#peter parker acting like an actual spider

[lemonlillybee]

Sticky Sickie

Title: Sticky Sickie

Fandom: Irondad

Word Count: 2500 (Read on AO3)

Prompts: #76 from @irondadmadlads and @comfortember prompts falling asleep on someone & quality time

“Pep!” Tony doesn’t care that he sounds whiney. Well, maybe he cares a little bit, but he has other, more important things to focus on. “Honey, I can’t stay in bed all day! I have things to do. I’ve been in bed all week, and–”

“I thought you might say that.” Pepper smiles brightly. “Would you rest if someone stayed with you? Misery loves company, after all.”

“Is that so?” Tony grumbles, feeling irrationally annoyed at the way his hopes soar at the thought of not having to be alone today. He stuffs down the hope and tries to sound indifferent. “You’re really going to stay here with me today?”

Pepper gives him a smile and Tony knows she can see right through him. “Mm, not quite.” She doesn’t explain herself, just leaves the room without another word, and Tony flops back onto his pillows with a heavy sigh that makes him cough a little. He’d been knocked on his ass almost a week ago by the cold from hell and though he’d love to be able to get up and get on with his life today, he’s actually still feeling really exhausted. Not that he’s going to admit that to Pepper.

Tony drags a hand down his face and starts to make a list in his head of things he’d like to get done today. When Pepper comes back into the room, she has someone shuffling along behind her, and Tony immediately forgets his entire list when he sees who it is.

“Peter?”  

Peter pokes his head around Pepper, raising his hand in a little wave. He’s holding a box of tissues to his chest with his other arm, and he looks terrible, his face pale and his nose red. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and he shuffles over to the wall closest to Pepper’s side of the bed, kicking his sneakers off and lining them up neatly before dropping his backpack down next to them. 

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, his voice so congested it doesn’t even sound like him.

“You’re sick too, huh?” Tony asks, guilt straining his voice. “I’m so sorry, Roos.” 

“I’m okay,” Peter replies, sounding anything but. “Ms. Potts said you’re not feeling well and wanted my company. Which, I’m not sure I’ll be any entertainment because I’m also not feeling well, but–” 

“Pete,” Tony cuts him off, because Peter is grimacing and rubbing at his throat as he talks, his voice croaky and fading fast. 

Pepper notices, too, and she ushers Peter toward the bed. “You’re running a fever, sweetheart, so you’re going to get into this bed and rest today. Both of you are going to rest, got it?” She says, looking pointedly at Tony over Peter’s head. 

“Got it,” Peter replies obediently. He climbs into the bed, sitting with his back up against the headboard, and lets Pepper pull the blanket over his legs. She smoothes her hand over his forehead, and he leans slightly into the touch, closing his eyes and making a little humming sound that turns into a whimper when she pulls her hand away. 

“We stopped by and got a dose of meds from Bruce,” Pepper tells Tony. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. is going to be keeping him updated on Peter’s temperature. And she’s going to call me if either of you need anything. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Peter says, answering again for the both of them. He shivers a little, then drags the sleeve of his hoodie under his nose, wincing as the action irritates the raw skin around his nose. He sheepishly grabs a tissue when he sees the way Pepper is looking at him, pressing it to his running nose and mumbling an apology. 

“You two take care of each other, okay?”

Tony and Peter both nod, and Pepper leaves, kissing Peter on the top of the head and then making her way around the bed to do the same to Tony before she goes.

“Well,” Tony says once she’s gone. “Guess we’re gonna get a little quality time together today, huh?” 

Peter, who’s dabbing at his nose with another tissue, swallows with a wince. “Huh?” His eyes look a little glassy when he looks over at Tony. “Oh, yeah!” 

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. He feels terrible for getting Peter sick, of course, but he’s glad Pepper thought to coordinate him coming to the Tower for the day with May so he won’t be in his apartment alone. Being alone while sick isn’t Tony’s favorite thing, and being alone in general isn’t Peter’s favorite thing, so the arrangement works out. Plus, he really does enjoy Peter’s company, even if Peter will likely be sleeping for most of the day. Tony’s thoughts drift to his mental to-do list again, thinking about how much he might be able to get done while Peter naps, but he pauses when he realizes Peter is still staring at him.

“So,” he says, rolling onto his side to face Peter. “How are you feeling, bud? What do you want to do?” 

“We could watch a movie?” Peter suggests. “Ms. Potts said to choose Star Wars if you want to be awake, or a movie that was made after I was born if you need to sleep.” 

“Did she now?” 

Peter nods seriously, completely missing the smile that Tony tries and fails to fight from spreading across his face. “I also have some homework I could work on, but that’s kind of boring.” He takes a long, shaky breath, and Tony suddenly realizes that he’s trying to be his usual chatty self, despite his rapidly fading voice and the fact that he’s clearly miserable. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says, watching Peter shiver. “Why don’t you lie down so you can get all the way under the covers?” He holds the comforter up, and Peter nods, practically melting down the headboard until he’s completely horizontal. He curls up on his side, facing away from Tony, sniffling while Tony tucks the blanket around his shoulders. 

A shiver runs through Peter, and Tony reaches out to rub his back, hoping the motion might help him feel a little warmer. Soon, Peter is almost asleep, his breath whistling in and out through his nose, and Tony is startled a little when Peter clears his throat loudly and reveals that he’s still awake.   

“Your heart sounds really loud,” he whispers, and a second later he’s rolling over to face Tony, scooting closer until he’s fully pressed up against Tony’s body. He feels Peter’s hand against his face as he clumsily reaches up, his fingertips aiming for Tony’s pulse point and landing on his cheek instead. Tony’s skin is pulled slightly under the touch as Peter’s sticky powers are activated, his fingers prickly and clinging to his face.

“You’re…alive…I think?” Peter says, his eyes closed as he tries to assess the results of his failed attempt to check Tony’s pulse. 

“I’m alive.” Tony reaches up and gently takes Peter’s hand, pulling it away from his face and wincing when the removal of his sticky fingers feels like someone ripping a bandaid off of his cheek. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, letting his hand fall to Tony’s chest, fingers immediately sticking to the skin above the collar of his shirt instead. It’s an odd feeling, slightly uncomfortable, but Tony doesn’t mind. Peter is almost asleep again. Tony reaches over and cards his fingers through Peter’s hair, and Peter snores a couple of times, then shakes his head slightly like he’s fighting sleep. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice is so small and so hoarse and Tony cringes because he knows it’s probably painful for him to talk, if his own experience this past week is anything to go by.

“Yeah, bud?” 

There’s a long pause, during which Peter tucks his face into Tony’s shoulder, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt with his nose. “I have to cough,” he finally says, his voice muffled. 

“Thanks for letting me know,” Tony chuckles dryly. “This is the part where you unstick yourself from me so you can cover your mouth. You know, keep your germs to yourself.”

“You’re the one who got me sick though,” Peter murmurs, then promptly sneezes right into Tony’s shirt.  

“Oh, what the– That wasn’t a cough!”

“Oh.” Peter sniffles. “My bad.” 

“You are absolutely disgusting,” Tony grimaces. He looks around for the tissue box, but it’s on the far nightstand on the other side of Peter.

“I…am?”

Tony sighs. “No. You’re not. You are pretty sick, though.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. He lifts his head, unsticking his hand from Tony’s chest and tucking his face into the crook of his elbow to cough. “It sucks.”

“Want to try a movie, or do you want to sleep?” 

Peter nestles himself back against Tony’s side and closes his eyes with a congested sigh. He doesn’t answer, but two minutes later, he’s snoring. 

Tony grabs his phone from his nightstand. He can work on a lot of things from his phone, which is the only device Pepper didn’t confiscate from him. While Peter sleeps, he plans to get at least five things from his list done. The first task is checking his emails. He taps on his inbox, but he doesn’t even get through the first email before Peter shifts in his sleep, tugging Tony’s shirt down with his hands as he tries to burrow further down into the warmth of the blankets.  

“Hey!” Tony protests softly. He looks at where Peter’s hand is attached to his shirt, stretching out the fabric, and tries to gently slide a finger between Peter’s palm and his shirt to free himself. Peter moans unhappily, but his hand doesn’t budge. Tony tries a slightly more forceful approach. He peels Peter’s fingertips up one by one, but he’s not entirely successful until Peter moans again and lifts his hand up all the way. As soon as his hand is free, however, he slides it up under Tony’s shirt sleeve, seeking warmth for his fingers. His cold, sticky fingers.

Tony sighs. When Peter had been awake, unsticking himself from Tony felt like a bandaid being ripped off, uncomfortable and a little painful, but he’s worried it will be worse now that Peter’s asleep and he doesn’t want to risk losing skin or something. As soon as Peter stills, he pulls up his emails again, resigning himself to staying very still and very stuck. 

He lasts about one hour before he gets bored of reading and responding to emails. 

“Pete?” He whispers, satisfied when Peter doesn’t answer. He just needs to unstick Peter from his arm, and he can sneak down to the lab while Peter rests in bed. He reaches his opposite arm over and takes Peter’s wrist, giving an experimental tug. The motion pulls at his skin, but Peter’s hand stays firmly pressed to his bicep.   

“Mr. Stark?” Tony looks over to see Peter blinking sleepily up at him.  

“Your hand is glued to my arm,” Tony explains. Peter sniffles and looks down at where his hand is tucked under Tony’s shirt sleeve. It takes him a moment to move, and when he does, his motions are sluggish and clumsy. When he pulls his hand away, Tony clamps his mouth shut to keep himself from crying out in pain.

“Sorry for stickin’ to y–” Peter’s cut off by a yawn. “To you. When I’m sick it’s harder to control.” He yawns again, and Tony chuckles, adjusting the covers over Peter and sliding away and out of bed before Peter can stick to him again. 

“Go back to sleep,” Tony says. “I’m just going to run down to the lab for a bit.”  

“Pepper said I’m supposed to keep you in bed,” Peter says weakly. His voice crackles on the last few words, and he buries his face back into his pillow to cough a few times. He lifts his head, rubbing at his eyes with a fist and looking sad. “Sorry I’m not very good company.”

“You’re the best company, Pete. I just have a little work to do.” 

“But you’re not supposed to work today,” Peter argues hoarsely. 

Tony sighs. “I’ll just be down in the lab for an hour, two hours tops. You can stay here and nap the whole time.” 

“I could read you my book for English,” Peter offers. “Or you could read to me…?” 

“While that is a very tempting offer, what if we go down to the lab for a little bit first? You can come with me and keep me company down there,” Tony tries again.

After a moment of consideration, Peter nods. “Okay.” He sits up carefully, scooting to the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor, shivering hard when he loses the warmth of being under the comforter. Tony takes a blanket from the bed and wraps it around Peter’s shoulders, then helps him stand, frowning when Peter sways a little on his feet. 

“Here,” Tony says, grabbing the box of tissues from the nightstand for Peter and immediately smirking when Peter holds up a finger and inhales sharply, but instead of taking a tissue from the box right in front of his face, he tugs the sleeves of his hoodies down over his hands and aims a sneeze into the fabric instead. 

“Wha–? Okay,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. He shakes the tissues in front of Peter’s face with a pointed look. “Bless you.”  

Peter sniffles wetly and takes the box, crossing his arms to hold it against his chest, but still not using a tissue. “Thanks.” 

In the elevator, Peter leans up against the wall, letting his head rest against the cool metal side. His face is flushed red, and Tony reaches out, pressing the back of his hand to Peter’s cheek.

“Feeling pretty warm there, bud,” he says. Peter responds with a cough, sagging against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When Peter is done coughing, Tony holds his arms open. 

“Want a lift?” 

Peter shuffles forward, sniffling miserably, and lets Tony pick him up, blanket and tissues and all.

“Hold on,” Tony says, and realizes his mistake a second too late when Peter actually latches on to him, his arms and legs wrapped around Tony like he’s a sticky koala. He tucks his warm face against Tony’s neck and huffs out a little sigh, and Tony doesn’t move when the elevator doors slide open. He looks out into his lab, at all of his waiting projects, and then down at Peter dozing off in his arms. With Peter clinging to him like this, he’s not even going to be able to sit at his lab table, let alone get any work done. 

That’s how Tony finds himself back in his bed a couple minutes later, literally stuck to a sick, feverish teenager, and falling asleep to the sound of Peter’s loud snores and a movie from 2003 playing in the background.

#prompt fill #tumblr prompt #comfortember #sick peter parker #sickfic #sick tony stark #irondad #peter parker acting like an actual spider #fever #platonic bed sharing #fluff

[movedtodykedvonte]

I think it’s be funny to have a Spider-Man that is genuinely just a kid, not like a teenager or a kid who understands the gravity of his abilities but a kid who does heroics simply because that’s cool to a kid.

The gimmick is that the villains think it’s a gimmick and Spider-Man(?) fucks with them by acting like a kid to make ‘em feel bad or embarrass them only for them to realize he’s a literal child due to a forced team up where they like offer him a brewski afterwards and he’s legitimately like “Mr I am 9 years old, I just do this cause my aunt can’t take me to the park every afternoon.” And they grill him on adult things and he sits there just blanking cause he’s fucking 9.

#uncle Ben dies still but it’s not Peters fault but he ends up idolizing super hero’s hard #cause he believes that if one got there in time he could’ve been saved and dreamed of being the hero to do it #and then he got bit on a school feild trip to an oscorp sponsored science center where a mysterious new breed of spider was being shown and #got out and being the brave boy he is he found and caught it but not before being bit #all the villains are the same age if not a tad younger give or take a year #and they alls are like does that new hero seem a little childish? yeah he acts like a 4th grader and peters like #um actually a 5th grader 🤓 #he’d still be scarily smart for a kid his age cause the villains are only slightly more forgiving in this version #all his friends are his age and he’s a paper boy for the daily bugle instead and he would end his adventures reading the paper about his #exploits like his very own comic book and he sends in pictures of himself doing dumb stuff as a joke but Jameson is like #this ten year old is our best photographer and Eddie ‘grown ass has beef with a kid’ Brock hates him #like tbh only harry mj gwen and his high school mates are his age villains are adults cause it’s funnier #peter parker #peter b parker #spider-man #spiderman #spidersona #Spiderverse #a technicality but yeah #Spider-Man(?) au #I’m gonna think about this for a bit

[merlinssaggyyfronts]

merlin is so spiderman coded

#someone draw him a spidersona pls #NO BUT LIKE ACTUALLY #LIKE #1. can only show half of himself #2. literally has spiderman canon events (dad dying in his arms when he couldve stopped it. bsf (lance #will) dying in his arms too yeesh) #3. no one can know his secret or else theyll be put in grave danger #4. acts like hes weak and not fit when he actually rlly is (i think this oneonly rly applies to peter parker tho) #these r the only ones i can name rn #oh also scorned by society for his existence!! #hes so spiderman #merlin #bbc merlin #merlin emrys #spiderman #fuck it ill make his spidersona myself #spider emrys. spiderwarlock? spiderdragon??

[midnightfangz]

There's something about silly cafe AUs that soothes my soul so much

#hi. my name is pluto and i came up with yet another idea for a fic #will i ever finish the previous wips? who knows #anyways. imagine a spiderverse cafe au where the spiders run a small cafe/restaurant/bakery whatever #the parker surname is funny inside joke bc none of them are related #peter b is either that one employee whos been there longest (has a lot of experience) or is the owner #peter b's mary jane delivers the fruit and vegetables and whatnot. theyre exes and are trying to act professional #but they decide to try again (like in the movie). the drama is unreal and the rest of the spider squad tease him about it so much #gwen is that one punk teen thats kinda scary. feels like shes judging you but shes actually just tired #rude customers stand no chance against her. makes delicious coffee. makes the best playlists. chill coworker #peni is also a teen. the best coworker you could ask for. customers love her bc shes very pleasant and overall really really nice #miles is the fresh faced part timer. kinda clumsy. well liked amongst the aunties and moms #draws THE BEST doodles on the cups/bags and so on #noir is also the scary coworker whos very chill once you get to know him. takes care of the deliveries. makes the food #strong as fuck. all the moms and grandmas fawn over him but hes clueless #felix (male felicia hardy. kinda an oc at this point?? love him so much) is one of the delivery guys. very punctual and pleasant #also very charming. brings gifts and things like that to people he likes. sneaks in snacks #benjamin (noir) doesnt care much for him at the beginning but after some time he weirdly?? feels upset?? when the delivery person #is not felix?? they start talking while taking the stuff out of the delivery van. laugh. get to know each other better #then felix starts visiting the cafe/whatever. becomes a regular. benjamin starts giving him food/coffee 'for the road' #the rest of the squad thinks theyre disgustingly adorable and try to get them together #I JUST CAME UP WITH THIS BUT I WILL DIE IF I FORGET ABOUT THIS #midnightfangz.txt #fanfiction #writing #long tags #spiderman: into the spiderverse

[arachnik]

thinking about spiderverse trilogy krisha as i'm writing these drafts and like. i do think krisha would be quite content with being the spider-society however as soon as things start to go down (i.e: The Miles Incident) that's when they immediately decide this isnt for them

#tag later. #krisha; watching a grown man project his mistakes on a 15 yr old: wow! this is actually repulsive!! #besides that i think. similar to jess. given krisha has been a spider-man for so long and is so experienced in comparison to other - #spider-people they would have some sort of seniority / authority in the spider-society #they keep to themself tho and bounces back and forth from the spider-society back to earth 133 bc. you know. The Vampires And Lycans #nice things like that <3 #i also think krisha would rly like. connect with miles in terms of saving his dad #like. how can they fault him for that . #if krisha could go back in time and save dev instead of restraining themself in what they consider an act of cowardice they'd do it ! #plus krisha thinks it through logically and is like. if miles is an anomaly. why is peter b. parker a father. wouldnt the universe crumble #the minute mayday was born if this whole canon shtick is right :raised_eyebrow:

[grendelsmilf]

madame web was SO fucking funny i love that every single decision they make is certifiably insane but in a somehow very safe and pandering corporately-mandated way. here are some of my favorite choices:

an extended action sequence set to toxic by britney spears which stops in the middle to remind you that the year is 2003 so this song was actually just released

the villain goes to the opera, seduces an elegant woman with a single look, wakes up from a recurring nightmare wherein three teenage girls beat him up and kill him, proceeds to rant at this woman whom he’s just met about how hard it is to know how you will die someday, reveals that he is aware that she an nsa agent, and poisons her while he forces her to tell him the roughly 8 digit code that grants you access to every single security camera and government database in the entire world

one of the girls from girls is his assistant who tracks down three teenage girls for him by making composite sketches of their faces just via his own memories of his dreams. also, they are all wearing masks in his dreams, so how he was able to define all their features is extremely unclear

the fact that spidey powers originated from an indigenous tribe in peru does retroactively imply that every spider person within the spiderverse canon is performing an egregious act of cultural appropriation

adam scott plays UNCLE BEN, but because sony doesn’t have the rights to say the name “peter parker,” they are constantly finding ways to imply that he is, in fact, ben parker without outright saying it. we do see peter parker being born (i guess this spiderman was born in 2003?), but i’m not sure why we’re supposed to care since all of the girls (apparently) seem to have way cooler powers than he does

that said, we only see the girls use their powers in dreamlike sequences of the future. at no point in the present timeline do any of them use their powers whatsoever. except anya does have the power to be a #WomanInSTEM, so good for her.

dakota johnson’s cassandra webb, or “cassie,” (very normal thing to name your daughter who has spider-fueled powers of prophecy btw) cares for a stray cat who represents her own role as a “stray” as an orphan who grew up in the foster system (this is not subtle by the way, she literally says to the cat “gotta look out for fellow strays”). to illustrate that she is secretly a warm, nurturing woman despite her aloof and awkward veneer, this cat’s name is literally “cat.”

the villain of this movie never actually explains his motivation for seeking power beyond the fact that he had a difficult childhood. no details of his childhood are ever revealed. he is not given a single redeeming quality or even a reason to care about him. he is played by césar-winning and bafta-nominated actor tahar rahim in what i can only describe as the worst performance i have ever seen outside of a middle school play. he dies after being crushed by a giant letter S from a pepsi sign. you know. like a bug.

it’s never really explained why being bitten by a spider gives one prophetic visions, beyond the tenuous notion that to see the future is to “weave a web” of sorts. however, despite the fact that we establish that the villain can also see the future, despite having been bitten by the same magical species of spider, he never once is able to predict the future when it counts, such as foreseeing that he should dodge a falling giant letter S.

there’s an extended sequence dedicated to establishing that cassie’s colleague (who later dies in an ambulance crash) cannot grill for shit. as she sips from a refreshing can of pepsi-cola®️, she lambasts him for fucking up their burgers. this is the only piece of characterization they establish for him before he dies.

at the beginning of the movie, cassie receives a very earnest drawing done by a small child in thanks for saving his mother (she’s a paramedic). cassie very awkwardly refuses to accept the drawing, kind of just makes one continuous whine with the corners of her mouth until the entire family is weirded out enough to leave, and then complains that she has no idea what to do with the drawing, and will probably throw it out. we are meant to like this woman, probably.

cassie is a professional paramedic, but a hobbyist car crasher. she drives not one, but two stolen vehicles through the walls of buildings throughout the film, and it seems to be her go-to strategy in any fight.

cassie is allowed to fly internationally despite concurrently being very publicly wanted for the alleged abduction of three teenage girls. we never see her move through the airport despite the film heavily focalizing the issue of mass surveillance and preemptive criminalization in 2003 new york city, so i guess it just isn’t an issue for her. yet another win for white privilege

after cassie experiences a near-death incident on the job that triggers her latent powers of prophecy, her doctor recommends that she take the week off to get some rest and “watch old movies.” cassie clearly considers this to be sound medical advice, as in the consecutive scene, she is shown to be watching an early version of a christmas carol (in the middle of summer) and clearly feels a strong enough bond with scrooge that she feels comfortable speaking to him through the screen as if he were an old friend.

cassie has a vision of her mother researching spiders in the amazon before she died, and almost immediately yells “WHY DID YOU HATE ME!!!!”

cassie’s quest to save three teenage girls she doesn’t know ultimately results in the deaths of many more people, including multiple cops, train passengers, diner patrons, chopper pilots and people she may or may not have hit with her stolen taxi and/or stolen ambulance. but at least julia, mattie, and anya are safe!

after cassie is blinded and paralyzed(?), her entire personality does a 180 and she becomes a very creepy, ominous woman who serenely predicts the near future of her three adopted teenage girls, illuminated by a giant, weblike window. this is all done in service of setting up the sequel that sony clearly assumes is a given.

cassie attends her colleague/best friend’s sister’s baby shower (who happens to be played by emma roberts, and who also happens to be peter parker’s mother) and is for some reason corralled into playing some baby shower games, including “describe your fondest memory of your mother on a small strip of blue paper” (which cassie deliberately leaves blank, leading to a very awkward explanation of her mother having died in childbirth, but don’t worry, you’ll be fine) and “guess the name of my baby” (which is never actually revealed, because sony apparently has the rights to the name ben, but not peter).

anyone else really craving a nice refreshing can and/or glass bottle of pepsi-cola®️ rn, or is that just me?

#o #madame web #navya pls feel free to add anyth i might have missed #100

[yellowocaballero]

Miguel is Fine, Actually (Being Spider-Man's Just Toxic As Hell)

Before I watched ATSV I said that I would defend my man Miguel O'Hara's actions no matter what, because he's always valid and I support women's wrongs. I was joking, and I did not actually expect to start defending him on Tumblr.edu. But I'm seeing a lot of commentary that's super reductive, so I do want to bring up another perspective on his character.

Miguel wasn't acting against the spirit of Spider-Man, or what being Spider-Man means. Miguel isn't meant to represent the antithesis of Spider-Man. Miles is the antithesis of Spider-Man. Miguel represents Spider-Man taken to its extreme.

Think about Miguel's actions from his perspective. If you were a hero who genuinely, legitimately, 100%, no doubt about it, believed that somebody is going to make a selfish decision that will destroy an entire universe and put the entire multiverse at severe risk - if you had an over-burdened sense of responsibility and believed in doing the right thing no matter what - you would also chase down the kid and put him in baby jail to try and prevent it. He believed that he was saving the multiverse, and that Miles was putting it in danger for selfish reasons. Which is completely unforgivable to him, because selfishness is what he hates the most. And then he goes completely out of pocket and starts beefing with a 15yo lmfaooo he's such a dick.

But why did Miguel believe that? Why did he believe that Miles choosing himself and his own happiness over the well-being of others was the worst possible thing? Why did he believe that tragedy was inevitable in their lives, and that without tragedy Spider-Man can't exist?

Because he's Spider-Man.

Peter Parker was once a fifteen year old who chose his own happiness over protecting others. It was the greatest regret of his life and he never forgave himself. Peter's ethos means that he will put himself last every time, and that he will sacrifice anything and everything in his life - his relationships, his health, his future - to protecting and helping others. Peter dropped out of college because it interfered with Spider-Man. He destroyed his own future for Spider-Man. He ruins friendships and romantic relationships because Spider-Man was more important. If Peter ever tries to protect himself and his own happiness, then he's a bad person.

That is intrinsic to Peter. Peter would not be Peter without it. A story that is not defined by Peter's unhappiness is not a Spider-Man story. If Peter doesn't make himself miserable, then he's just not Peter.

That is a Spider-Man story: that not only is tragedy inevitable, that if you don't allow yourself to be defined by your tragedy then you're a bad person. If you don't suffer, then you're a bad person. If you ever put anything above Spider-Man, then you're killing Uncle Ben all over again. Miguel isn't the only one that believes this - as we saw, every Spider-Man buys into what he's saying. There's no Spider-Man without these beliefs.

Miguel attempted to find his own happiness, and he was punished in the most extreme way. He got Uncle Ben'd x10000. He tried to be happy, and it literally destroyed his entire universe. It's the Spider-narrative taken to the extreme. Of course Miguel believes all of this. Of course he believes this so firmly. He's Spider-Man. That's his story. And the one time Miguel tried to fight against that story, he was punished. And like any Spider-Man, he'll slavishly obey that narrative no matter the evil it creates and perpetuates. Because if he doesn't, the narrative will punish him. The narrative will always punish him. It's a Spider-Man story.

I don't think the universal constant between Spider-Mans, the thing that makes them Spider-Man, is tragedy. I think it's the fact that they never forgive themselves. And Miguel is what that viewpoint creates. He doesn't believe this things because he's an awful, mean person. He believes them because he's a hero. He's a good person who hates himself.

Across the Spider-verse isn't really a Spider-Man story. It's a story about Spider-Man stories. Miguel's right: if this was a Spider-Man story, then Miles acting selfishly really would destroy the universe. But Miles' story isn't interested in punishing him. It pushes back against Peter's narrative that unhappiness is inevitable and that you have to suffer to be a good person. It says that sometimes we do the right thing from love and not fear, and that Peter's way of thinking is ultimately super toxic and unhappy. ITSV was about Miles deciding that he didn't need to be Peter Parker, that all he needed to be was Miles, and ATSV is about how being Peter Parker isn't such a good thing. Miguel shows that. Whatever toxic and unhealthy beliefs he holds - they're the exact same beliefs that any Spider-Man holds. He's a dick, but I don't think he's any more awful a person than Peter is.

TL;DR: Miguel isn't a bad person, he just has Spider-Man brainrot.

#across the spider-verse #atsv #atsv spoilers #across the spider-verse spoilers #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv meta #source: i recognized an embarassing amount of those cameos #im also seeing a lot of ppl make a lot of assumptions about what miguel was injecting and why #we dunno guys! im not gonna suppose anything #I just think that Miguel and Miles are great foils #and that what makes them interesting as foils #is the fact that they're both good people who want to do the right thing #miguel shows how that gets twisted #to the point where you beef with a 15yo sometimes which is still so funny #im a big spidey 2099 fan #which I love bc it is NOTHING like spiderman and yet it's such a good spiderman story #but talking about comics migs is useless bc he has 0 in common with atsv migs #but there is a lot of VERY cool stuff to say about how #the sm2099 comic has nothing to do with spiderman at all whatsoever extremely pointedly #but its still a wonderful spiderman story that finds its own way #tbh it was kind of a breath of fresh air to read a spider-man story that wasn't about spider-man for once #and that was just about miguel #anyway stan women's wrongs #miguel o hara #miguel ohara #my writing

[silkscream]

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know.  "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.  

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.  

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,�� you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis​ @cutetomholland​ @userholland​ @sparklingsin​ @tomdutch​ @userholland​ @vendettaparker​ @selfcarecap @simplykenni​ @uhlxis​ @cordiformity​ @sapphicsoie​ @seolaseoul​ @honeyspidey​ @logangarfield​ @justapurrcat​ @arachine​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @ohcaptains​ @aniqua

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #mcu!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker x you

[angelltheninth]

Spiderverse Characters Tell You It's Not As Bad as It Looks

Pairing: Peter B. Parker, Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, Miguel O'Hara, Hobie Brown, Pavitr Prabhnakar x Reader

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, cuddles, identity reveal, kissing, mild angst

A/N: Back at it with the Spiderverse gang. I bring you angst.

Peter wanted to avoid arousing any suspicion so when he walked in he was in his civilian clothes, acting like everything's alright. The fight on the news wasn't as bad as it looked really, his nose will be fine too don't worry about it. Just don't touch his back, or his ribs, or his fists. Well okay maybe it is bad but he'll be fine after a little rest. This is exactly why he didn't want you to know, he knew you'd worry.

Miles fully passed out in your arms as soon as you opened the door to him. He knew that you'd find out who he was but better you, one of his best friends friends than the staff at the hospital. At least you can keep a secret when you need to. God his head feels like it's splitting open when he opens his eyes again. The only thing that's making it better is waking up cradled in your arms.

Gwen was conflicted as to where she should go but your place was much closer than her's. She texts you before arriving, still you expected her to brings snacks not her beat up, barely standing self. You usher her in quickly before anyone notices her and the spider-woman mask hanging from her backpack. Without thinking she kisses your cheek on the way in, leaving you more than a bit stunned.

Miguel regularly drops in on you covered in all kinds of injuries so you already have a first aid kit ready to go as soon as you see that he's fighting someone. Looks like there won't be any fun to be had tonight cause he can barely move around without grunting and wincing and yelping in pain. No matter how tough he wants to act the reality is that you can touch any part of him now and it'd make his head spin.

Hobie still has it in him to throw around jokes and flirty lines. Well he is shirtless and you have your hands all over him, of course he needs to tease you a little. It's to cover up the pain, so indulge him please. As much as he is in pain he doesn't let that stop him from cuddling up to you on the bed, the only difference is that he can't for the life of him let you be on top of him now or he might actually die of pain.

Pavitr knows you figured out who he is, you've known for a while but you've never seen him looking this beat up before. He probably should have gone to the hospital instead but he's at your door, covered in bruises, still having that boyish smirk as he asks you for some ice. Almost passes out on your couch but has just enough to make it to your bed and hug one of your pillows as he falls asleep.

#peter b parker x reader #miles morales x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #hobie brown x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse imagine #spiderverse headcanon #spiderverse fluff #spiderman fluff #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel headcanons #marvel fluff #marvel x you #peter b parker fluff #miles morales fluff #gwen stacy fluff #miguel o'hara fluff #hobie brown fluff #pavitr fluff #x reader

[hunterwritings]

I love your Miguel with a bubbly reader! Can we please see more of it? Like maybe Miguel is scolding the other Spiders and Reader walks in and Miguel is like a whole new person but still wants to murder the other Spiders? It makes me think of the tik tok where its like "IM GOING TO KILL THE NEXT PERSON I SEE" *Reader walks in* "Hi honey!" *Miguel with heart eyes* "Your back! I missed you so much (insert Miguel gushing about how much he loves Reader in front of Spiders)"

THIS IS THE TROPE I LIVE FOR

only for you | miguel o'hara

summary: Miguel acts like a completely different person with you around. warnings: none | wc: 1075

"How could you let something like this happen?!"

Miguel was seething; Miles swears he could almost see smoke coming out of his ears. The spider teens had almost disrupted another canon event and almost caused the universe to collapse.

"Listen Miguel, I know the kids made some mistakes but, that's exactly what they were! Mistakes!" Peter B. Parker tried to reason with him, with his hands stretched out and a stupid smile on his face.

"You want to put the fate of the multiverse on a goddamn mistake? I will not risk that." Miguel fired back.

"To be honest, I don't know what the big deal is, they ended up fixing it." Peter added. Miguel snapped his head around to face him, his eyes would be burning holes through him if looks could kill.

"No Peter, you don't understand the importance of this! And clearly, neither do you all!" He said, gesturing towards the teens. "It just shows that you are just as responsible as a child! So Peter, do yourself a favor, and shut the hell up." Miguel had venom laced in his words.

"Ooo...kay." Peter responded, shaking his head and pursing his lips together.

"Miguel, we know that we made mistakes and we are sorry, it will never happen again." Gwen tried to apologize genuinely to him.

"Uh, I don't apologize actually, I see nothin' wrong with what we did-" Hobie protested, Pavitr elbowed him to signal him to stop.

"You all know exactly what we do here, you know the importance of keeping everything in line. I'm this close to kicking you all out of Spider Society!" He yells, showing his fingers pinched together.

"You can't kick us out if we all quit!" Hobie laughs.

"Hobie!" Gwen snaps her head around at him.

"I- I- I can't even deal with you right now!" Miguel holds his pointer finger and thumb to his temples as he turns his back to them.

Just then, you swing in from the other side of him and jump down to land next to him. "Hi Miguel." You smile as he turns to look at you.

"Gracias a Dios [thank god], I'm so glad you're here (Y/N)." He seemed to have relief flow into his body as he reached over a pulled you into his chest. You chuckled in surprise from the sudden affection as he tightly wraps his arms around your shoulders. "Felt like I was about to lose it in a couple more seconds." He whispers into your ear.

"Well luckily, I showed up right on time then." You giggle as he lets you go and you look up at him with a smile.

"You have no idea." He smirked and shook his head.

"Oh thank god you're here (Y/N), I was afraid he was gonna start biting soon!" Peter laughed as you turned around to face the group. Miguel stared him down.

"Soo, what's going on here?" You curiously ask.

"Trying to have a serious conversation with people who have no respect for what we do around here." He snaps to them.

"Don't look at me! I wasn't even there, I'm just trying to stand up for the kids!" Peter says, holding his hands up in defense. Miguel just groans and shakes his head.

"Oh Miguel, maybe you should go a little easy on them." You say, walking up to him. He rests his hands on your hips and sighs when you lie your hand on his cheek. "I mean, we should be happy that no one got hurt and the universe is still intact." you smile at him and he matches your smile.

He hums in response. "Plus, I think this lecture will scare them enough to where this shouldn't happen again." You add.

"You'd be surprised how many of these talks I've had." He scoffs and smirks.

You laughed loudly. "Just remember they're kids and they're trying their best." You smiled and he nodded. "Be easy on them." You added.

"I will." He said softly.

You grinned before leaning up and pulling his neck down to pull him into a sweet kiss. You felt him smile against your lips as he hummed. You pulled away and smiled at him before hearing a beeping on your watching.

"Oh, I've got a situation going on in my universe." You say tapping the hologram on your wrist.

"You need any help with it?" Miguel asks, ready to leave in a second if asked him to.

"No, it's nothing major, don't worry. It shouldn't take that long, I should be back before dinner." You say, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before turning and walking the other way.

"Oh! Maybe I'll grab some food from that Italian place we always go to!" You say, walking backwards to face him and smiling widely while opening up a portal behind you.

"Sounds like a good plan, my love." He agrees with a smile.

You chuckle before pulling down your mask and jumping into the portal as it closes.

Miguel's smile lingers on his face before seeing Peter B. Parker in his peripheral before he slung his arm around his shoulder and laughed. "Oh wow, you really love them huh? I can tell by the way you don't act like a raging monster when they're around." He jokes as Miguel just stares ahead, his demeanor was agitated. "Get off of me, Peter." He said with no emotion.

"Okay, not gonna risk getting my arm torn off today." He says, backing off from Miguel.

"Aw, seems like you're really in love, eh?" Hobie jokes and Gwen shoves him slightly.

"You're not helping, Hobie." Miles says anxiously.

"I'm not trying to." Hobie says in all seriousness.

"Okay, everyone out. We're done here. " Miguel says with his back turned to them and his hands on his hips.

"Let's leave before he changes his mind." Gwen whispers to the rest of them.

"If I have to do this again for any of you, it's gonna be the last time." Miguel warns as he points at them.

"Yes Miguel, we understand and we promise." Gwen says genuinely.

Miguel sighs and turns his back to them as they all turn to leave the room. A slight smile came to face at the thought of you prancing back into his space with food in hand. He stood and watched his communicator in case you needed his help, and waited for you to come back.

#— hunterwritings #hunterwritings #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 #atsv x you #atsv miguel

[lemonlillybee]

X is for X-Ray

Title: X is for X-Ray

@halloweenie-event​ Prompt, kind of?: Well, if you squint and tilt your head to the side, I used the prompt “That’s not a costume… That’s real” soooo yeah I’mma count it (it’s okay if you don’t want to count it) 😂 I just wanted to practice drawing, okay??? 

Image Description: Peter Parker in his Spider-Man suit without the mask. He is holding an x-ray up that shows half of his chest/ribs with an orange spider hanging from an orange spider web.

#halloweenie #halloweenie2022 #spiderman fanart #halloween costumes #that's not a costume...that's real #bad art #bad anatomy probably #peter parker #peter parker acting like an actual spider #except the spider lives inside of him #Who gave her access to a computer #peter parker's spooky (and spoopy) abcs

[certainlynotasimp]

okayy but miguel with a black cat! reader….she js likes pushing his buttons and flirting with with him and literally does anything and everything to get a reaction out of him…aaannd if it was anyone else who tried joking around with miguel he would claw their face off 0_0

A/N: Oooh that would be interesting~. I’m gonna just write a Headcanon for now, but I will definitely write a one shot later on. I also didn’t know if you meant in personality only or if she’s his dimensions Black Cat (the antihero/villain) so I just wrote her as a Spiderperson with a black cat personality.

Miguel with a Black Cat Reader🐈‍⬛

So I’m gonna head canon that Miguel’s own personality is more of a mixture of a black cat and protective Doberman.

When he isn’t stressed out about keeping the spider-verse together and not on the very of a aneurism, he can actually be a flirting bastard as well, so don’t expect to flirt with him and get nothing in return.

But that side of him comes out like 20% or the time since…ya know, ya boy is stressed.

So when they are in front of other people, Miguel would be annoyed with the snide remarks you would make to try and ruffle his feathers, but he wouldn’t yell at you unless it’s a particularly in appropriate time to make him riled up.

The flirting would probably fair a little better as Miguel will try to act annoyed with your lingering caresses and the way your voice seem to purr at him. But, depending on your relationship, he would react in different ways.

If you were just a colleague, he would brush you off and snap at you for being so dishonorable for a spider-person.

If you were his friend, he would roll his eyes and probably throw a snide remark about you needed to get back to work. He’ll secretly find it amusing and might throw a remark back on good days.

If you are his crush or s/o, he would act the same way in public, his eyes constantly rolling as he acts annoyed with you. But a little tinge of a blush will appear if you purr out particular nicknames or remind him of certain private moments between you too.

Sometimes he’ll surprise you on particularly good days and tease you back. He knows he’s good looking and uses it as a weapon to get you flustered.

“What’s a matter, bonito gato?” He whispers as his mischievous eyes shine down at you. Your back shivers as his large forearm rest inches above your head, his burgundy eyes shining red from the monitors next to you as he traps you in. His chest acting as a barrier from your escape as his hand cups your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me when I’m talking to you, Cariño.”

If he catches you giving this treatment to some of the other spidermen, expect one of two reactions.

1) He’s gonna give you the silent treatment for the rest of the day and finally snap at you when he feels particularly annoyed by it. It’s not that he wants to yell, but the memory of someone else touching and flirting with his little spider causes him to think he’s losing the only person he has.

After an argument, he’ll calm down and apologize. Depending on how long y’all have been together, he will open up about some of his insecurities and fears of losing you.

2) He’s gonna give you the silent treatment the rest of the day until you two can get somewhere more private. He’s gonna remind you why he’s YOUR spiderman~ 😘

If anyone else tried to flirt with him or ruffle his feathers like you do, may God help their souls because Miguel ain’t having it.

He’s fiercely loyal, so if you guys are in a relationship and this happens, he’s gonna get mad and snap at them for being a disrespectful friend to you (because let’s be real, 90% of the Spider Society are friends because majority of them are Peter Parker Variants) and will probably threaten them with either losing their spot in the society. Or if they being particularly pushy, he’ll let his talons do the threatening.

He can also just open a portal and send them out of there is he finds them annoying.

He only really lets Jessica and Peter B mess with him because it’s more like they are messing with him about his reactions to you. Peter B definitely caught Miguel’s blushing face in a couple of pics of Mayday with you over his shoulder whispering in his ear.

I believe the nickname you would have would be either “Kitty” or “Bonito Gato” because your skill set maybe more reminiscent of Black Cat (the villain) and because Miguel says you are just as annoying as a cat. He still loves you though.💕

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I always love when you guys message me and please feel free to send more! 🤍💕

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman #spiderman fandom #spiderman 2099 #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #headcanon #fanfic

[tarjapearce]

Hi hi! Thank you for letting me go ahead and send it through! I didn’t want to overwhelm you, that’s absolutely fine still take your time and keep taking those breaks mamas!

I’ve seen a lot of single dilf Miguel x reader but I don’t think I’ve ever read where reader was a single parent. So I was thinking reader is new to spider society and on the day she’s told to join she has to bring her baby because she didn’t have a babysitter. Well Miguel sees her and it’s like he’s instantly drawn to her like sunflowers are to the sun, sunflowers move where the sun goes and when the sun doesn’t shine they face each other (She’s kinda like his day and night if that makes sense) but instead of acting on it he dismisses her but kinda admires her and her baby from a distance.

Well one day she’s having a small part for the main group and she invited Miguel because she always felt the feelings but also dismissed them. Then after the party he stays to help and the end up getting closer and yeah. It can be nsfw I don’t mind, I also hope this makes sense it’s been in my mind for a while and you’d be so good for this!

The rest is all up to you if you decide to write it pretty girl. Just remember to take your time and all the breaks you need. Mental, physical, and emotional health is important don’t overwork yourself 💕

Im so sorry this taken me soo long. Hope this make it justice 😊❤️. Thanks for requesting dear.

If it wasn't for the webs that stopped Rhino as he was about to deliver the last blow to you, you'd be certainly gravely injured or worse.

Another Spiderwoman, clad in a red, yellow and black suit had helped you through. Both of your minds in sync, that soon earned you the win over a now unconscious Rhino.

She introduced herself as Jessica Drew. Another Spiderwoman from another universe. At first her explanation of what the Arachnohumanoid-Polymultiverse was, had your head spinning and confused, but after quite a while of visiting you on duty, and clearing up as much questions you needed, you had been officially 'invited' to join, by Miguel’s orders.

You've never met the man, but the way people talked about him, made you not only curious but excited to meet him. Everyone described him as a good yet scary boss.

----

"Let's go"

"Hope you don't mind?" Your nervous smile reached Jess as you packed in your child's stuff in the baby sling. A couple of diapers, extra clothes and bottles.

"Look at this beautiful boy" Jessica held him as you finished packing up stuff, "Didn't know you had one"

"Oh, well. You never asked. Plus we always met on duty. The babysitter I get for him called in sick and I have none as a back up. Hope Miguel doesn't mind."

"What about his dad?"

Your head shook softly and sighed.

"He decided to not be part of our lives."

Jessica just nodded, lips pursing.

"His loss, really. Anyways, ready to go?"

------

Not even in your wildest dreams you'd imagine something as The Babylon Tower or HQ as most Spiders called it, could exist. Different sort of Spiders paraded around and greeted Jess upon her arrival.

Some even greeted your toddler that cooed and giggled upon the many heroes that came his way.

"Let's get you to Miguel." Jess walked ahead and you followed, you baby's eyes wandered, marveling at the different colors and people. You'd sometimes make hamocs and web playgrounds for him to be more active. Your babysitter was the only person you could actually trust your identity, she had even helped you sometimes by calling the cops, or even fixing your suit.

Another man in a pink bathrobe approached and gasped at your baby

"Please tell me we're getting a Spider Parents exclusive division now."

You chuckled and Jess just rolled her eyes

"Sweetie, this is Peter."

"As in Peter Parker?"

"Nah. As in Peter Benjamin 'B' Parker."

"Oh... And whose that cutie over there?" Your eyes trailed to Mayday as she beamed at you.

"Mayday. A lil spider in growth"

"She has spider powers?! Oh my goodness!"

"It's chaos, I know. What about yours?"

"Normal baby so far. Should I be concerned?"

"Not really, it comes in the least unexpected moment and them BAM! Spider baby. "

You giggled as you made your way through the halls to a much more secluded and dark area.

"Miguel?"

Your baby couldn't help but babble as a hulking figure approached from the furthest corner.

"He's so dramatic" Peter whispered and again, you giggled under your mouth.

Jess introduced you both and explained your progress to him. Apparently they had been observing you for quite the time.

" I apologize for bringing my child. My babysitter called in sick."

"No problem."

Even though his voice was calm, the coldness in it made you recoil to yourself. His scrutinizing gaze fixed on you and your baby. By instinct you held him close.

Red eyes settled on yours, but the subtle stare contest was interrupted by the anomaly alarm.

-----

As your time in the Spider Society advanced, your interactions with Miguel improved significantly, and by that it'd mean longer conversations, a joke here and there and of course moments so subtle between you both that you had to be quite analytical to know that he gave glances your way or lean to you slightly whenever speaking to him.

Not that you were inmune to his looks, but his patience stood proudly among his other virtues. And to your surprise he seemed to handle Mayday well enough. What actually made you to be drawn to him is that in one of your many occasions that you couldn't leave your baby boy alone, and brought him into HQ with you, he'd be instantly looking for Miguel.

Your cheeks would flush impossibly red as your baby clung to his leg and erupted in a bubbly laughter.

"God, I'm so so sorry, he just... seem to like the blue alot."

An airy chuckle was everything that escaped his lips. Of course there was so many questions he'd want to do out of curiosity. He had noticed you didn't wear a ring, neither talked about the baby's father. It was something he never seemed to coax out of you. No matter how subtle he was about it.

Pa pa

You both froze as your baby mumbled and grabbed a few strands of his hair.

"I'm so sorry..." You pried the baby away from him and fled the place as soon as you could. He just watched you leave, the inner turmoil in his heart was surely playing dirty. The way the baby had clung to him, and climbed ontop of his chest made his heart to leap after a long long while.

-----

You had been avoiding him, for sure. Ever since your little incident with the baby mumbling his first words, you had taken your distance with him. Of course you weren't ready for your baby's actions, but the fear of going through all that again, had surely dismissed all possible blooming feelings you had for your boss. Besides he seemed way too busy and aloof to try and pursue anything with anyone.

Not that you blamed him, the multiverse depended basically on him. It was for the best.

----

The moment you were falling asleep, your Spider senses tingled so hard you had a little headache coming your way.

Dread settled on your brain as your baby boy screamed and wailed.

No No No!

You were already darting towards his room, and pulled him with one of your webs towards you, holding onto him for dear life as the creature shredded his crib to bits with its elongated talons.

Your eyes went wide at the sudden action, your baby kept wailing in fear, earning the humanoid like creature to snap it's attention to you. You were fast, but the creature was faster and sliced through your flesh in one of your sides. You fell on your back protecting your son from the impact with a groan.

You needed to get out, or at least put your baby out of danger.

Survival mode kicked in as you dodged and took as much damage as you could from the creature that seemed way too keen into hurting your child.

You fought but exhaustion was taking over, the blows of the creature only seemed harder and powerful, but no matter what your priority was to keep your child safe, even if it costed your life.

The creature pounced on you, but the final blow never came. There was a commotion as you tried to get up, all you could hear was inhuman shrieks, growlings and finally the engine of a too familiar motorcycle revving up.

Your baby was pried away from your hands and you whimpered

"N-No!" even in your injured state, your mother instinct kicked in.

Your name was called, several times until you were held against a sturdy yet warm body with such care and tenderness that stilled your thrashing body. Vision blurred, but the last thing you saw the led lights of a blue and red suit, red eyes staring at you with concern.

-----

You woke up in HQ's medical bay. Pain surging through your body as you tried to sit down, Miguel's hand stopped you. Face with his ever permanent frown and something else. Worry.

"Where's... Where's my baby?"

"He's fine. Out of danger." His hands reached for a new set of bandages, he took your arm gently and began replacing the bandages himself, some were stained in a fresh layer of blood.

The silence fell upon you both until he decided to break it.

"You... were brave. We still don't know what that creature was, yet you didn't hesitate to fight back."

"It was going for my son... If I would've got there a second too late..." Voice broke and eyes filled up with tears.

The knot only tightened around his throat upon remembering the anomaly alarm in your world and saw you fighting for your son's life. He didn't think twice before jumping into action.

"The anomaly was terminated."

Terminated, not contained.

"I see"

"Your safety is all that matters to... this organization"

To me

You nodded

"Thanks."

----

He had learned that you were a single parent thanks to Jessica. Something he had trouble understanding sometimes. How could a man abandon his own family? He'd give everything to have one more chance and at least make things right, he wouldn't interfere with Gabriella, no matter how much he'd like to, just to keep her safe and alive.

But seeing you fighting for your son, made that side of him he thought buried forever to claw back full force on him. You were a great mother that wouldn't hesitate to attack and lash out at everything that menaced your son. It was the last straw for him.

----

A couple of months had gone by since your incident, and as a retribution you had decided to do a small gathering. Not only to say thanks to them, but to also celebrate your son's birthday.

Wounds were properly healed thanks to Miguel's attention and cares. Music echoed through your apartment. You weren't sure he'd show up, but the invitation was delivered to him.

Your son was having the time of his life as Peter and Jess played with him. Mayday was such a great play date and everyone seemed to have a great time. A portal was open to your kitchen and Miguel stepped out. Suit underneath civilian clothes. It was weird to see him out of the blue and red suit you were always used to see.

"Hey" You smiled and he placed a little present in your hands.

"Hope he likes it."

"I'm sure he will, thanks."

Your smile turned bashful as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Your place seemed normal, cozy even. Full with your son and you pictures. One was cut out and the only trace of a man existing in your life was the forgotten hand you were oblivious in cutting out. And even so, he seemed unsure since his fingers were barely touching you or your son.

"Here." You offered a plate full of food, which he took and scarfed down.

"When was the last time you actually ate?"

His eyes locked on yours, wide by the sudden question.

"There is more if you want to."

"I don't want to overstep-"

"The rest already had their portion. And I frankly went a bit overboard with it. So it's fine."

Your baby's laughter roared from the other side, earning you a chuckle.

"I'm... sorry though"

"For?"

"Him, calling you that. I know what happened and I'm sure it's not nice to just-"

"Couldn't blame a baby. Is it... ok for me to ask what happened to the father?"

"He just decided that we weren't enough for him. So he went for a new one. Away from us."

His eyebrows knit deeper and a light scowl drew in his face.

"But, it's fine. It's less of a burden knowing that you don't have to raise another man child."

He chuckled and nodded

"You're a great mother." You served him another plate but stopped when the corner of his mouth was doused in sauce. Giggling you reached for napkin and got in your tip toes.

"Excuse me" You wiped his mouth and smiled, "Sorry, can't help it"

His hand went to the back of your nape and leaned down for a kiss.

"Lo siento..." (Im sorry)

It was something that felt out of his character, he knew much, but it couldn't be helped. You had come like a little storm that turned into a hurricane in his heart. And that harrowing night where he saw you fighting with everything you had, only grounded him into allowing himself to feel and experience for once.

You got in your tip toes again and pulled him down for a kiss. There was no words needed, just a look of mutual understanding and complicity between the both. A kiss in the palm of your hand sealed up the implicit deal.

You were his now.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Spider person reader #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #atsv angst #miguel atsv

[indyanapolis898]

Away

mcu!peter parker x f!reader

Synopsis: Peter wonders why you didn't come over or answer your phone one night, so he decides to talk it out with you in your room.

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Peter slid the window up quietly, climbing onto the ceiling with grace. Dropping onto the floor, he looked around, seeing the room was void of people- one person in particular. His girlfriend, Y/N L/N, should've been in his room. 

"Y/N?" He whispered. No response. 

He invited you for dinner with him and May, yet, you weren't there. He dropped his suit and changed into a crewneck and jeans. 

"May?"

"Oh! Pete, you're back?" May called out from the other room. Her footsteps approached Peter's door. 

"Yup," he pursed his lips into a smile and nodded. 

"I didn't hear you come in. I must've been deep into the movie I was watching. It's a really good action movie I think you'd like, Pete."

"Yeah, I'll see it with you another time. Uh, did Y/N happen to come here already?"

May furrowed her brows as if she was thinking. "Mmm, no. She was supposed to for dinner, right?"

"Yeah. Maybe something got in the way. I-I'll call her." 

"OK, I'll go start on dinner, though."

Peter shut his door, dialing your number. It rang until it hit your voicemail. That worried the high schooler. You usually answered, especially on a night when you two had plans. Except, that was usually- before the past two weeks. You were becoming late to answering texts and calls, but this was the first time you ditched on plans.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his phone and hands on his lap. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how off you'd been acting. 

Did he do something? Did you do something? 

Maybe he was overthinking. He probably was. 

Peter dialed your number once again, listening to it go to voicemail. He shot you a quick text and decided to let the matter rest until you answered. 

He lay on his bed, phone at his side, waiting for a buzz. He'd occasionally hear one, yet it was usually for some dumb app. 

After ten minutes of lying and thinking, a few knocks were heard at his room door. Peter shot up, hoping it was you. You had just been late, and your phone was dead on the way to his apartment, right?

He groaned and deflated when he saw it was just Aunt May.

"Wow. You're happy to see me," May said facetiously with a chuckle. 

"Sorry," Peter shot a guilty smile. "I was hoping it was Y/N."

"Yeah, that's why I'm knocking. She called me and said she wasn't feeling good. Sorry, hun. Update me on how she feels throughout the week."

"Right," Peter nodded. "I will, thanks, May."

"Dinner's ready if you want it."

"I'm actually not very hungry," Peter looked down to the ground. "I'm gonna sleep... long day at school."

"Yeah, get some sleep, sweetie," May nodded with a knowing look, understanding he was upset about you.

***

Spider-Man peered through the window, sticking to the side of your building. He supposed he was being quite creepy, but he desperately wanted to talk to you. 

Your blinds were close except for the kink that had always been there. It was mostly dark in your room except for the faint glow of a phone in your bed. He could see your barely illuminated face.

Peter took a deep breath in and knocked lightly at your window. He could see you look up, slightly startled, until you spotted him at the window. 

You looked upset at the sight, reluctantly sliding out of your bed to your window. You unlocked the window, bringing it up.

"Peter!" You hissed in a quieter voice. "What are you doing here?" Your face was red up close, and it looked like you'd been crying.

"I- I mean, you weren't replying to your phone, and you didn't come over, so I-"

"So you came to my apartment while my parents are home, and you're in your suit!" You whisper-yelled. 

"Well- I- yes," Peter answered in disappointment and shame.

"Peter, you can't be here. Please go."

Peter's heart broke at that. "W-why? I don't get it... I do my best to be a good boyfriend. I thought I did enough?"

You broke down into silent tears. Peter climbed into the room and pulled you into a hug- you embraced it. 

"Please, Y/N/N, tell me what's wrong."

"I just-" You say through tears. "My parents say that you barely spend time with me, and they just talk bad about you, and that hurts. A-and the more I thought about it, the more I realized how busy you always are, and the times you aren't out being Spider-Man, you're thinking about Spider-Man work."

"Oh," Peter breathed out. He pulled his mask off, letting it fall to the floor. 

"I'd never agree with any of the bad things they said about you- it's just so hard to have your family bash your boyfriend. Sometimes I wonder if they know best."

"I don't know what they said... but I promise I can do better because you're right, and they're right. I haven't given you my all."

"Don't get me wrong- being Spider-Man is so important, and what you do is incredible. I just can't continue a relationship with two different people- it's taking a toll on me. And as much as it pains me... if we need to break up so you can continue being Spider-Man full time, then it's for the best," you choked up more tears. "But I don't wanna break up, Peter."

Peter felt his throat close up. "I don't wanna break up either. I can't ever quit being Spider-Man, but I can be a better Peter. You deserve more, and I'm so sorry. Give me one more chance, and I promise I'll make more time for you."

You hug him tighter. "I trust you. I don't ever want to guilt you, Peter. I'm sorry for pulling away over the past few weeks. I guess it's just been a lot on my mind."

"It's ok. I should be sorry. And, Y/N/N, if you ever need to tell me something important, I promise you can."

You nod. "I know. I guess I thought you'd be upset if you thought I was trying to make you quit your work or break up."

"I would never think that. We're strong- we can make things work."

You chuckle, breaking away from his embrace to sit on your bed. "I'm exhausted now, but at least I feel better."

"I'm glad I came here. I should go, though." 

You yawned. "No, don't go. Will you sleep next to me?"

Peter grinned. "What about your parents?" 

"Just sneak out before seven."

"Can do," Peter grinned, slipping under the sheets of your bed- wrapping his arms around you as you both drifted off to sleep, knowing things would be okay.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #mcu peter parker #mcu peter x reader #tom holland #tom holland peter parker #female reader #angst with a happy ending #fanfic #spider man #spiderman #spider-man #x reader #x female reader #peter parker x female reader #marvel mcu #fluff

[spider-stark]

THINGS CHANGE

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Your ex-boyfriend, Peter Parker, finds out that you're planning on going out with Harry Osborn, and he's definitely not happy about it.

Warnings - Sexual situations (no actual smut), slight degradation kink if you squint, angst

a/n - another random little thing I wrote about Peter in-between writing for Infinitely You. considering a part two, but we will see! lemme know what you think :)

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

“You seriously can’t expect me to be ok with this!” 

The sound of his voice had your blood boiling, anger instantly coursing through your veins as you realized just how domineering his tone had become. He was purposely trying to push you to your limit, seeing just how far he could go before you would finally break. 

“I don’t care if you’re okay with it, Peter!” You snapped at him, not bothering to even look over your shoulder at the boy as you both trailed through the halls of Oscorp, Peter following at your heels like a lost puppy. “And last I checked I don’t need to ask for your permission when making my own decisions.” 

“You can’t go out with him.” Peter grumbled from behind you, ignoring your words entirely. He respected your decisions, he really did. But it wasn’t his fault that you made such terrible ones, he thought to himself. “He’s a total dick.” 

The comment stopped you in your tracks, swiftly turning on your heel and looking up to stare directly at the annoying boy that refused to just leave you alone. “Guess you two have something in common then.” 

He narrowed his eyes at the gab. “What do you even see in him? I thought you hated his little rich kid attitude.” 

You hated the way he mocked your voice as he spoke. Hated the way he mimicked the phrase you had used to describe Harry Osborn so many times in the past. Yet, he wasn’t wrong.

You did hate the way Harry used to act around you–constantly flaunting his fathers fortune–expecting you to fawn over him like all the other girls that came his way. But things had changed after you took on an internship at Oscorp. Harry realized that his pompous act wasn’t working on you, and the closer the two of you got the more you realized it was just that–an act–and you had grown to like the person he actually was. 

“We both know that’s not who he really is.” Peter stayed silent, both of you knowing that he couldn’t argue with you. Harry was his best friend, and he was a good guy behind the flashy cars and his multibillion-dollar corporation. “And at least he makes time for me.” 

The comment had hit its mark, hurt flashing across Peter’s face as the words cut into him. You didn’t let yourself falter, didn’t let yourself feel the guilt that was starting to rise in your chest. He deserves it, you reminded yourself.  

“You know I always tried to be there for you,” his tone softened, his own irritation momentarily melting away as he began to recite the same spiel he had given so many times before, “but it’s complicated, people need-” 

“People need Spider-Man.” You cut him off, finishing the sentence for him. “And I get that.” You really did. People relied on Spider-Man, trusted in him that he would be there when they really needed a hero. “But I needed my boyfriend, Pete. And he was never there.” 

Things had been complicated since the two of you split, especially since neither of you had been willing or even able to cut the other out of their life. You were Peter’s biggest supporter, and Spider-Man’s, but you had grown tired of the constant suffering that came with being close to him. 

As much as you loved Peter, you couldn’t help but crave normalcy. Someone that could be there for you and make you a priority, something that Peter wouldn’t ever be able to offer. 

There was a beat of silence, the weight of your words still lingering in the air between the both of you, before he finally broke it. 

“He can’t make you happy.” It was a weak argument, and Peter knew that, but it was the only one he had left. 

“Honestly Pete?” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “You set the bar low. Extremely low. At this point I think I’d be happy just to have a partner that won’t crawl through my window in the middle of the night and bleed out on my carpet.” 

Pete rolled his eyes. “Okay, that literally only happened one time!” 

“Pretty sure one time is more than enough.” 

“Well there were plenty of other times where you didn’t seem to mind having me crawl through your window.” He shot you a smug grin, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ya know, for someone who seems so pissed that their boyfriend was Spider-Man, you sure loved fucking me in the suit-” 

Your eyes widened, your head jerking around to make sure that no one was around to hear his words. Peter didn’t seem to care either way, only smirking when he saw the blush that was starting to creep up your neck. 

“I’m not gonna lie,” he continued, once again pushing and pushing, just trying to see how far you’d let him go, “I always thought it was kinda hot. You’ve always been pretty desperate for me, but god, the way you’d act when I wore the suit?” He paused, looking you over as he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. You hated how the simple action made your breath catch in your throat. “It was pathetic–how you were such a slut for Spid-” 

You roughly grabbed hold of his wrist, snapping at him to shut up in a hushed tone. He let you pull him towards the empty conference room to your left, that stupid proud grin still on his stupid face. 

“What are you trying to do? People can hear you, Pete! Do you want people to find out who you are?” Your attitude was much different than Peter’s, clearly not sharing in his apparent amusement as you tried to quietly pull the door shut. 

A part of you felt like you were getting emotional whiplash from this conversation, somehow jumping back and forth between anger, pity, and guilt while simultaneously trying to pretend like his words didn’t have an effect on you. But Peter knew you, he knew everything about you–and he was using that knowledge to his advantage. 

“You gonna try and get Harry to wear it?” You weren’t surprised that he once again ignored you, only caring to entertain the conversation you wanted out of. 

“What are you even talking about?” 

“The suit.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, so cocky and arrogant. You wanted to hate him for it, wanted to pretend that you didn’t love when he acted like this. “I mean, he’s got enough money to find a replica somewhere, right?” 

You bit down on your bottom lip, your nerves building as you watched him take a step closer. “Shut up.” 

“I’m sure you’d love it, wouldn’t you?” Another step towards you, caging you against the closed door. You could feel his breath against your cheek, though you still refused to look at him. “Maybe you could convince him to wear the mask, yeah? Pretend like it’s still me fucking you.” 

Copper filled your mouth as you bit down on the inside of your cheek, fighting against the familiar warmth building in your stomach. He wanted to get you riled up, that much was obvious, and he knew exactly how to do it. Fuck you, Peter Parker, you had meant to say the words out loud, but they died in the back of your throat as you struggled to find your voice. 

Peter’s nimble fingers lifted to your face, forcing your chin up so you had no choice but to look directly at him. “Even if he wasn’t wearing the mask,” he cooed, the gentle tone not matching up with the dark gleam in his eyes, “we both know you’d still be thinking about me, right?” 

A shaky inhale on your part, desperately trying to maintain a cold stare. You couldn’t let yourself melt for him, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he still had so much control over you. “You’re intolerable.” 

“You’re not denying it.” He didn’t loosen his hold on your chin, not giving you a chance to break away as his other hand began to trail along your waist, fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. “That when you’re with him, you pretend I’m the one touching you,” 

He tilted your head further, leaning just close enough that you could practically feel his lips graze against yours. “Pretending I’m the one kissing you.” 

The hand on your waist suddenly dropped to your hip, his thumb digging roughly into the flesh just hard enough that you were certain it would leave a mark. You gritted your teeth, trying to hold back the gasp that threatened to break free in response to his actions. Peter knew that you were holding back, fighting against your own instincts, and he planned on breaking you.

“Do you wish it was me?” Just barely a whisper, his lips now ghosting against your jawline as he rephrased the question, harsher this time, “Do you pretend that I’m the one inside you?” he shifted his hips as he spoke, pressing them against yours and letting you feel the very prominent bulge in his jeans. You didn’t have time to stop the high-pitched squeak that it had elicited, your face burning red as you accidentally gave him exactly what he wanted. 

“No. I don’t.” The words came out weak, as well as a little shaky, your eyes screwing shut to try and avoid looking at him. 

You weren’t sure how you felt anymore, the emotional motion sickness reaching an all-time high as you grappled with your feelings; just angry enough to scream at him, just horny enough to scream for him. 

Your pitiful attempt to deny him did nothing as he still worked his way down to your neck, lightly nipping at the sensitive skin, grinning against you when he felt you jump at the sensation. “I don’t believe you.” 

His fingers were now toying with your waistband, tugging against the material, begging for any sort of indication that you were okay with it. Both of you knew that you wouldn’t be able to turn him down even if you wanted to, and thankfully you weren’t gonna have to. 

A loud buzz against the door caused both of you to jerk away from each other, Peter stumbling back before you realized that it was your phone vibrating in your back pocket. You didn’t hesitate to reach for it, desperate for a distraction. 

Harry. 

Guilt washed over you as you saw his name appear on the screen, followed by a text telling you that he had finished up work early so he could take you out for dinner. It was a simple gesture, one that some wouldn’t think twice about, but the thought made your chest tighten. 

He was making time for you. 

Peter seemed to know who it was that texted you, able to put the pieces together on his own. That cocky mask fell as he watched you, listened to the way your heart skipped a beat when you thought of Harry. 

“Pete,” He recognized that tone, the same one you had used the night you called it quits, “I love you. You know that, but-” there was always a but, “I just–I can’t do this again. I need to pick what’s best for me.” 

“And Harry is what’s best for you?” It hadn’t been meant as a slight, but rather a genuine question. One he knew he wouldn’t like the answer to. 

“Maybe not.” You hesitated for a moment, dreading what you had to say next, “But I know that it’s not you. It can’t be you. Not again.”  

The words hurt to say as much as they did to hear. Neither of you wanted this, but as much as Peter hated to admit it, he knew that there was no other way. Not right now, at least. Not while the world still needed Spider-Man. 

“Okay.” Peter’s voice cracked, doing his best to force a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, not in the way it used to. “So where does that leave us?” 

You tried to return the smile. “Friends?” 

“Does that mean I have to see you with Harry?” 

“Probably, yeah.” 

“Fine.” He feigned a look of disgust, earning a small laugh from you. “But I’m not gonna like him.” 

“He’s your best friend, Pete.” You snorted at his statement, assuming that it had to at least partially be a joke. 

“And you’re the love of my life.” Peter shrugged and tried to mask the pain that accompanied his words, while you tried to mask the sound of your heart breaking, “So I guess things change, huh?”

If you liked this, then please feel free to check out my No Way Home series, Infinitely You! :)

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[ssspideysense]

₊˚ෆ bad habits

summary: peter tends to act on impulse — that’s what got him here in the first place.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: fluff, pining, peter’s a hopeless romantic

wc: 2.7k

What makes something a bad habit?

People usually use the phrase when they mean too much of something— too much coffee in the morning, too many cigarettes a day, too much to drink on the weekends. Overindulgence. Lack of self control.

Peter thought about this as he waited, the skin-tight material of his suit doing absolutely nothing to block the chilling rain running down his back. Past the city lights glimmering against her window pane, the apartment inside was dimly lit. He could make out the splash of colors against the hallway from the living room TV. It wouldn’t surprise him if she fell asleep on the couch again— she had a bad habit of staying up too late, biting off more than she could chew most nights and paying for it a few hours later. He wondered briefly, and hoped a bit selfishly, that he maybe had something to do with that.

He knocked again. Louder, in a little rhythm— bum ba bum, bum ba bum.

No more than once a week. That’s how it started out, however many months ago, when he crawled through that window for the first time. Swinging by more than one night a week would be way too much. He had things to do, really, and so did she. It wasn’t realistic to expect her to wait around, twiddling her pretty little thumbs, keeping her schedule free for a chance to let him into her bedroom window at 12:17 am.

12:18 am.

12:19 am.

Peter shivered. The cold had started to seep into his skin, but the chill that ran up and down his spine wasn’t from the sudden downpour.

Even the glimpse of her figure, a dark silhouette he could pick out in any city crowd, was enough to set off that tingle in the base of his skull, even for just a moment. He watched her scurry over to the window, an apologetic look tugging on her face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you,” she said, and her voice was music slipping over the smack of raindrops against the iron fire escape, “oh my God, get in here, will you?”

If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. Sometimes he was grateful for the mask and the few freedoms it allowed him—

“Wait here.”

—she couldn’t see the way his entire face lit up as he happily maneuvered through the window, or the way his eyes followed her as she wandered over to her linen closet to grab a towel for him.

Peter stood in a puddle on her hardwood. Obedient, embarrassingly so.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked. In the relative dark of her quiet bedroom, she handed him the towel, gazing up at him with the kind of eyes that make poets pick up pens.

“I should probably be saying yes, since it’s midnight, but I’m going to be disappointing and say no,” she chuckled under her breath and took a small step back.

Peter wrapped the towel around his shoulders like a kid getting out of the pool. It smelled like her laundry detergent, a scent he never thought he’d catch himself daydreaming about when he was miles away and objectively much busier with something much more pressing.

He had a bad habit of letting his mind wander, especially when it wanted to grip onto memories of her.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” he replied.

She sent him a pointed look with a raised brow. “And so are you, when you wake up sick. What the hell are you doing? Does the song Itsy Bitsy Spider not ring a bell?”

She fussed over him. He liked it when she fussed over him.

“Yeah, y’know, the part where he climbs up the spout again is my favorite, actually.”

There was a pair of sweatpants and a big hoodie thrown at him before he could even pretend to argue against them.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” she said, gliding away, leaving him to drip quietly in her bedroom as he watched her back disappear down the hall.

“Decaf?” he called after her.

“Do you really want decaf?” she called right back.

She’d slipped from view, little clinks and clunks from the kitchen catching his ears. Peter shrugged the towel from his shoulders and started to peel his suit off. It’d become a second skin, literally and figuratively, clinging to every inch of him, making him shudder as the warmth of her apartment replaced the cold wrap of wet spandex.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, bug— trying to be more health conscious this year,” Peter replied with a grin. In reality, he knew she’d be up all night and woefully exhausted the next day if she got her hands on some regular coffee, so he’d gladly take one for the team with decaf.

He stood at the foot of her bed in his boxers, looking down at the change of clothes she insisted upon him.

It was strange, the way Peter was utterly exposed like this, not even behind a closed door for a breath of privacy, but it didn’t bother him. The suit and the mask sat in a heap next to her radiator and it didn’t matter. He pulled the comfortable cotton up to his hips and slipped the hoodie over his head.

Soft, warm, foreign yet familiar all at once.

He heard her footsteps, heard them pause at the mouth of the hallway. The gut-drop feeling of meeting her gaze unobstructed, bare-faced and messy haired, wasn’t the same as it was the first time. Or the second, or third— she knew his face just as well as he knew hers at this point. Anxiety faded over time, replaced with a new, giddy sort of rush that started in his chest and spread over his body in waves.

She made him feel like a teenager again, and she didn’t even have to do anything. It was a little pathetic, maybe, how much he looked forward to these kinds of nights, but he’d ruminate about that later in the quiet of his bed.

Peter padded his way down the hall to her, moving through the space like he belonged there. He took in her small smile as she leaned back against the kitchen island. The smell of coffee hit him once the machine started to gurgle softly on the counter.

“Are you still cold? I can crank up the heat,” she offered as he drew closer. Her gaze fell on his mouth then— more specifically, the cut on his bottom lip. A little hiss escaped her as she reached up and brushed her thumb beside it.

He looked down at her with a slightly amused expression, watching her brows furrow down as she examined his face.

“No, it’s fine. I’m already walking around in your clothes, waiting on a cup of your coffee. I feel like a Tinder date that’s vastly overstayed his welcome, and I just got here,” Peter quipped, letting her turn his head by his jaw and study him some more. Her soft fingers caught his stubble but she didn’t seem to mind.

She arched a brow at him and eventually pulled her hand back. “I’ve never had a Tinder date crawl into my eighth-story window before.”

“I’m not really an expert on romance, but something tells me that’s a good thing.”

Her hum was low as she turned and gathered two mugs from the cupboard above her. “Tinder isn’t exactly the place to look for romance anyway, Spidey,” she sat them down with a clink.

Spidey.

He’d chosen to start with his face last summer. A bold choice, truly, but it felt like the safer option at the time. There was eight million people in New York— a couple thousand guys were bound to look just like him.

A face without a name was the tiniest breadcrumb he could drop to satiate that need, that desire to feel seen by her in some capacity without completely laying himself out there.

It was a dance he didn’t know the steps to. But she played along well, stumbling in the dark with him and letting him lead, however awkward and shaky.

Peter leaned against the counter and watched her pour two cups. “It’s not? I’m not really in the dating scene. Do people still meet out in the wild these days?”

And she gave him that little chuckle under her breath he liked. “You sound old,” she mused as she reached into her fridge. The pale light bathed her in a sweet, domestic sort of glow that one could only feel in sweatpants in the kitchen after midnight.

“Hey— I’m only twenty-six,” he countered, dipping his head despite the little grin growing on his face.

He watched her pause, just for a moment.

Another breadcrumb. A thread.

But she didn’t draw too much attention to it. Peter pictured her tucking it away for future reference.

“Well, to answer your question, yes. I guess people do still meet out in the wild,” she poured the creamer and scooped the sugar and reminded him that she knew so much about him without really knowing him, not yet, and he both loved and hated that, “but I’m probably not the best person to ask about all that. I think if a man randomly approached me in a bookstore or something, I’d probably assume he was some kind of weirdo.”

Peter hummed, his brow furrowed but his lips twitched into a lopsided grin. His fingers were cold when he gently accepted the drink from her.

“Alright, noted. What about guys that fall out of the sky and crash into your fire escape?”

He peered at her over the top of the mug as he took the longest, hottest drink of his life— anything to avoid the reality of what he just said for a few moments longer.

His throat burned, but it was fine.

The air felt heavier then, thick like the air outside as her gaze flicked over his face.

“That depends. Is he kind of awkward in a weirdly charismatic way?”

And Peter swallowed down the lava for a chance at a deeper breath without choking, “I mean— in this completely hypothetical and improbable scenario, yeah, I’d— I’d say so,” he replied.

The corners of her mouth curled up softly. “And did he come back a week later, trying to apologize with four different types of candy at ten o’clock at night?”

He cleared his throat to try and hide the chuckle that almost slipped out. “He didn’t know what kind you liked,” Peter said, that heat trickling up to his face for a different reason.

She blew on her coffee before sipping it, because she clearly had more sense than he did, and shrugged.

“Helping you out with a broken nose and a concussion makes for a more interesting story to look back on,” she replied softly.

This line they were toeing was a tightrope, strung high and taught and delicate.

Sometimes Peter wanted to take the leap. Just dive right onto the other side, tugging her along with him.

The clock on the stove read 12:37.

12:38.

“Do you think about it? The night we met?”

And she sat her mug down on the counter beside her. The sweater she wore was loose and comfortable on her frame as she crossed her arms. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Do you?” she countered, tilting her head just a bit to the side as she gazed up at him.

Peter leaned back. His mug was empty, the roof of his mouth was a bit sore, but he swallowed regardless. “I do, sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?”

The rain outside picked up. It smacked against her windows with the whistle of wind just underneath it all.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep. I’m usually thinking about the last time I saw you, though. Much clearer picture there,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and looked off to the side, though her soft, slight smile cut the air of annoyance she tried to hold on to.

“Stop,” she mumbled, shaking her head, “that’s not fair.” He had a feeling he knew what she meant— and he had to agree, watching her avoid his gaze.

Peter reached a hand out to pull her arms out of their closed off, crossed position. Despite the tension in her shoulders, she was soft, pliable, letting him grasp her wrists and guide her forward gently into his torso.

He wrapped around her, his nose in her hair, committing the scent of her shampoo to memory.

“I know,” he mumbled back.

She was quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest in that borrowed hoodie she thought he looked criminally good in. After a few moments of his fingers lightly tracing shapes between her shoulder blades, she sucked in a breath. “That’s not fair, either, Spidey.” And she was right again.

He had a bad habit of trying to fix everything.

“Peter,” he said, his voice low against her roots, “it’s Peter.”

The wind shook the windows. She was nearly laying on him with how he held her, his long frame leaned back, arms circled around her shoulders. His breath came in calculated waves, but she could feel the rhythm changing the longer she stayed silent, along with his heartbeat under her ear.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out.

“Peter,” she tried it out, and it felt like hearing her voice for the first time.

His fingers splayed over her back and his palm smoothed up her spine. “Yes?” he mumbled back.

She had a bad habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve, at least around him.

“I think I might have a thing for guys who fall out of the sky and crash into my fire escape.”

Overindulgence, lack of self control— whatever it was, it didn’t matter, really. Peter smiled against her scalp. A low rumble of a chuckle vibrated through his chest. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head once, twice, and squeezed her against him.

She let out a little grunt in response, feeling too much like a squeaky toy to not laugh. “Pe—Peter—super strength, remember?”

“Right, yeah— my bad, bug,” he loosened his hold just enough for her to look up at him, her palms now flat on his chest between them. “But, y’know, you have some pretty weird tastes. I should’ve known when you picked the gummy bears over the Reese’s.”

12:52. He had one foot dangling on the other side of that line he spent far too long thinking about.

And she laughed that laugh and scrunched her nose up the way she did when she found something amusing, yet dumb. She did that a lot when he talked. He took it as a personal victory every time.

“You really don’t have any room to call me weird. You run around the city in spandex every night,” she mused, her lips curled into a smile.

“It makes me aerodynamic.”

“Yeah, you were real aerodynamic when you smacked your head on the rail—“

Peter was never really a planner. It made sense in the moment, to lean in and kiss her, his hands shifting to either side of her jaw. And it made sense the way she hummed into his mouth, either from surprise or the fact that she was very much in the middle of a sentence. But it was alright, because they stood there in the middle of her dark kitchen at 12:55 am, and her lips were soft, much softer than his.

He decided he could excuse every one of his bad habits, maybe write them off as quirks instead, because as he kissed her, he realized that every single one had led him right there; drinking decaf coffee in borrowed sweatpants, listening to the rain and her deepened breathing.

She pulled away just enough to speak, their lips still brushing against each other, “I wasn’t done—“

“Neither was I,” his tone was nothing but a playful tease, and he kissed her again, “how rude of you to interrupt me like that,” and again, “honestly, sometimes I can’t believe the lack of manners in this city.”

Her laugh was grounding when his head was busy floating. She smacked his chest lightly. “Lack of manners? Let’s start with you. You crawl in through my window soaking wet, drink my coffee in my clothes that I totally don’t keep around for you just in case, and kiss me without permission,” she gave him the grocery list and he nodded to each point over-attentively, humming along.

“Right, yeah— you forgot the part where I interrupted you.”

“And you interrupted m—“

Peter kissed her again.

#forgive me i’m rusty #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #p.parker #tasm #tasm!peter parker x reader