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literaila · 2 years

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lean in, lean out

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary: in which peter invites you to a wedding. as his girlfriend. which, evidently, you are not.

warnings: hahahaha, fake dating trope, pure fluff, peter is an idiot, reader is an idiot, we’re all idiots.

a/n: let me know how you like it!

"this is stupid."

despite the tone of your voice, despite the absolute death grip you've got on his hand, and despite all other things—

peter looks down at you. smiles that same irritating smile.

you know—the smile that makes your whole body feel... alive. the kind of smile that lights you on fire and doesn't apologize. no, you think. he's not sorry.

and he's really not.

"you're doing great," peter whispers, leaning a little bit closer to you. maybe just a little bit amused.

or a lot. it's hard to tell with how much you hate him right now. his encouragement is not welcome.

his breath on your skin and every stupid ounce of affection and appreciation—it’s not welcome.

"why do i even have to be here?" you ask him, between gritted teeth. his hand is warm in yours. rough. "you could've said i got food poisoning, or the flu. or maybe i was ziplining and the wire broke."

peter looks forward, but you see the little crinkle of his brows.

"that's a terrible excuse," he tells you, "you can't just start ziplining. you have to, like, take a course."

"because that's my biggest concern right now. the course i didn't take."

peter snorts, but is quick to cover it up with a cough, smiling at the people who turn to stare at him.

and at you with their evil eyes.

with their very nice smiles and wonderful table manners. their curiosity towards the man who, at the moment, is tickling your hand with his fingertips.

you try to smile at them.

you're supposed to be keeping your mouth shut, listening to the speeches.

you're actually supposed to be completely in love with peter.

which, you think, in the deepest, darkest part of your mind, isn't really that big of a stretch.

"can't we just get kicked out?" you mutter to him, pretending that you're not both playing footsie under the table. that you’re a mature adult and peter is a child you’re just babysitting.

you're winning, obviously.

"i don't think you can get kicked out of weddings..." but peter still looks around, like he's checking for a sign.

"you can if you snuck in."

peter looks at you again, sunken down in your seat and crossing your arms.

which is what you'd be doing if that was a part of your elegant girlfriend role.

instead, you're sitting up straight, pretending not to admire how the light catches his jaw--the little concave of his throat. pretending that you didn't stare at him the entire ceremony. nor that his suit has elicited an unfortunate reaction in your chest.

"luckily, we didn't sneak in." peter takes a sip of his water. he is deliberately avoiding your eyes.

maybe it's the guilt.

"yeah, yeah," you mutter, into your own glass—your only solace. "these people are your closest confidants. the people you'd want at your funeral, the ones who know you like no other—“

peter squeezes your hand. you can't tell if he's telling you to shut up, or thanking you.

you honestly can't tell if it's hot in here or if you're just sweating.

you contemplate chugging your water.

"shh," peter whispers, but he leans in close again. just enough that you can smell his soap--some kind of spice, some kind of ridiculously addicting smell that you can never quite place. he kisses your head, smiles at someone who is looking at you.

but you're staring at the floor.

you're really trying to keep the dumb smile off of your face.

there are spiders crawling into your brain and making you short-circuit.

"gotta have a wedding before a funeral. and," he says, teasing you, breaking the rules, "you're my closest confidant."

"how romantic."

peter moves back. it might be your tone of voice. he glances at you with a raised brow. "i thought this was stupid?"

"it is," you're quick to answer. quick to throw yourself off of the nearest building. quick to run out of here and pretend that you got eaten alive by wolves. "i'm just saying—if you want to trick all of your family members, might as well do a good job."

"i think we're a good couple," peter pouts like he's absolutely serious.

the words want to send sparks down your heart. they want to hurl bowling balls down your stomach.

but you refuse.

"this is stupid," you repeat, but this time, your lip twitches. if only minimally.

peter kicks your foot under the table. he opens his mouth to say something back.

but then everyone is clapping, peter is looking over to you—you with wide eyes and far too temperamental emotions—and laughing.

you must look shocked.

the bride's father steps down from the stage, voice echoing as he tries to collect himself.

peter pretends to wipe a tear away.

when you turn away from him—thanking whatever gods there are that everyone is focused on the stage and away from your glowing eyes—you pretend that you can't feel him smirking back at you.

"it's really not that big of a deal—“

you blink. you stare at him. you count to a million in your head, trying not to feel angry. or upset.

it doesn't work.

"you told your aunt that i was your girlfriend, and it's 'not that big of a deal?'" your poor imitation almost makes him laugh. almost.

"she already thought we were dating anyway—“

you think about strangling him. or kicking the chair out from under his feet. "may thought that you were dating the stupid library girl?"

"you're not stupid."

"i was talking about the library."

peter looks almost offended. "hey."

you roll your eyes. drop your head into your hands. his eyes are warm on you, and you know that he's not going to look away until you say something else.

until you agree to this stupid plan and pretend that the only reason he's okay with this is that he feels absolutely nothing for you—

it's not that big of a deal. really.

peter places a hand on your shoulder. when you don't look up, he sighs. and then promptly pulls your hands away from your face.

he is unbearably kind. smiling at you.

"peter..." you say, almost relenting. almost letting him win.

as if this was a game and you were a handy object he picked up along the way. just something to come in later.

"hey," he says, softly, still staring at you. he's never been afraid of eye contact. "if you want me to call her back and tell her that i lied, i will. i don't want to make you uncomfortable."

you'd like to mention that the only uncomfortable thing about any of this is how hard your heart bangs on your chest.

your head lands back in your hands.

peter pokes the bit of cheek he can still reach. you twitch.

"or i can tell her we broke up. that you broke up with me. you'd get a kick out of that." he nudges your shoulder.

you pretend that he didn't just slide his chair even closer to you.

you peek an eye at him. "i would enjoy breaking up with you."

"ouch." but peter's smiling. "seriously," he says. "you don't have to go."

you lean up, brows furrowed. "why don't you just find an actual date?"

you try to say it seriously. like you're not bitter at the prospect.

"having a first date at a wedding?" peter says, dryly. "no, thank you."

"you could, i don't know, try actually dating someone. it doesn't have to be the first date."

"i don't wanna date someone's," he's almost pouting. your lip twitches.

this statement is a lie, of course, but it fills your heart with a little unnecessary glee. something a little bit like relief. you want to dig a hand into your ribcage and rip your heart out just so you can scold it a little.

instead, you shake your head at peter. "then don't go with anyone. maybe you'll meet someone there. wedding romances are very popular this time of year.”

peter winces. "i know. it's just..." he blows a breath. runs a hand through his hair, only making it even messier. his sweater is bunched at his wrists. his glasses are hanging at the tip of his nose.

you want to lean in close to him and push them up.

you clench your fists.

"it's just what?"

"if i go alone then everyone will ask questions."

you frown. "questions?"

"yeah." peter sighs, avoids your eyes again. "and then they'll all give me those pitiful looks because 'poor peter he can't move on' and 'may said he was doing better.'"

you observe his face carefully, tiny pricks of anger hitting directly at your chest.

"it happens at every family event," peter laughs, looking back at you. "i… wanted them to see that i'm okay, for once. and you know i don't like answering questions."

you laugh. you move a little bit closer to him, maybe subconsciously. "you don't have to go alone," you say. maybe to him.

"i know," peter stares at you a second, smiles. "there's no one else i'd want to go with, though."

unsure if he's poking fun at you or being serious, you choose the safe option. the smarter one.

"i hate weddings," you declare to him, glaring.

peter laughs, head thrown back, teeth showing.

you feel a sense of pride. a tiny little branch growing in your chest—getting bigger.

peter shakes his head, because he knows you're lying. he's nice enough not to say it. "plus, may already likes you. no awkward introduction."

you raise a brow. "there wasn't any awkward introduction when i went home with you for thanksgiving."

"because she already liked you."

"you giving me glowing reviews, parker?"

he smiles. "no," tilts his head like he's hilarious. "may likes that you called me out on my bullshit."

you push him, frowning. "i'm very nice to you."

he rubs at his arm, still smiling at you.

and then there's a moment where the two of you just stare. just look in each other's eyes like you wouldn't rather be doing anything else.

you wouldn't.

but you know peter is waiting.

you take a deep breath in.

it might be his stupid smile. or his dimples.

it might be the way he's pleading with you--without his eyes, without even asking--like it's a secret that only you can keep.

"okay," you tell him. "but i'm going to eat all of the cake."

peter holds his hands out to you.

it's late enough in the night that the lights are dim. that his eyes are bright, illuminated by the fluorescents above your head. his smile is soft, his hands are big.

you frown. "what?"

"let's dance." peter says this like it's obvious. like what else would you rather be doing right now?"

you look down at the table, empty now. you look towards the dance floor, full.

"yeah," you drawl. "maybe not."

peter pouts. "you don't want to dance with me?"

his hand is still out, still perfectly intimidating.

"it has nothing to do with you, peter," you promise. "i don't want to dance with anyone."

"but you're a great dancer."

you point a finger at him. "there is no evidence of that."

"fall semester, last year."

"how very specific, peter."

he smiles. he waves his hand like he's very impatient. "c'mon, it'll look weird if we don't dance."

"you already look weird so i don't see the issue."

his free hand goes to his chest, in mock offense. you smile at him, so adoring.

"you dance around in my kitchen all the time."

"not in heels."

his face is blank.

"not after i've just eaten a bunch of wedding cake."

peter just stares at you.

"peter," you whine, feeling intimidated. but mostly worried about being any clsoer to him than you have been all night. "please don't make me."

"this is supposed to be fun."

you cross your arms. your neck has begun to ache from looking up at him.

"just one song," he makes a tiny little one with his finger as if that is going to convince you anymore.

"it's never 'just' with you."

peter crosses his heart. "scouts honor."

"that was a cross, not a pledge. and you're not a boy scout."

"i could've been," he sighs dreamily, looking up at the ceiling like he's got big goals. entire aspirations.

and then he looks down at you and smiles again.

and fine.

maybe you dance with him.

but it has nothing to do with his smile. you're merely trying to keep up appearances.

"when may calls you tomorrow and asks why your girlfriend hates you, just tell her—“

peter follows you as you stumble into the hotel room.

he flicks the lights on and sets your bag down in the hallway.

because he owes you, you just flop down on the bed. admiring how soft the sheets are. you lose track of your sentence.

"do you want to shower?"

"it is three in the morning, peter."

"yeah but you're all sticky."

you sit up in bed and look at him--peter who has now removed his blazer. who is quickly undoing his tie and staring at you like he's never looked at you before.

you look down at the sheets. rub your hands together because you're cold.

"are you saying that you don't want to sleep next to me because i smell bad?" you ask him, scrunching your nose.

peter slips his shoes off, laughing so quietly that you can barely hear it. he flops down next to you, looking up at the ceiling.

"i don't remember implying that."

you crawl closer to him, almost right above him. "it was written all over your face, parker."

"well," he smiles at you, more amused. maybe delirious. "it's not like i haven't shared a bed with you before."

you lay back, copying him. your hands rest at your sides, very close to his.

you blink. the white of the ceiling looks particularly interesting.

"it's too early to tell if that was an insult or not."

peter snorts. his laughter shaking the entire bed.

shaking your entire body from the inside out.

and then he groans as he leans up, stretching. you close your eyes, refusing to look at him.

refusing to notice how his shirt has ridden up his back and you can see an inch of soft warm skin.

refusing to notice how the bed already smells like him.

and the fact that you're supposed to sleep next to him, all night.

and that maybe dancing with him left behind some spare anxiety, crawling up your skin and massaging your neck.

you refuse anything.

when you open your eyes again, peter is unbuttoning his shirt.

"are you at least going to get in pajamas?"

"peter, these are pajamas."

he snorts. "really?" a shirt is thrown on the floor. a zipper can be heard from across the room. similar to your heart. "because i distinctly remember someone telling me that 'it was the most uncomfortable outfit ever' and 'not even satan would allow this.'"

you sit up, moving to cross your legs. maybe you stare at him a little. "what?" you gasp. "who would say such a thing?"

peter looks back at you and smiles.

it's quite possibly—in the realm of possibilities and three in the morning thoughts—the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

"here," he tosses you a shirt. a pair of sweatpants.

how he found those in the vast depths of your suitcase, you are unsure.

"i'm going to go brush my teeth, moisturize."

"is that how you get that baby-smooth skin of yours?"

peter raises an eyebrow at you. gestures down to the clothes in your lap. "change. get in bed. you look tired."

you frown. "did my makeup smudge?"

peter stares for a moment, surveying your face. his eyes are wide and his lips are just slightly parted. just enough for you to see a tiny bit of pink. a flash of white.

it’s a moment too long. peter clears his throat. "no," he says. "you--it, um. it looks good. you look beautiful."

your eyes widen, if only a little bit.

peter seems to realize this. he seems to run from you, if not literally, then figuratively. "okay. uh, you. change." he shakes his head.

and then the bathroom door closes.

you're tucked into bed when peter comes out ten minutes later.

you don't bother to ask what took him so long.

he smiles at you in the dark—you can see this, or, at least feel it. you're very familiar with it.

and despite the fact that you have shared a bed with peter before, that you were miles closer to him only a couple of hours ago, you still feel a twitch of nerves as he climbs into bed next to you.

the covers shift ever so slightly.

and then peter turns towards you. he knows that you're still awake.

you know that his eyes are soft. that there are circles under his eyes but he still looks just as beautiful. but he still looks like the person that you're undeniably in love with.

whatever.

"tired?" he whispers to you because it's dark.

these are late-night secrets, see.

"yes." you whisper back. "no."

peter chuckles, so low and quiet.

it's silent for a moment. cars passing by the room. lights shining in through the curtains.

your heart bouncing across the walls and hoping to land in peter's hands.

"did you have fun?" he asks, so soft.

you almost freeze. almost completely forget yourself. "yeah. yes. i—it wasn't as bad as i thought it would be."

"i think the dancing really sold it."

"oh, you mean, you stepping on my feet and me not yelling at you?"

"uh-huh."

"that's the testament to a good relationship, for sure."

peter is smiling.

you know that.

maybe because you're also smiling.

"you should go to bed," you say. "you're tired."

"i'm really not," peter says.

you want to lean in closer. something about the dark. something about spending the whole day with him. something about his eyes and his lips and his smiles—which, even now—are terrifying.

something about the dark.

"may wants to have breakfast with us," peter whispers to you.

"yeah?"

"yeah. i can tell her that you're too tired if you want."

you clear your throat. swallow. "no. it's okay. i like hanging out with her."

"yeah?"

"yeah."

peter is silent for a moment. he is so quiet that you're almost worried that he's disappeared into the dark.

but he's there.

your heart won't let you forget that.

"peter?" you whisper.

"yeah?"

"thank you for bringing me."

"thank you for being my girlfriend."

the sentence weighs more than a pile of bricks on your chest.

you think about the next ten minutes. about how this might be—this is—your last chance. this is it for peter being your boyfriend. even fake.

it's worth something.

but peter turns on his side, eyes shutting.

and so you follow, pretending that you can't feel him, warm, so soft, next to you.

you pretend that you can't hear his breathing. that all of this is meaningless.

and you're getting used to it. pretending.

still, you feel it, about seven minutes later.

a couple of minutes after you're sure that peter's already fallen asleep. that he isn't plagued by these thoughts, these ideas like you are.

it doesn't matter.

it's seven minutes later, in the dark, so early in the morning.

you feel peter's hand, right next to you.

you feel him intertwine his fingers with you.

and peter is warm and soft. rough and cold.

he is asleep. but it means something.

you pretend it doesn't.

you fall asleep holding his hand.

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @random_writer1021

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bangsinc · 9 months

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Pls give me internet clout tjis took awhile

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atomic-chronoscaph · 11 months

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The Amazing Spider-Man costume and web-shooter (1977)

#the amazing spider-man #tv props #tv costumes #nicholas hammond #web shooters #marvel comics #70s tv series #70s spiderman #CBS #superheroes #seventies #1977

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sbd-laytall · 2 months

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Ships where one person always has the other's back instantly >>>

Amazing Spider-Man (1963) #372

#I know that they're not that popular of a ship but I just adore them and their complicated relationship #it's the 'being on separate sides but knowing that when it comes down to it you both will be there for each other' of it all #Felicia has two hands and they're there to hold Peter and MJ's hands (in my mind they are all dating but that's neither here nor there 👀)#peterfel #spidercat #peter parker #spider man #felicia hardy #black cat #amazing spider man #spider man comics #marvel #marvel comics #comic series #my post

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verified-villain-fxcker · 2 years

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Idk there’s just been something so wonderful about seeing all my childhood favs finally get their redemption arcs.

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kitherondale · 9 months

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The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) | High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (2019-2023)

#the amazing spider-man #tasmedit #high school musical: the musical: the series #hsmtmts #hsmtmtsedit #disneyedit #marveledit #userbbelcher #rinaedit #rina #spidermanedit #listen i had a thought #in my brain this makes sense #*

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best-character-named-x-poll · 1 day

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have you done your daily click

#best character named x #poll #poll game #kaine parker #caine soren #the amazing digital circus caine #kaine carnival row #cain blood #cain fire emblem #spider man #gone #the gone series #the amazing digital circus #carnival row #banana fish #fire emblem

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robotshowtunes · 4 months

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Should auld acquaintance be forgot and the days of auld lang syne? 🎍

After Glen Canlas

#Happy New Year #Happy 2024 #Spidey-Pool #Spider-Pool #Wade Wilson #Deadpool #Peter Parker #Peter B. Parker #Peter B Parker #Spider-Man #Amazing Yamaguchi Revoltech Series No.025 Deadpool (Ver. 2)#Amazing Yamaguchi #Revoltech #Kaiyodo #MAFEX #toy photography

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riordanness · 2 months

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percy jackson variants (aka other fictional characters im in love w)

peter parker (andrew garfield version)

killian jones

rodrick heffley

ricky bowen

edmund pevensie

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson variants #spider-man #the amazing spider man #andrew garfield #ricky bowen #hsmtmts #high school musical the musical the series #narnia #edmund pevensie #rodrick heffley #doawk #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #diary of a wimpy kid #killian jones #ouat #once upon a time

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characterswithanimalnamesfight · 20 days

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A few characters I expected to be submitted haven't been so here they are some kind of preview. This poll will have no incidence on the rest of the competition

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sincericida · 8 months

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ANDREW GARFIELD

for The Glass Magazine (October, 2021 | 📷 Michael Schwartz)

#andrew garfield #of the series andrew garfield's pics i love #simply beautiful #he's so fucking sexy #🫦#glass magazine #peter parker #spider man #the amazing spider man #tasm #tasm peter parker #tasm peter #andrew peter parker #andrew peter #sincericida

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literaila · 2 years

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magnetic attraction

part one.

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary: after a bad interaction with peter, your interaction with spider-man could not be any more chaotic.

warnings: ha. angst/fluff. and then. so much banter. too much banter.

a/n: to bob, who put on her spider-man mask and pretended to roleplay with me (also i don’t hate john green. the fault in our stars is good.)

"hey, what's the answer to number seven?"

here's the thing.

despite any and all efforts made to introduce peter into your life as an ex--because you broke up. that's a thing--he is anything but.

simple solution, you know.

avoid him.

follow the rules of break-ups. write yourself a checklist and make sure that there aren't any empty boxes left at the end of the day. no spaces to fill, no void to think about.

channel the resentment. fuel the anger, make yourself even madder, make him a bad guy so that maybe you won't miss him this much. block his number, forget any important thing that you know about him.

simple. easy. breathing is hard in comparison.

and still, you can't do any of it.

because you don't hate him. you really, really can't.

and the thing, you and peter have always been magnets.

even before any of it, you were drawn to each other.

when he pushed, you pulled. when you pushed--he grabbed on so tight you were worried about blood circulation.

you met him in chemistry, and after that, you met him everywhere else.

the grocery store and on campus and walking home from places that peter really shouldn't have been.

you met him and that was that.

you have always been lab partners. and you're not speaking to him enough--at all, because there are rules--to fix the issue. to ask to sit somewhere else.

to break this foundation with a sledgehammer.

and if there's a tiny part of you that just can't let go--erase a checkmark--then you ignore it. you don't want his warmth. you don't want to feel him laughing right next to you. you don't want to even know peter at all.

you don't--

"what?" you don't look over at him. it's an unspoken rule.

"number seven."

"it's--" you breathe in, steal a look at his paper. completely blank. "can't you see it?"

"what?" peter's voice is so soft, so quiet and unrelenting that you can barely hear it.

it blares like a siren in your ear.

"my paper. can't you see it? i can see yours."

"why are you looking at my paper?"

this might've been a joke, four weeks ago.

"peter."

he doesn't respond. pretends to write something down even though you both know that he was sleeping the whole class--until the teacher came over and asked him if he needed to see the nurse and peter responded with a polite smile which you definitely didn't stare at.

it's too quiet.

"here," you slide it over to him, just slightly, looking straight ahead at a poster of a skeleton. mandible, clavicle, sternum.

you wait.

"why didn't you just look over?" you ask him, maybe just because you have no sensibility left.

"it's cheating if i steal it off of your sheet."

"you're opposed to cheating now?"

you can practically hear his teeth grinding together, as sure as a drill to a nail.

you breathe in. fire moves down your stomach and back up. it doesn't take a genius to know that no matter how many deep breaths you take, the feeling isn't going to go away.

radius, ulna.

"nevermind," peter slides the paper back to you. he's got bruised knuckles.

"you don't know how to do any of this," you say to him, pushing it back.

he pushes, you pull.

you look back up. sacrum, patella.

"i got it."

"peter."

he is completely silent.

there are only unspoken words between the two of you.

"i got it, okay?" his voice is soft, but it's a snap. it's a rubber band, hitting back.

you both know it.

and so, your fingertips brush the edge of your paper, because if he doesn't want your help then you don't need to help him, and if he doesn't want to talk to you then it's even easier to cross 'silent treatment' off of the list.

it only takes him a moment to stop you. "sorry," he whispers.

and it's enough. because you're feeble. because you know him, even four weeks later.

you scribble over the list.

"will you help me with this one?"

you know that he doesn't need help. you know that you probably do.

still, you lean a little bit closer--making sure to keep a foot of distance at all times. "okay."

peter looks at you, a small smile on his face, and you forget to look away.

you forget all of the ground rules and fall off the edge of the earth.

you trip and run directly into him.

and you swallow, tasting the bile before you can push it down. you feel the fire, anger, like you've been trying to throw away.

"what--" you swallow again, try to take a deep breath without it being too noticeable. "you've got another bruise."

and a cut. and a yellowing face. and circles under his eyes that can almost compare with yours.

immediately peter looks away. he hides again.

you want to feel ashamed, you want to be guilty. but even still--fear isn't something that goes away with him.

and love, no matter how much you beg it, won't burn itself to the ground.

"doesn't matter," peter mutters, scribbling on his paper again. "do i need to divide or multiply--"

"peter."

he looks towards you, but he's staring at the wall.

"what happened?"

"i thought you didn't want any more excuses."

"that doesn't mean that i don't care, peter," you whisper it, but the words come out of your mouth like an attack.

peter's eyes meet yours, and you see a flash of something almost unrecognizable.

"actually," he swallows. his frown sends sparks down your core, leaving burn marks in their wake. "i thought that you didn't want to talk to me at all."

you struggle for words, you try to reach out and grab them but they're too far.

this is much more than a worksheet.

"that's what you said, right? that you didn't want to talk to me until i--"

"this isn't--that's not--" you're too close to him.

you're far too close. he's leaned in enough.

you can feel him.

and this, god, this is breaking every ground rule. this is unspoken and broken promises and your throat feels dry and your hands are clammy.

you've never not known how to talk to him.

peter scoffs, in the silence, into the expanse of the world and directly in your face. he throws back more than you could ever catch.

and his eyes are completely serious when he says "just leave me alone, y/n."

the bell rings, and peter gets up.

he's better at this than you are.

and later that night, you're still angry.

you're still completely fed up with reality, with being alone, with having to sit there in class and just pretend that it's all fine.

you accuse peter of lying, but between the two of you, the scales are only balanced.

maybe that's why you're standing on the roof of your apartment building.

a bad day, a couple of bad weeks. feelings that wrap themselves so tight around your throat that they keep you from breathing.

peter, and his smiles, and his eyes--because you know his eyes.

and you can pretend all you want that you've given him no room to be angry; that he has no right.

but you'd just be lying.

a particular brand of hypocrisy.

so maybe it's self-pity that leads you up the stairs. maybe it's loneliness.

regret, never. yearning, absolutely not.

you lie to yourself again and again and imagine that it's all some joke. you'll laugh eventually.

you don't want peter to come back.

you don't want to be afraid to look in his eyes, at his face. you don't want to expect him to come home late at night and have blood dripping down his face. you don't want to presume that everything he says--all the stupid promises he makes you--are only lies.

you don't want precedents.

and you really don't want to be alone.

so, the roof. the tiny little things to help you escape from the ever imminent reality.

peter isn't coming back. you don't want him to.

and still, talking to him earlier that day, being angry at him, getting him to snap at you.

it felt like relief.

it felt like a gasp of air, like drowning yourself for years and then finally deciding to swim up the surface. it felt like scrubbing the infection from your skin, finally, and finding a new layer of yourself underneath.

it felt like peter.

and you miss peter. you're not stupid enough to deny that.

and the book you'd been reading--because the roof is a substitute room--is missing.

you look under another box. push some spare trash around, hoping that maybe you'd just misplaced it.

you're doing this when you hear a crash just a couple of feet behind you.

a quick casual earthquake almost making you trip over the nearest box.

and when you spin around, still trying to catch your balance, you realize that you aren't alone.

maybe it's the man that crashed onto your roof--because it is yours--almost tackling you as he came down. he is two feet away from you.

just maybe.

you're frozen in shock for a moment, fingers reaching out to touch him--just to make sure that he's alive--but never getting quite close enough.

luckily for you, spider-man jumps up before you feel around your pockets for some spare courage.

"jesus," he says as if he didn't just almost kill you. he looks away, up at the sky, like he's expecting it to laugh back.

and you stare at him. unsure what to say.

what to be doing in a situation where a superhero has fallen onto your roof and ended the possibility of any quiet time.

how to feel when the man turns to look at you, frozen. how to feel when, after a moment, he merely waves a hand at you like he's a celebrity.

"what are you doing here?" the words fly out of your mouth, stupid and slightly scared.

"i--" he shakes his head. tilts his head like he's trying to get water out of his ear.

your brow furrows. your heart stutters off the edge of your ribs. "are you hurt?"

"fit as a fiddle."

you blink, trying to comprehend the words at the speed they come out.

you stare at him, then look up, then back to him. he's whistling, completely casual.

"you just fell onto my roof," you say, eyes wide.

spider-man takes a step away from you, shakes out his foot. "was it that obvious?"

"you..." you stare at him. he's taller than you are. long. breathing too hard. "you're spider-man."

"pleasure," he pretends to tip a hat at you. you ignore that, for his own dignity.

you feel your heart climb out from your body, telling you that it's going to take a break.

"where did you come from?" you look around, expecting a camera and crew to jump out from behind a box.

"a building," he says, so simply. "was trying something new."

"it didn't work."

spider-man looks at you again, head tilted. "ha."

"aren't you, like--" you swallow. "supposed to be nice? and uh, good at what you do? isn't there a superhero code to... not scare unsuspecting strangers?"

"i'm nice," he defends. "i'm spider-man," he reaches his hand out as if to introduce himself.

you stare. blink. try to shove the shock away from your system.

it doesn't work.

"i already said that."

"you can shake my hand anyway. tell your friends."

you blink. "what?"

"did i hit you?" he asks, very serious now. maybe concerned. he tries to take a step closer, maybe to look at you, but you move back.

a bit perturbed by this man being an inch away from your face.

"i'm okay."

he tsks. "that's not an answer."

"i'm pretty sure you didn't hit me," you revise, continuing to step back every time he gets any closer.

but he is much faster than you.

"pretty sure?"

"positive."

"really?"

you nod your head, very seriously. you analyze every little twitch of his limbs.

"because you don't seem okay," he says. he taps his temple. "you might've hit your head."

"i didn't fall."

he pauses, movement stopping. "maybe i hit my head."

"that would explain a lot," you say, the words coming out before you can stop them.

spider-man is still staring at you. you're pretty sure that you hear him laugh--but you're also certifiably insane, so who really knows?

he waits a moment, like he's searching for something, and then bends down.

when he straightens, he's got something in his hands. "this yours?"

you swallow. squint and try to see it clearly. "yeah," you say, "that's-that's my book."

and in that brief moment, you begin to wonder if you're just imagining all of this.

spider-man turns it around in his hands, looking at it very closely. "the fault in our stars?"

you nod.

"you're reading this?"

you nod again.

"seriously?" his voice goes up with his words, a bit disbelieving.

you furrow your brows, cross your arms. "what's wrong with that?"

"it's just... oh, you know, the worst."

"you've read it?"

"no."

you wait for him to elaborate. he does not.

"then how would you know that it's bad?" you ask, not believing that you're actually having this conversation.

that spider-man is judging your book choices. and that he fell onto your roof and still hasn't apologized for almost killing you.

maybe you did die.

"do you get out a lot?" spider-man asks you like you're a weird little hermit bothering him on his night out. like he hasn't just made you question every single concrete thing you thought you knew.

"what does that have to do with anything?" minute by minute, your scowl gets harder.

spider-man doesn't answer, merely nods his head as if your response gave him everything he needed to know.

"what?" you demand, trying to grab the book from his hands.

spider-man laughs. it's a small chuckle amidst the wind. he's got a deep voice. "i think it's a part of my civic duty to keep this away from you."

"i've never heard about you being an asshole in the news," you mumble, trying again to grab the book from his hands.

"what was that?" spider-man asks, leaning his ear towards you comically.

you give up. stare at him for a moment.

any emotions you feel in this exact moment have no name.

"for a superhero," you tell him, face void of anything, "you're not very super."

"what a nice thing to say," he brings his hand to his chest, mock-appreciative.

you glare. "can i have my book back?"

"for a civilian," he says, sing-songing just enough to make it noticeable, "you're not very civil."

you almost, almost groan. you almost, almost laugh. "why are you here?" you demand, again, irritation climbing up your spine.

why you're his designated target is unclear.

"don't you have better things to be doing than annoying random girls on rooves?"

he pretends to consider it. "not really, no."

"there are no cats to save from trees?"

and really, you don't mean to joke. you don't mean to let the smile slip.

"you're funny," spider-man says, leaning back against the ledge of the roof. "why are you here?"

"i live here."

"pretty sure that door says 'do not enter.'"

"you can't see that far," you tell him, trying to look back. you, of course, already know what it says.

"i actually can."

you cross your arms again. raise a brow. "how?"

he taps his head like it's an answer.

you stare. insist on being as stubborn and unwelcoming as possible.

"you know, if you don't answer my question i might be forced to alert the authorities," spider-man pretends to look down at his nails--which, as far as you can see--are non-existent.

"really?" you deadpan. "a masked vigilante, threatening to call the cops on me? for sitting on a roof?"

spider-man waves a hand. his ankles are crossed. "please. they love me."

"i can't see how."

he raises his hands in defense. "wow. after all i've done for you..."

"like almost murdering me?"

"like saving you from a friday night alone."

you frown.

his words are a gentle reminder. a gentle push over the edge of this roof.

"can i have my book back?" you ask, serious now.

"are you going to answer the question?"

you imagine that he's blinking at you. you imagine pushing him off of the building.

"it was loud in my apartment. it's nice out here."

"your family?" he inquires.

you shake your head. "just... loud in my head, i guess. whatever. i needed a change of scenery."

"and to read the fault in our stars."

you glare at him.

"i'm honestly saving you," he says. "you should be thanking me."

you try to grab it from him again. "thank you for stealing my book?"

at that point, he sits on it. your jaw drops but he ignores it.

instead, he shrugs, so nonchalant. "just looking out for you."

you sigh. drop your head in your hands and then look back up. "yeah. okay. can i have it now?"

"how much did you spend on this?"

"what?"

spider-man tilts his head. it seems like he's teasing you but you honestly can't tell.

"i didn't. we had it."

spider-man clasps his hands together, a professional psychologist. "so you, before the concussion, just happened to spot this on a bookshelf and decided to read it?"

"i don't have a concussion," you stare at him, squinting. "and yes."

"are you an avid romance reader?"

you blink. tilt your head. "i don't understand the question."

he nods. "so, no. i mean, obviously. no person with any sort of knowledge, or sense would--"

"hey!"

he shrugs again. "i'm just saying."

"okay, then, spider-man," you cross your arms again. "what would you suggest?"

"maybe finding a real boyfriend. or girlfriend."

you scoff, a little bit shocked.

somehow, you've relaxed. adrenaline has brought you here and dropped you off, kissing you goodbye.

spider-man is an idiot. and a jerk.

"what are you implying?"

"that you don't have a significant other," he scratches his neck. "i thought that was obvious."

you glare at him. "and you do?"

he pauses. raises a finger in the air like he's got something to say. stutters. drops his hand.

you smile, smugly. "exactly."

"yeah, okay, but i get out," he copies your stance, staring.

"when you're crashing into buildings, maybe."

he rests his chin on his hand. "ever heard of a coffee shop?" he asks you. "great place to meet people. or the subway? an abandoned church? the park?"

"nope. don't recall," you respond, dryly.

"this is new york," he gestures around him like he's making a point. like he's got any point at all. "there are tons of people."

"and yet, you're still alone."

spider-man scoffs. "i have better things to do. responsibilities."

"then how come you've been sitting on my roof for half an hour?"

"i'm helping you, obviously."

"how do you know that i don't have better things to do, too?" you shrug. "maybe i'm a superhero."

"no superhero would read john green in their spare time. we have standards."

"i find that hard to believe," you look him up and down, making note of spandex.

he balks--or, at least, seems to. "you are not making me want to give it back."

"please," you flutter your eyelashes, smiling. "i'll even cancel my subscription to the daily bugle."

he scoffs again, beginning to say something when there's a crash from below the two of you.

another earthquake. another superhero falling onto a roof.

spider-man leans over the ledge, looking down at the city below. then back to you, posture changed. maybe a little bit tenser.

"just for that comment, i'm leaving," he says, but his voice is easygoing, calm.

you don't think you want to know what's going on under your feet.

you reach out to grab the book from him--to forget about this entire night, especially the possibility that it might have improved your mood. minimally.

but in the blink of an eye, he's gone.

and there's no evidence that he was ever there. not even a book.

you run towards the edge, worried that he fell, that he just stole your book, or that you really are going crazy.

and you see him, swinging away with one hand.

book in the other.

you turn around, groaning.

think about performing a citizen's arrest.

when you climb into bed that night, you try to ignore it.

realities. sitting on a roof in the cold of the night for no reason. feelings that have faded away, if only to leave a mark.

you try and try to forget about the entire day.

about peter and his resentment, his lies, his excuses, and how tired he looked.

spider-man, who despite all else, made you laugh. at least once.

that lingering feeling tucks you in.

concern and worry and fear all morphed into something else. something like doubt. something like you can't feel your own heart. like you have no idea whose skin this is.

a bug crawling on the ceiling, keeping you awake.

when you fall asleep, it's to that feeling.

part three.

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @random_writer1021

#peter parker #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #the amazing spider-man #The Amazing Spider Man #peter parker x you #andrew peter parker #peter parker angst #tasm!peter x you #tasm fanfiction #Andrew!Spiderman #andrew garfield #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #peter parker series #peter parker smut #marvel

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bangsinc · 11 months

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Heyyy uh, I love your work! Your idea of The Spot just feels so in character and I absolutely adore the sad soggy noodle of a man (I mean that in an affectionate way)

If your commissions are open, Id like to make a request…

Are you comfortable writing for an Autistic Reader (with or without ADHD involved)? It doesn’t have to be anything specific, maybe just how he would deal with the pros and cons of it all?

No pressure in doing it, just take care of yourself and remember to set yourself at a comfortable pace and to make sure to care for your needs!

OhmygodivbeentalkingforsolongIamsosorryillshutupnowhaveaniceday!!!

🖤Spot x Nerodivergent Reader🤍

YES!! I’m also autistic so I’d love nothing more than to feed y’all. Autistic readers and readers with ADHD are never common and it’s really sad to see.

AUTISTIC READER:

The Spot, with his own experiences of feeling misunderstood, demonstrates empathy and acceptance towards their partner's autism. He recognizes and appreciates their unique perspective, and even try’s to promote it as much as he can. You can truly understand him in that sence, and it makes him even more likely to be able to open up to you.

The Spot and you easily bond over shared special interests, whether it's science, technology, or other intellectual pursuits. You both engage in passionate discussions, exchange knowledge, and explore these interests together. Sometimes it might even be hard to have a conversation without accidentally interrupting one another!

In many situations (myself included lol), it’s often hard to stim as you might think of it as embarrassing or useless because of how ‘stupid’ you look. The spot of course, loves to see you happy and express yourself, even if it isn’t conventional. If he notices this pattern of behavior, he might try to help by stimming with you! He thinks it’s sweet and he wants you to feel comfortable around him after all.

Sensory issues are one of the many obstacles that come with having autism, and the spot most likely is aware of this. Even tiny things such as the fabric of your pants Can set you off, and the spot tries his best to make you as comfortable as he can. If you happen to become overstimulated, then he’s going to stop everything and aid you. Even if you feel guilty about all of the attention, he hates to see you distraught.

If you’re feeling overstimulated at home, then he might turn off/dim the lights and give you something to fidget with. If you don’t want to talk about how you feel, he understands, and is willing to console you physically if you wish!

If it’s in a public setting, then the spot is willing to safely (and hopefully slowly, the poor boy might be freaking out alongside you) get you out of the situation and somewhere more quiet and secluded.

Dates during sensory hour at certain places! The options are limitless, but I can imagine he’d enjoy taking you to places such as the aquarium during those hours. It’s quiet, nice, and you both get to see the sea creatures :).

Sometimes you want to be quiet but also in his presence, the feeling of just being around him comforting enough. He can understand, although it might be hard. Sometimes the spot has a tendency to talk your ear off, but in certain situations, espically if you convey so, he might just relax and do something while you do something else.

The spot is also willing to adapt if you have issues with certain ways of communication, maybe to the point of going non verbal or needing cards. Spot is a fast learner, and because of such will quickly be able to affectively communicate with you. He finds ways to accommodate different communication styles, such as using visual aids, written communication, or allowing time for processing thoughts. He’s very patient and knows that your feelings are complex.

Reader with ADHD

The Spot recognizes that your attention and focus may fluctuate and that you might exhibit hyperactive or impulsive behaviors at times. He can understand the feeling of being impulsive, and uses this to connect with you on a certain basis. Reminders are very common with him!

Back when The Spot worked worked as a scientist, he developed an incredibly strict schduale. If you have your own issues keeping schduale and keeping track of your own work, he might implement some of your own tatics for you. (And he’s kinda a total worrywart about it. He cares, maybe wayyyyy too much about if you get your things done on time.)

The Spot uses his powers to create a calming environment for you when needed. He may manipulate dimensions to create serene spaces or offer soothing sensory experiences that help reduce anxiety too!

#the spot #spider man #across the spiderverse #the spot x reader #spiderman #into the spider verse #amazing spider man #spiderverse spoilers #spiderverse fanart #batman the animated series #spiderman into the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderverse imagine #autistic reader #adhd reader #bangsinc

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