You watch him take a seat on the edge of his bed, dropping his chin in his hand to look at you. You press your back to the door, "Bet him 20 bucks you couldn't crawl on the ceiling?"

Peter snickers, "Nah. I'd bet him 80."

"Speaking of: you wouldn't happen to know anything about that 20 Harry was talking about, would you?"

Peter's cheeks go pink and he drops his head in his hands.

Boldly, you press off the door and saunter over to him, dropping to your knees at his feet and resting your folded arm on one of his legs. He peeks through his fingers to look at you and then quickly closes them again. You tug his chin toward you and his hands have no choice but to fall away, revealing his wobbly, embarrassed smile and the blush that had spread up to his hairline, "Parker." Is all you say.

He tries to hold out and bless him, he's really cute when he tries, but he turns to mush after holding your stare for too long, "The guys thought it'd be funny to make a bet on when I'd... give in."

"Give in? To what?"

Peter wails and throws himself back on the bed dramatically, flopping like a fish. You crawl up onto the bed beside him with a shit-eating grin. He tries to throw his arm over his eyes but you pin his wrist beside his head while he debates between looking at you head-on and staring up at the top bunk, "Hey, don't hide from me," you whine, "tell me."

Peter grumbles something sarcastic under his breath but it hitches when you throw a leg over him, straddling his lower half and blocking his view of the box-spring. You think his pupils blow a bit wider, "To you," Peter's voice is tender now, careful and vulnerable, "I... kind of told everyone I wanted to make a good impression on you. Or a better impression than the last two. And Harry's been teasing me about it all day so I thought I'd just spite him for it and... and then I... put on the suit. And something stupid happens to me when I'm around you, but if I hadn't, I don't know if I would have had the courage to kiss you."

You slip a hand up Peter's chest, "If it makes you feel better," you lean down to peck his lips, "it was a damn good kiss."

"Yeah?" Peter's voice pitches up a little, cracking on the word.

"I've gotta tell the Web-Blog about it now. Full disclosure."

Before you can even giggle about it, Peter has you flipped on your back, pressing his mouth to yours in a dizzying kiss that shuts you right up.

You have not heard from Peter in 12 hours.

For normal couples, 12 hours without speaking wasn't the end of the world. Jobs, family, friends, alone time; it was reasonable—healthy even—for normal couples. 12 hours was nothing.

But you and Peter were not normal, and 12 hours for you was four days in normal couple time.

It had started the night before. Peter had promised he'd swing by for your usual debrief, a little later than usual due to where he'd be patrolling, and you had reassured him it was fine. You'd made tea and prepped the couch for the possible (inevitable) sleep-over, and waited. And waited. At some point, you'd passed out exhausted on the couch thinking that he might swoop in around three a.m. with snacks and an apology, only to wake up hours later to sunrise and nothing. No one. Cold tea and a couch only you slept on.

You'd shot off a text (well-concealed concern, of course) hoping he'd gotten some well-earned sleep after patrol, dancing around the missed date. It was fine, you were sure. It was only eight in the morning and he didn't have a tight schedule like you.

But by the afternoon, there is no response to your text.

You just about gnaw your fingernails off before Jameson recommends you take a walk to gather your bearings, or "you're shaking like my wife's teacup poodle off half a shot of espresso, go somewhere I can't see you."

Halfway down the block and no less nervous than when you left, you call the only person you know who might be of help, "Hey, Ned. Are you busy by any chance?"

"Nah, you caught me on my lunch break. What's up?"

You press your back to a storefront window, letting the city pass you by, "It's Pete. He was supposed to come by last night for our weekly debrief but he didn't show. No text, no call, nothing. And he always does his best to let me know if he can't make it."

"Hm, that's weird. Did you try calling him?"

"I... texted him? Assumed he was just too tired last night and slept off patrol at his place. But it's been a few hours and he still hasn't responded. I didn't wanna seem like a clingy partner if he was just busy but I'm getting worried. You haven't heard from him, have you?"

You can hear Ned's computer chair squeak on the other end as if he'd shot up in his chair. "That's... not like Peter."

Your stomach turns to lead, "Ned, you don't think-"

"Hold on." You hear rapid typing on Ned's end, "I traced his phone back to his apartment." You would ask how he managed to do that so quickly, especially at work, but you supposed you'd rather not know, "He's there for sure. Or his phone is, at least. Log shows he definitely took it with him on patrol."

You frown, "Really?"

"It showed him returning home at one this morning. It's still on. Last location ping was half an hour ago. Doesn't seem like he's used it, though. No calls sent out, no texts either."

"You're scary good at this, Ned."

You can hear the pride in Ned's tone as he types some more, "Look, I'm gonna give him a call and see if he picks up. If he doesn't, I'll head over to his place and see what's going on for myself. I'll let you know if I get anything out of him, alright?"

"Alright. Good. Be careful."

"Hey."

"Hm?" You bite hard into your bottom lip.

"Don't pull an Aunt May on me."

"What's an Aunt May?"

"The whole pretending you're not freaking out when you really are freaking out thing. Classic May."

"Can you blame me, Ned? I'm... I'm new to this. I don't know the protocol for dating a-" You bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the rest of your sentence, "-vigilante. I don't know what's too much or- or..."

"If it helps, I hear there's no protocol at all. Pretty disorganized system, if you ask me. Many a couple left asunder." You choke on a little laugh, "It's gonna be okay, okay? Peter likes you a lot. It's probably nothing. Don't stress yourself out. I'll talk to you later."

The phone clicks. You feel like you should be surrounded by silence after that but the city bustles about you as if you're not even there. It's overstimulating, but you don't think you'll find much refuge back at the Bugle either.

And you would go, you would if you could. You'd be meeting Ned halfway if you knew where Peter lived but it was embarrassing. You hadn't worked up the courage to ask and Peter had never invited you over, and so now you're stuck on a street corner twiddling your thumbs wondering if your boyfriend might be hurt or worse while you mull over being too forward.

You wait five minutes, but no updates from Ned. 10, and nothing still. A half hour passes and you think you might actually vibrate through the floor with worry when you get a single text from Ned. It's an address.

Jameson hadn't been too happy when you took the rest of the afternoon off, but you'd promised to edit a particularly scathing piece about Spider-Man in exchange and, well, he couldn't say no to that.

As you knocked on the door of apartment 215, you could hear quarreling voices behind it come to a halt. Then, unmistakably, your boyfriend asks, "Who is that?" Your saliva gets stuck in your throat. You have to force down a swallow, the pressure building in your nose and behind your eyes as footsteps draw near to the front door. You hated that this would be the first time you stepped foot into Peter's place: unplanned, uninvited.

Ned is the one to open the door. His disappointment is palpable but very clearly not aimed at you. He blocks the doorway, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I know it's a lot to ask, but please don't panic. Not yet."

What no one had seemed to tell Ned in his 20+ years of living is that prefacing something with "don't panic" often had the opposite effect. Your heart rate spikes. It stutters when Peter calls out your name weakly.

All the swirling fear you'd been bracing for hits you at once. Peter is curled up on his two-seater—a cramped, dingy thing—looking like death itself. He hadn't even taken off the suit fully, the upper half bunched up at his waist like he'd only had the energy to get it down that far. His chest and torso are littered with fresh scars, some more ghastly than others, few hastily covered in a concoction of ointments and bandages that sit in a pile by the couch.

You rush past Ned and collapse on your knees beside it, "Peter?"

He winces. His face is bruised, mottled around the eyes and mouth and nose. His hand shakes as you reach for it.

You turn to Ned, "What happened?"

"Fisk happened," his best friend grumbles, "a lot of Fisk happened, apparently."

You remembered what he'd said about patrol last night. He was over in Hell's Kitchen, checking on some suspicious activity by the rail yard. Your heart jumps in your throat. "Fisk was there?"

Peter lets out a shuttering breath, "Overseeing transport."

You glare at him with more heat than he probably deserves right now, but you're beginning to tremble with rage and you've nowhere to put it, "Did you know Fisk was there?" Peter does not answer. He doesn't even bother to look at you anymore. "Peter."

"I had a chance," he coughs, spit dribbling from the corner of his lip that you quickly blot away with your sleeve, "to catch him in the act."

"He could've killed you!"

Peter can't argue that. You want him to; you want him to tell you that it wasn't so much of a close call. It'd put your mind at ease, keeping every other possible scenario at bay. He can't even do that.

You hover a hand over his cheek but can't bring yourself to touch him, afraid to irritate the bruises there. "I'm taking you to a hospital."

"You can't." Peter and Ned's voices ring out in unison.

"Then we'll take you to... to somewhere. The Avengers facility, some top-secret resort on an island I don't know the name of. Something. Peter, you could've died."

"And I'll heal," you watch Peter press himself up on his elbows, but he wobbles under his own weight and drops back down into the cushions, "it's just gonna take a while."

"Tell him he's being ridiculous, Ned."

Ned frowns from the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, "He is. But he's not going to leave the city. I've... tried."

You bite your lip, "Then what if we get someone down here instead? They come to Peter."

You see the cogs turning in Peter's brain, trying to strum up some kind of excuse, but you're already stealing his phone from the coffee table and scrolling for her contact before Peter can stop you. If you weren't so worried about his health, you'd have hesitated before dialing her number. You jump up from the floor and to your horror, Peter tries to follow you.

He stumbles—of course he does, he's barely able to stand upright—and at the very moment he reaches for your arm, the phone picks up, "Peter? It's been a while. How are you?"

"This isn't Peter, this is... this is a friend of Peter's," Peter's fingers still on your elbow, his chest pressed to your side, and you can feel him struggling to keep his weight off you to stand. Both you and Ned force him down onto his bed. "Listen, I'm sorry to bother you, but he got hurt really bad last night and we could use any help we can get. Is it possible you could send someone over? Anyone who can help?"

"Um," Pepper Potts sounds stunned, "is Peter there? Can I talk to him first?"

You reluctantly hold out the phone to your boyfriend, daring him to ignore the determined look in your eyes. And, to his credit, he does try.

"He's recovering quickly, though it won't be as quick of a turnaround as he's used to. Make sure he takes these every six hours and keep an eye on his liquids," Dr. Said places a bottle in your hand, her tone just barely betraying the exhaustion she feels after working on Peter for hours, "I would recommend no heroing until he's fully recovered, but this isn't my first rodeo."

You wonder how many heroes Dr. Said has fixed up in her time. Pepper had said she'd send over an "expert", though she'd never had the pleasure of working on Peter.

You walk her to the door and lock it behind her when she leaves, and it's only then that you realize the sun has begun to set, the buildings across the street reflecting fleeting sunrays through Peter's living room window. You're careful maneuvering throughout the place: shutting blinds, flipping on lamps, picking up his suit and discarding it in the laundry bin. It's only one room—Peter's apartment—so he watches you the whole time.

You're thinking about what to say now that it's just the two of you (Ned had gone back to work after his lunch break ended), but Peter beats you to it, "I won that," you look at Peter sitting up in bed, then follow his finger to a shelf above his desk scattered with trophies, "at my middle school mathletes competition. The one next to it was for 2nd place at our science fair; I would've won first but the soda dispenser on my ice cream float machine malfunctioned and sprayed root beer in the principal's eye."

You snort, "Pity. You kept the trophy but not the machine?"

"I kept it! It's probably in May's attic buried under my basketball participation trophies." Peter smiles for the first time since you'd gotten here. He pats the bed beside him.

As you crawl into Peter's bed, he tells you about everything else; his rug is from a garage sale (and no, those weren't bloodstains, just a freak accident with tomato paste), he'd had his bed since college but splurged on a new mattress with graduation money, he paid a little less on rent now in exchange for letting the landlord's daughter take his bike to work sometimes (swinging was faster anyway).

The little details end up not being very little. There's so much of him here, packed into this tiny one-bedroom. The half-baked Spidey gadgets scattered across his desk and the science beakers in the kitchen sink... it's so much more than what you imagined.

You curl into Peter, laying flat on your side as he tucks his arm underneath your head. He must've run out of things to point at because it's silent between you both for a good while. The sun has fully set by the time he speaks again, "I wanted this to go differently."

"This?" You mumble.

"This. You coming over for the first time. I would've liked to have... don't know, vacuumed. Changed my sheets. Washed the blood out of my suit," you both laugh at that, "I would've made you dinner. I've got tons of recipes saved on my phone."

"Oh yeah? What would you have made me?"

"Ugh, there was this uh... this pasta chip thing? You boil pasta noodles, season 'em, throw 'em in the air fryer and they come out all crunchy. I would've borrowed May's fryer and went to town."

"That sounds really good actually."

"Yeah, I gotta-" Peter reaches for his phone on the windowsill but stretches himself too hard. You sit up a little to press your hand to his shoulder, worrying over his irritated stitches, and he sinks back into the headboard in defeat, "I gotta show you. Sometime."

Peter is avoiding your eyes but you can see the swirling pools of shame and embarrassment in his. While Dr. Said had worked on his injuries, he had said next to nothing. Just stared at the ceiling, or at her, or at you. It was unnerving. He never passed up an opportunity to joke—especially at his own expense—and yet... "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Peter winces at your question. Still refusing to look at you, the arm around you tightens and loosens. You brush your fingers against his bandaged cheek and for a second, he instinctively bumps into it. "I didn't want to worry you."

"And Ned? MJ? May? You couldn't tell them either?"

"I... I just needed to sleep it off."

"Pete," You nearly growl his name, enough for him to actually look you in the eyes this time, "don't bullshit me. Not after today."

Peter swallows. He believes your threat unsaid, and buckles, "I'm sorry."

The tightness in your frown softens, "Why?"

Peter laughs but you can tell there's very little humor in it. A defense mechanism, maybe, or his feelings are just that absurd, "I never set out to tell anyone that I was Spider-Man. I mean, I thought about it all the time but it all just kind of... happened. Before May, before Ned, before... Tony, it was just me. If I beat up a bad guy, it was between me and whoever managed to catch it online. If I saved a little old lady, it was between me and her. If I got hurt, it was just me. I learned to handle that."

You think back to what Peter said, about how he'd been Spider-Man since he'd started high school. Imagining a younger Peter—the Peter in those family pictures at May's—beaten to a pulp most nights makes you sick to your stomach. "But you've had Ned, and MJ and May for years. Don't you-" You don't get the chance to finish your question. The look Peter gives you is your answer.

"I love them but they're not... they didn't sign up for this. I did. When I fuck up, it's me. It's just me. It has to be."

"And the other heroes? I'm sure the others would help."

"The others have bigger fish to fry than me," Peter chuckles, "and I swore I would take care of New York. It's my home. So that's what I'm going to do, even if I have to do it alone."

"But you're not alone." You take his free hand in yours, fingers intertwining despite the splint on one finger. "Pete, I'm not asking you to let me out in the field with you in a dollar store knock-off of your suit, I'm asking that you just tell me—tell us when you need help. If things get dicey, say something. I'd rather know than find you in a ditch somewhere because you were too-" and you want to say proud, but you fear it'll burn the wrong way, "-too worried about us worrying. We're here for you. I'm here for you. I care so much about you that I think my heart might explode."

"Whoa, hey," Peter's eyes prickle with tears as he laughs, releasing your hand to cup your cheek, "telling me that kinda proves my point, you know that right?"

You can't help but smile, "I can't help it. You do crazy things to my feelings, Parker."

Peter draws you in for a kiss, then two. Your shoulders sag with the weight of the day and you try your best not to lean into his bruised shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should've sucked it up and said something. Ignoring you was a jackass move."

"Yeah. It was."

"I'm really sorry."

"I forgive you."

Peter's eyelashes flutter open but he keeps your noses pressed against each other, "You wanna sleep over?"

You raise an eyebrow, even as your heart accelerates, "Easy there, tiger. Make me dinner first."

Peter wiggles his injured hand against your cheek, "Uh, chef's on sabbatical. Will takeout suffice?"

You press a kiss to his nose. "Sounds good to me, handsome."

[jettorii]

Do you still like Peter Parker? Your drawings of the three of them are too adorable.

OMG YESS I DO!!! wont even lie i was literally reading pp x reader tk fics on my alt GAHAHA it was so fun

ill probably do more though!!! i really miss drawing rhe three and their silly little brother things, just stirring my brain for some ideas or whatever pops into my head >:]

[peachyteabuck]

commission info/faq (updated)

Basic Info:

I do writing commissions for a variety of characters across several fandoms including, but not limited to: Fallon Carrington from Dynasty, most Chris Evans characters, and Eliot from Leverage. 

A fuller list of characters can be found here. 

The tag I use for commissions can be found here if you’re interested in seeing what other people commission

My full masterlist, including non-commissions, can be found here

Pricing:

As of June 15th, 2023, fics are now two cents per word. So, if you’d like a 2,000 fic, you would pay $40USD. 

Please keep in mind that the word count is determined by how much I receive, rather than what is sent. Before sending money, please double check fees and/or conversion rates. 

I charge 1.5x my normal rate for somnophilia. 

I charge 2x my normal rate for selfcest. 

These are not cumulative--as in, I multiply the base rate and then add the final rate. 

I do not write for: 

Roman Godfrey, Iver the Boneless, and any male antman & the wasp characters. I do not write underage characters regardless of context--I am fine writing for characters WITH children, but not characters AS children. 

I write for Peter Parker + Stranger Things characters, but I will not write NSFW scenarios while they are still in high school. 

I have the right to refuse any commission regardless of content. I only accept one commission per person at a time. 

Are you comfortable with [X] kink/fetish/scenario?

Probably. I literally used to write gore, and my favorite kinds of commissions to do are dark fics. We can talk specifics if you’re worried I will not do a certain scene! 

How to contact me:

You can DM me on this blog, or email me at contactlukisj@gmail.com (please make the subject “Commission Inquiry”). You can include as much or as little detail as you want. Before you email me, please know the approximate amount of words you would like the commission to be, the characters, and anything on your “no” list. 

Examples of good messages include:

✔ hi! i was wondering if i could commission 1200 words of carolnat smut?

✔  would it be cool to ask for 2000 words of loki x reader fluff?

✔  i’m looking to commission 5000 words of valkyrie x reader smut wherein it’s their wedding night and the reader’s first time - valkyrie and the reader are in an arranged marriage to merge their kingdoms (this is a non marvel au btw) together.

Please do not email me if you are not ready to actually commission me. If you are merely asking questions in anticipation of a commission, please make that clear. Please do not email me, finalize details, and then ghost when I ask for payment. 

How do I pay?

Depending on your preference, you will either send all of the money upfront and will receive the commission when it is posted publicly, or, half the money will be sent upfront, you will receive drafts from me which you will okay (for plot, characterization, etc), one or two more drafts which you will okay, then the final draft will be sent and I will post the fic publicly one week from the day you reply that you are good with the final draft.

Commissioners must pay all service fees. I determine word count by the amount received, not amount sent. 

Please do not mention “commission” in the notes section of the payment. 

I accept C*sh*pp, V*nm*, and P*yP*l. I also do trades, but these are on a case-by-case basis. 

Can I commission sequels?

Yes! If a sequel is already in progress I will let you know. 

How long do commissions take?

Depends on a variety of factors, including my mental/physical health. I am a university student who works several jobs and I am responsible for myself and two cats. 

[rachel1987]

I've started working the AiW blog again and it's getting me nostalgic for Peter Pan and the Pirates.

I desperately need to get my ass in gear and work on those projects too. I have some stuff I'd like to scan from my personal collection and I've made a couple purchases that I'd like to share as well.

Thinking of doing a watchthrough of the show like I'm doing with AiW and post artwork as I go along. It probably wouldn't be as frequent since it feels like the Wonderland Watchthrough is a full-time investment (on top of my real full time job), but I'd still like to do it. It's been decades since I've seen some of those episodes. Plus I feel like this fandom could use a boost too.

I'm also considering posting what I have of my PP&P fic. I've been knocking it around since 2010 (or before, I can't remember when I came up with the idea for it, it's been so long) and I think it's a good enough concept to share at least. Maybe fan encouragement will get me to actually develop it. *shrug*

[sparklingsin]

Ahhhhh!!! Ash! I hope you don’t mind but I planned us a whole ass Valentine’s Day! We’re gonna have the best date! 🤩🤩🤩 Ok, so we’re gonna start at the art museum (Nathan Drake with a travel photographer in Mexico vibes?) because I love art! 🥺 Then the bookstore! Because…well, books! And lastly, we’re gonna finish off at the arcade with slushees (Top 5 Tom/Peter/Nate fics) where I will attempt to kick your ass at every game but inevitably lose. *le sigh* What do you think?? 🥹

hi bb, this sounds so lovely!!

[nathan drake, travel photographer]

onto the bookstore;

REANNA bb, shall i compare thee to a summers day? thou art more lovely and temperate <3 really, you are a breath of fresh air, everytime i see you in my notifs it makes me ❤️😍😳 you've been an amazing supporter and reader and from all of the interaction we've had i just wish i could get to know you irl. please continue being your cheerfful, amazing self <3 thank you for being here ILY.

top 5 tom fics i like: (i haven't read tom fics in so long..)

rebound (pp)

this one shot (pp)

all consuming all wanting (pp)

i spy no spy (pp)

the memory of your touch (yes this is mine bc i haven't read many Nathan drake fics agsjzb and i can't find any in the one's I've rec)

this was a beautiful date, almost as beautiful as you ;) i hope you had fun, my love. happy valentine's day!

[rae-gar-targaryen]

I don't know what's going on, but if we're here to praise Rae Rae's writing, then please allow me to interject for a moment! Okay, so! I fell in love with your writing when you were writing for PP but I think I truly became obsessed with reading your fics/oneshots when you started writing for Andrew's Peter Parker. The picnic one happens to be one of my absolute favorites because I could actually picture myself in the meadow they were sitting in. You are truly such an incredible writer that I'm amazed that you aren't already a published author to some degree. You deserve all the notes on your writing. You are so talented. 😭🥰💗

Thank you, endlessly, my darling J! You've made my entire day! I know I weave my way through fandoms but I'm just so honored you've stuck with me..you're so lovely and so kind. Truly I am undeserving of this praise.

Tell me what about my writing you love/has stuck with you