Latest Posts by ancientseeker - Page 2

Fellas, once again, I ask your aid to denounce @ aeyumiicore for stealing other people's work.

It might not seem important, it might not affect you, but if you're one of the many who has written through your life fanfiction over one of your personal fixation I believe you can feel the anger when seeing someone having their work, their time, and their whole personality stolen.

All I ask is for you guys to reblog this. Let's do our best to maintain this fanbase clean and healthy for us, and for future players who might even become our colleagues and friends in fanfiction.

I won't write too much, I'll just drop their video screen I did.

Please be aware that this might happen to your work or one of your friends' work! Spread awareness!!

Don't forget to support the real writer, too! @aeyumicore ✊🏽 (love you, pookie, please rest).

y’all ever think about how bucky got drafted and acted like he enlisted so steve would think he was okay. or how bucky was tortured for weeks at azzano and acted like he wasn’t so steve would think he was okay. or how bucky was cryofrozen traumatically for decades and voluntarily chose to go back under so that steve would think he was okay. or how bucky blinked back into existence days before steve left his life forever and bucky acted happy for him so steve would think he’d be okay.

things about randy meeks that i think about too much

he wears two rings (one of which kinda looks like an alien but i can’t tell :/)

he could tell that gale got calve implants from 15 feet away

he’s said pussy before

died with a body count of at least 1

he’s taller than dewey

he’s watched (and possibly enjoyed) “pretty woman”

knows when jamie lee curtis first went topless in her career

he’s called himself a sex slave before

wore those bright ass green shoes (and those red ones the next day)

he’s watched (and possibly enjoyed) “clueless”

his scar from getting shot (seriously where are the scar kissing fics people??)

he killed stu in the first draft

changed his hair by just giving himself a side part

actually pretty good at those voices he does

has been fired repeatedly

Rewatching Scream for the nth time today and I cannot get over how fucking unhinged and chaotic the entire movie is.

Like don't get me wrong, I fucking love this movie and it's a fantastic commentary on horror movies and stereotypes within slasher fics. But it's also such a good commentary on how inept teen boys are as slashers and how useless the police force is in these movies.

I cannot take any of the chase scenes seriously because of the amount of times Billy & Stu fall over or get hit by things. Like... They're so bad at staying on their feet. I feel like I need to count the amount of times they fall over in this damned movie because it's low-key slapstick. And Dewey... Oh my god, the scream when he's holding the mask and Sid scares him by opening the door, it cracks me up every time. Not to mention Randy "EVERYBODY'S A SUSPECT" Meeks, the hyperfixation special interest is so real, so many of his lines are so damn quotable. The satire in this movie is on point.

Anyway, not a new opinion, I know, but the whole cast and crew are genuises for creating this masterpiece. End rant. Also... The sound track to this movie... *Chefs kiss"

Maybe, no revolution? Maybe we should just "find our own tree"? A, Edmond Dantes?

— You, of course, won't take off the mask, will you?

— Of course.

Some words to use when writing things:

winking

clenching

pulsing

fluttering

contracting

twitching

sucking

quivering

pulsating

throbbing

beating

thumping

thudding

pounding

humming

palpitate

vibrate

grinding

crushing

hammering

lashing

knocking

driving

thrusting

pushing

force

injecting

filling

dilate

stretching

lingering

expanding

bouncing

reaming

elongate

enlarge

unfolding

yielding

sternly

firmly

tightly 

harshly

thoroughly

consistently

precision

accuracy

carefully

demanding

strictly

restriction

meticulously

scrupulously

rigorously

rim

edge

lip

circle

band

encircling

enclosing

surrounding

piercing

curl

lock

twist

coil

spiral

whorl

dip

wet

soak

madly

wildly

noisily

rowdily

rambunctiously

decadent

degenerate

immoral

indulgent

accept

take

invite

nook

indentation

niche

depression

indent

depress

delay

tossing

writhing

flailing

squirming

rolling

wriggling

wiggling

thrashing

struggling

grappling

striving

straining

We Can Be Fucked Up Together

(Randy Meeks x Riley!reader)

Summary: You find solace in Randy after your best friend and boyfriend go on a killing spree

•

Warnings: making out, no actual smut but allusions to it, memories of murder, murder, former Stu x reader, backflashs to The Night of the murder, blood, reader having sympathy for Stu

•

An: This is My first scream fic, And I am very happy to be Writing about Randy. My baby deserves more love

•

The walls felt like they were closing in around You. You shouldn’t be alive, the blood loss was already making your head woozy and your midsection was starting to go numb from where you had been stabbed. You chose to believe Billy was the one who stabbed you, otherwise you’d Look Even more pathetic kneeling on the ground trying to stop Stu’s bleeding.

“Stop moving.” You mumbled while putting more pressure on some of his wounds.

“Im feeling woozy!” He whined, And you hated How it made you feel. You shouldn’t feel bad for him. He had killed people, he was planing on killing you, and yet your heart hurt to hear the person you’d loved for the past two years Be in pain.

“You’re going to die If we stay Here-“ You started to try and push yourself to your feet, but a gun to your back stoped you.

“Don’t fucking move,” Billy hissed.

“He’s going to die!” You yelled back, But You didn't try to stand up again.

“Then you better keep pressure on it until i fucking kill Sidney.” He snapped before running off to find Sidney, who had gone to hide somewhere.

Once the gun was gone Your attention went back to the man on Front of you. He had tears in his eyes, but an almost smile on his face.

“Why?” You whispered, unsure if you even wanted an answer.

“Why not?” He chuckled, jerking his arm up and pushing the knife straight into your stomach.

You sat up straight in your bed, letting out a small scream as you ripped at your shirt. The only thought running through your head was ‘i Need This Off.’

“Fuck!” You mumbled, struggling with getting the shirt up. You started to calm when you saw the lack of blood on your shirt. Another nightmare.

As you steadied your breathing, you couldn’t help but notice how small your room felt. How dark it was. You couldn’t stay here. Not tonight. You would either fall back asleep To Deal with nightmares, or Lay awake And Deal with memories. Not that you had a lot of places to go.

You could wake up Dewey, but his pain meds knocked him out. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him. Sidney wasn’t on the best terms with you currently; the two of you were never the closest in your group of friends. The only left Randy.

You stood up and pulled some sweatpants on along with a jacket. You debated going out the window, but you would have to walk the few blocks to his house and you weren’t brave enough for that yet. Instead you quietly made your way through the house, sneaking by your parents and brothers room so you could grab your car keys. Thankfully, your parents slept hard enough that they wouldn’t hear you driving away.

Driving definitely wasn’t the best idea; your entire body was still shaking and you didn’t dare go more then 10 miles an hour. When you arrived at the Meeks, you were quick to turn off the car to not wake the entire family and got out.

Just like you had the other three times this week, you found the window into Randy’s bedroom. You couldn’t see the man, but the tv in his room was on. You knocked on the window lightly, and it didn’t take long for his face to appear in front of you. He quickly opened the window, frowning at you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you offered a small smile. He helped you climb into his room, and you took your spot on his bed next to him. He was sat with his back to the wall, an arm wrapped around you. You were cuddled into his side, watching the tv in front of you both. Nightmare On Elm Street.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“How can you watch this shit?” You ignored his question for his own, turning your head away from the screen.

“I love this movie,” he shrugged.

“I used to,” you mumbled. It was silent for a few minutes, saved for the movie playing, before you said something. Something that had been bothering you every day for the past 6 months.

“I should have noticed it sooner.” He tensed slightly, and you immediately regretted saying it; but you had to. The thought had been filling your head for months.

“You couldn’t have.”

“Ya, I could have. My best friend and boyfriend went on a killing spree, I should have noticed something.” Randy pushed you away slightly, making you look up at him.

“Sidney was dating him, should she be blamed for what happened too?”

“Thats different,” you snapped. “She fought back, I tried to save him!” You whisper yelled, worried about the others asleep in the house.

“Thats because its who you are,” he argued back. “You go out of your way to see the best in people, even if they don’t deserve it. Even after what Stu did, you didnt want to be the reason he died.” You flinched at his name, you hadn’t heard it be said out loud other then on the news. Dewey normally shut it off relatively quickly when it was on.

“You told me plenty of times how awful they were,” you pointed out. The tops of his ears turned a light pink, making you frown. Why would he be blushing?

“That may just be because I hated seeing you with them all the time,” he admitted.

It was your turn to blush, your face heating up a bit. ‘He doesn’t mean it like that,’ you reminded yourself. Randy had been in love with Sidney for years, the only reason he hadn’t made a move was to avoid angering the women.

You didn’t actually get a chance to say anything before chapped lips were people pushed against your own. You eyes shot open, surprised by the contact, and he quickly pulled away.

“Shit! Sorry sorry, god. What the hell os wrong with me?” He mumbled the last part to himself. He didnt get much time to feel bad before you reached up to pull his face to your own so you could kiss him again. He made a sound of surprise, but he didn’t fight against it; instead he kissed back. It wasn’t rough, but you could feel relief coming from him. Like any tension was being removed from him.

He pulled you lightly so you would settle on his lap, knees on either sides of him. He kept his hands on your hips while yours slid down to his chest, gripping his shirt lightly, like he would fly away if you let go.

This wasn’t necessarily a new position for you. Stu had you like this plenty of times, but it felt so different. Stu left bruises on your hips, Randy’s hold was gentle. Stu kissed with the intent of going further, Randy kissed you like he was thankful to even get this. Randy felt…safe.

Eventually you had to pull away, your lungs burning from the lack of air. You both stayed just as close, foreheads resting together and you coups feel his breath on your face.

“I thought…Sidney…” you mumbled between breaths.

“I never thought I had a chance with you,” he admitted. “I had you as a friend, so I thought it would be enough. But it wasn’t.” His eyes boar into your own, and it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“Caring about me right now will be rotten work. I’m really fucked up” you told him.

“I dont mind. We can he fucked up together.” He offered, making you smile.

“I’d like that.”

As someone who grew up with "I'm not going to praise you for doing what's expected of you; that's not being good, that's doing the bare minimum" I want to encourage you to celebrate every little thing you can. Everything that takes energy and effort should be appreciated and you're allowed to be happy about trying.

writers and artists will go "this isn't good enough." my brother in christ, you're creating something new out of nothing and expressing yourself creatively. your productivity and unrealistic standards of perfection do not define you or the worth of your art. you're doing great.

Don’t hide your face from me under that mask, with which you hid your sadness from everyone for a long time.

Everything is fine, everything is fine, do not be afraid that there will be no smile. Now you will not be able to tell me a lie anymore...

(Song Pierrot Rus Cover by Radiant Records)

Suit & Tie - Mike Schmidt x GN!Reader [ 100 Follower Special ]

Description: You've been stood up on a blind date you were deathly excited for. Miserable and smeared with disappointment, you decide to visit Mike to cool your frustrations—though, it looks like you aren't the only one having a hard night.

Media: FNaF!Movie

Character: Mike Schmidt

Tags: 100 Follower Special, Hopeless Romantic!Reader, Rough Night, Fluff, Romantic, Friends to Lovers, Confessions, Lots of Kissing, Sweet Talk, Flirting, Shy/Awkward + Tease!Mike, Slice of Life, Domestic, Mike being a Sweetheart.

No Warnings.

read my TOS + Mike Schmidt Masterlist

It was one of the worst nights of your life.

You had fixed yourself a wispy, rich fit for your blind date. As well as saving up enough to pay and have some leftovers to indulge in last-minute activities. Blinded by excitement, you had prepared too much for your own good, and ended up waiting in your booth until after hours. Wrecked with frustration, you began to march outside to hook a taxi driver to drive you home silently. Only to realize a storm you hadn't expected muddied up the roads and made it almost impossible for someone to risk their time for a hopeless romantic like yourself.

So, now you were straying along the lines streets lightly flooded with blankets of darkened rainwater that were filling your shoes and weighting your fabrics. Disaster unveiled within your already distressed twister of a mind, as well as regret and heartbreak. You felt like an oblivious character thrown into the spotlight with a single to be humiliated and ragdolled. You couldn't believe your date had done that. All those bubbly giggles across the phone line, smooth walks in the park. You hugged yourself in an attempt to warm your frosted skin, as well as applying some solo comfort. Hot breaths tunneled out of your throat desperately to challenge your aches, blowing on your timid hands didn't give you a lick of justice. Nor hope.

How badly you wanted to go home and sink into a mindless of blue-screened entertainment from your glitching television to forget everything. To just pass away after all this cruel effort and embarrassment.

Had you really felt so connected to your date? To somebody you'd talk to over a table dressed with scarlet and a vased batch of yellow tulips within the center? Did you think it would work? To click with somebody—it felt so foreign, so alien, so unreal. You hardly knew them, but you still made the glorious effort to fall into available arms at any chance. To be cradled lovingly, to be covered in soft kisses, to be cared for. Would you ever find that?

Your eyes narrowed as tears mixed in with the shower above the black sky. Would you?

As silence crept into your conscience, you heard a voice thorned into your attention. You jolted up, eyes flickering like some startled deer. You wondered if you had imagined it, and your energy halted. 

“—Hey! What are you doing outside?” Your eyes veered towards a tall house, drenched in shadow and fog. It was Mike, calling your name. Suddenly, you felt your heart throb intensely, from not only the sight of him, but from embarrassment. You chewed your lip at the thought of Mike strolling past his dripping windows and seeing your figure, head down getting soaked by the rain. You could draw him being incredibly startled in your head. 

“Hey?” Mike echoed. “You’re soaked! Come—Get over here!” Now knowing you couldn’t ignore his signals to warm hospitality, you sailed across the street. Almost limping as you felt incredibly uncomfortable at the feel of mushy socks growing heavy in your pooled shoes. You huffed, scrambling up the steps to meet Mike’s gaze. His wear was surprisingly lacking that cozy picture you had seen so many times. Instead, he was sharp. Ruffled curls now backed and silky, face lightly shaved and his wear neatly ironed. Your face flushed nervously, “Hey. Hey, how are you?” You sheepishly smiled. It was a pathetic attempt to look grounded, but you couldn’t help yourself. Feeling vulnerable in front of him tugged you in a way you couldn’t explain, as if you had to impress him somehow.

Yet, despite his golden appearance, he looked defeated, and heartbreakingly exhausted. You desperately wanted to kiss his pain away, or see his face light up with that infectious grin you could never mentally shut up about. Mike stepped aside, inviting you inside. “Don’t worry about me just yet. Come inside,” he said and once you entered, Mike unleashed a concern lurking in his mind, “weren’t you supposed to be on a date? A—what’s it called? A blind date?” 

“A blind date.” You confirmed, eyes awkwardly flicked on the mud and storm you were dragging on his hardwood. Mike noticed and stammered quickly, “I can get you a towel, or something. Coffee?” He scrambled quickly to his kitchen, flicking on the light after holding onto your gaze for much longer than he wanted. Before you could speak, you could already hear the flicker of the stove. Mike called over, gripping a bag of coffee beans that was light from great useage. You wanted to deny, but you were too broken to push aside such an offer. With a slim exhale, you answered shyly, “That’d be nice, thank you.” 

As the smell of brew calmed your senses, you relaxed on one of the dining room chairs. Mike turned back to you, smiling, “Right, so. What happened? I thought you wouldn’t be here until midnight?” His gaze hung to the bubbling coffee in the pot, opening up the cabinets to prepare a decorated cup. “Was the date early? Oh, traffic?” 

“No, oh God, no.” You huffed, “I got stood up.” you said casually, and you heard something clatter from the surprise. Mike immediately turned to you, shocked. Without the context, you would probably laugh at his dumbfounded expression. You cleared your throat, “It’s—fine, really. We didn’t even know each other that well,” 

Mike poured the coffee with his eyes occasionally flickering towards you. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” 

“No, really.” Mike approached, “Here–,” and you whispered your thanks. “I just didn’t expect you to get up like that, you know? And you had to walk home? I could drive you back after you get dried up, you know it’s never a problem for me.”

You breathed heavily, “Thanks, Mike. But, I think I’ll be walking home. You’ve already made me coffee.” you humored. “I think I’ll be fine.” Despite the feel your cup resembling cinder against your fingertips, you still swallowed and cringed at the heat. Though, it pumped some warmth through your veins despite lightly damaging your throat.

Then, you felt your skin grow hot as he leaned close to you. “I insist.” Typically, Mike getting close to you wasn't all that rare, it was just something he did. Though, tonight felt different. “I’ve had a rough night too, and me helping you could make us both feel better.” He explained, “Of course, you don’t––you don’t have to. I’m just, suggesting.” Mike pulled away.

You were fond of his quick rambling, so this question was plastered with a smile, “So, what happened to you, handsome?”

“Fired.” He stated.

“What?” You coughed, regretting your playful tone in a flash. “Mike, that’s horrible!” That explained why he looked like that. His gaze washed, “I know, but, I have a lot of other numbers in my cabinet. I could look, they seem to pay well.”

He sat next to you, “It’s not as bad as what happened to you, though. I haven’t even told Abby yet.” Mike sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Mike,” you were shocked. “Don’t compare what went down tonight for you, that’s—terrible, I can’t even grasp how sorry I am for you.” You cleaned your coffee-stained lips. Mike’s eyes had been particularly hyper focused on your expressions, your body language, your lips. Just to name a few. Mike shrugged as you leaned forward slightly, “I guess we didn’t get what we wanted.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Mike suggested. You were immediately confused, “What do you mean?” you hadn’t realized how quiet everything had gotten. Even the rain pitter patting against the window had no affect, it was only you and Mike. Paired up with your warm breathing. Mike’s eyes, for once, were maintaining contact. “I mean, I can still tell you how I feel. Like, how pretty you are. And how much I wish I could give your date a piece of my mind right now.” His laugh had always enchanted you. There was something so healthy and wonderful about it. It sounded as if nothing terrible happened to him, that he was content. Mike’s face flushed, “I’m sorry, am I going too far?” he asked breathlessly. As if he weren't tearing you to shreds right here and there. If he knew he was such a tease you doubt you'd be the victim of so many oblivious moments where you swore you were going to faint due to Mike's antics.

You whispered as your tone grew intimate, "No. It looks like you have more to say,"

"Well, I can say whatever you want me to." Mike's voice mirrored yours, and he dragged his chair. Your legs were touching, yet you pretended not to notice. You knew you were so lovesick, and that you could possibly be romantically interested in your best friend. The man that had always been there for you. His attitude was a flux, and Mike was raising his head with a sluggish grin as if he were surprised he uttered such a line. Which somehow made him more desirable in your world.

"I won't tell you anything. You need to tell me honestly." You toyed, "I know you're holding back."

Mike exhaled, "You know you're opening a door you can't close, right?"

"Maybe I want the risk." You tried to stay stable, "Who said I was scared?"

"Nobody."

"You looked like you were implying it, Mike."

He answered with a low chuckle, "So, you aren't going to run away?" Mike's face was dangerously close now. You could taste his breath, his skin was fresh with cheap cologne and lavender soap. Paired up with his lazy gaze and tired voice. It was enough to drive you to the edge, and you could barely muster a reply. "No."

He was so desperate for your approval, the moment you shook your head and opened your mouth, Mike was already smothering you gently. You melted into the kiss, your wet clothes and skin dimming onto his neat fit. Mike's hands were secure around you, obviously testing the waters and going slow. Meanwhile, you were needy. And desperate. And a little new. Both of you were, but that was the magic wasn't it? You had always prayed Mike would be the first person you would kiss. Even if it didn't cradle romantic context. You just wanted him. His giggles, his kisses, his kindness, his love. You wanted his love more than anything it hurt your heart how much, your passion burning in your gut.

You were both growing tired of sitting, so you stood up, growing handsy and messy. It wasn't until Mike found your neck, you folded. Before you could sink into pure joy in the moment, Mike pulled away, gasping. "I'm sorry, you're just standing. Are you okay?"

"More than okay,"

"Well, good, because I—" you cut him off, dragging him by only his tie and your lips to his couch. Passion stirred within the air as you began to unveil his collar and pepper his throat. Where, surprisingly, he was most ticklish. Mike was giggling the whole time, while also growing antsy. You had no concept of how long you two were making out for. Maybe a couple minutes? An hour? You didn't care, even if it hurt your lips, you wanted to be with him. With Mike. Somebody who understood. Your eyes grew glossy as he pulled away, catching his breath while pathetically mumbling a: "I love you, so much. So, so, so much." Then, he brought you back into his eclipse of pleasure. Everything was blurring and the only way to detect a number was by counting all the red marks on his skin because of you. It was all because of you.

You were growing crazy, humming and chuckling as your mouth grew tired of sharing oxygen with him. Once it was finally over, Mike rested his ruffled up curls against your forehead. You were more or less the same. There was silence, until you delivered: "I'm in love with you too." And it had circled, all over again. His lips and hands were on yours, just like you wanted.

Then, you both really stopped. Mike was drinking up the air robbed away from him. He giggled, face bleeding from blush from his flustered expression. "I'm sorry just—give me a second, Lord. I'm gonna pass out."

"Take it easy." You joked and you rested his head on your chest. Your skin was still radiating from your fling, and you couldn't help but blush like a teenager when he gazed up at you, eyes dark with an obvious love for you. He felt the need to repeat, "I love you."

"God, love can't even top what I feel for you." You cupped his face, "But that being said, I'll always love you more."

Call Me Up Again - pt. 2 Mike Schmidt x Reader

Part two of All Too Well Angst!!! So much angst everyone I've decided to turn this into a miniseries, this post being the second part. I'll continue to link chapters as I post them This is also being updated on ao3 (cough cough) No warnings this time 1.9k words

Snowflakes fall silently, coating everything around them in a white dust. The wind blows with a crisp chill, nipping at all the rose-pink noses. It sends shivers down the backs of those who dare be out in this weather. The pumpkins and fake graveyard decor that had once littered every home’s front yard has long since been swapped for tinsel garlands and pine wreaths. 

The Schmidt residence beams with colored string lights and holiday music. A tall, sturdy evergreen sits patiently by the window. Its branches are decorated with years worth of homemade ornaments, ranging in all size and age from both Mike and Abby. The red skirt beneath it falls relatively empty of presents, only donning the few small ones Mike could afford to buy this year. They’re wrapped pathetically in an old birthday paper, the only wrapping Mike could find to reuse. 

Usually, the tree is so full that he’s had to store things in his closet, but that was when you were still a part of their Christmas. Stockings hung happily above the fireplace and a love so innocent it wraps the house in a warm glow. However, it’s void of that feeling now, instead Mike is left to pick up the pieces that you once fit together. Abby doesn’t understand why you don’t come over anymore, or why Mike has been so quiet lately. All she knows is that something went wrong, and now everyone is upset. She’s stopped bringing up your name in conversation when talking to Mike, because it always ends with him withdrawn and retreating to the solidarity of his room. 

That didn’t stop her from drawing you, though. Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, tears collecting in the well of her eyes, and doodle old memories of the three of you. She remembers them being happy, but by the time the crayons were set aside and the picture was finished, it was a glum mess of dark blues and frowning faces. 

After a drawing is finished she’d slip past Mike’s room, quietly tiptoeing out the front door, and make a break for the house across the street. Your house. She’d work fast, her feet carrying her quickly to and fro. It was unclear from her perspective whether you paid attention to what she’d give you, but by the time she slipped a new piece of paper underneath your door, the old one she had gifted you was gone. 

Mike was unaware of it all. 

He had found a new job in town where he could bury all his thoughts. It was working construction for a local contractor, a job that certainly wasn’t ideal but it paid better than what he’d been used to. Unfortunately, it required longer hours and ate up all his free time, meaning Abby needed a new babysitter. A job that was once happily filled by your company, now replaced with an afterschool program suggested to him from a flyer he found at work. He hated the thought of her sitting in essentially another classroom, surrounded by strangers and snotty kids, but it was his only option left. 

With a third of his paycheck dedicated to it, Abby now spends her weekdays at the nearby YMCA. 

The first time he told her about the new program didn’t go over very well. He remembers it clearly.  

“Abby please,” his irritated voice interrupts her incessant protesting, “listen, it’s the only place that can watch you.” 

“No it’s not!” She yelled at him, her finger pointing to your house across the street, “I want her back!”  

A pang of guilt struck his chest at her words. The lack of your presence has clearly been taking a toll on the both of them, but it’s the first time Abby’s ever been so vocal about it. He crossed his arms with a sigh, watching his little sister stare up at him with solemn eyes. Her lip quivering ever so slightly, evident that she’s holding back tears. 

He crouches down to her level, just like he had done to you so many nights ago, “I’m sorry,” he pleaded with her, “but she’s not coming back right now.” 

Her head shook with disbelief, stubbornly stuck in her spot, “Then make her come back.” 

–

You’re not sure when the Mike shaped hole in your heart stopped aching, but it’s significantly less sore compared to a fresh wound. That’s not to say the constant reminder of him and Abby living across the street from you doesn’t sting. It’s hard enough to ignore all his calls, but trying to get to your car while avoiding his gaze is even worse. Eventually, he gave up on contacting you by the third month of radio silence. It hurt both of you, but you knew deep down neither of you could continue functioning like how you were. 

The back and forth pull of his affection took too big of a toll on your mental well being. You can remember every moment down to the exact detail of how much you craved for him to just do something, anything. 

All those times you held him in your soft embrace whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reassuring him everything will be okay, just for him to turn around the next day and never bring it up again. Or when you’d run your warm fingers through his hair to calm him down after a panic attack, and he’d let his head rest in your lap. Words of affection dripping off his lips like a rich honey, warming you up from the inside out. Then he’d disappear for a while, claiming he needed some space to figure stuff out, all the while you’d beg and plead for him to tell you what’s on his mind, only for him to give you nothing back.You stood by him regardless though, keeping a silent promise that you’d always be there for him when he needed it, a love that was never reciprocated back. 

A long sigh escapes from you, eying the new delivery that just appeared by your door. You shuffle towards it weakly, unsure if you really wanted to torture yourself by looking at it. It’s one of those things that curiosity will drive you to do, unable to ignore it like a pedestrian passing by a car crash. The paper crinkles under your touch, unfolding it reveals the familiar childlike style of Abby’s drawings. A man drawn in green crayon frowns up at you, holding hands with an equally sad looking child. Your gaze drifts over to the other side of the paper, highlighting a person relatively similar to you standing alone with their arms crossed, angry. Your heart hurts at the sight of it, knowing that Abby is implying that you’re angry at the two of them. You shake your head quickly, trying to evade any tears that threaten to spill. It’s not fair for Abby to be caught in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Mike, and you realize that. 

The sound of your phone ringing breaks your train of thought, and when you check the caller ID your breath hitches. Standing in the middle of your living room frozen with indecisiveness, you stare at the screen while chewing on the bottom of your lip. Without thinking, you accept the call.

“Hello?” 

There’s a sound on the other end of the line, somewhere in between a choke and a gasp, and then your name is mumbled out in disbelief. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up…” Mike’s voice is still a little startled, mimicking the internal panic in your chest. 

You suck in a deep, steady breath before answering, “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” There’s a slight pause from both of you, unsure how to continue the conversation. It’s felt like years since you last heard his voice. 

“Are you…doing okay?” 

“...Yeah.” Your answer is unconvincing, but Mike doesn’t have any ground to be able to question it. So it’s left like that, timidly dangling in the air between you both. 

You hear shuffling in the background, and a smaller voice asking a question before he dismisses it. Your heart lurches thinking about how Abby is there, trying to figure out who her older brother might be on the phone with. It almost makes your cool demeanor crack, urging you back into your savior complex. 

“Uh, sorry about that,” your phone crackles back to life, “anyways, I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Oh okay.” 

“Can you,” he stops, leaving you on edge, “meet me somewhere?” 

The lack of response from you causes him to start rambling, going on about how it would be better to talk in person, and how it would be easier if you could see each other’s expressions. Soon afterwards, a string of apologies ensue, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

“Okay Mike. Promise me this will be worth it.”

“I promise.”

–

A young waitress stares nervously at your booth. Orders continually piling up, hungry customers giving her rude looks whenever she ignores their impatient huffs. It’s been a good thirty minutes since you first showed, and she’s checked up on you at least a handful of times by now. Mike had suggested this little diner down the street from your house, and you agreed to meet here. 

However, it seems like you’re the only one who showed up. 

Your back is pressed against the uncomfortable foam board of your seat, a leg bobbing rapidly out of habit. You pick at the pills on your sweatshirt sleeve, trying to avert your gaze from the sympathetic waitress. Prior to your predicament, she had asked if you were dining alone, and you told her no. However, It’s starting to look like you just might be. With anger bubbling inside of you, a voice in the back of your head is saying you should have seen this coming. It’s so typical of Mike to make promises that he’s unwilling to keep. 

The air smells like grease, mostly from the old fryers sitting in the back of the kitchen. Oil bubbling and brooding in their tanks, waiting for someone to drop a morsel of food so it could shrivel in the scalding lard. Stomach stirring with disgust, a wave of nausea washes over you. It’s unclear exactly what’s causing it, you’d like to give credit to the sleazy restaurant, but something deep down points to the lack of a certain person’s company. 

You keep your attention trained on the dwindling heat of your coffee. Both corners of your mouth scrunch downwards at the smooth ceramic now held in your cold hands. When did watching a cup of coffee become so interesting? 

“Would you like some more?” The sweet but timid waitress asks you, now back at her spot beside your table.  

A joyless smile flashes across your face, a futile attempt at masking your dejection. Pushing the cup forward, silently accepting a fresh refill from her kettle. 

“He’s not worth it.” She adds, tipping off your mug. Her eyes refuse to meet yours as she does so, and you are thankful for that fact. 

“No,” you respond back, “he never is, I guess.” Your voice is shaky, as are the hands that are folded in your lap. 

Mike is not worth the years of being hurt and pushed away. Not worth the tears that fall after coming home from a night spent at his house, inconsolably sobbing because you know no matter what you do it leads back to the same thing. To give up all your time, love, and patience just to receive nothing in exchange. 

It’s not worth the unrequited love. 

“Can I have the check please?” You ask quietly, still avoiding the gaze of the girl next you. 

Her head shakes with pity, fingers wrapping around the arm of the kettle, “it’s on the house.”

TAGLIST - @wriothesleysbimbo @psbc @victimsofadownn @that1lxnlybxch @callsignwidow

Finally ))))

CLOSE COLLABS with TOM HOLLAND

You know you're single (always have been, always will be) when your fav fanfic won't update for a while because the writer started dating *facepalms*

Silver Wit: VI - To Look Within

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"Nature loads the gun, nurture pulls the trigger" 

Silver Wit Masterlist Chapter VI on ao3 taglist: @silverzoomies, @quickandsilvers, @icannot3, @ancientseeker

a/n: hello yes i am back with another chapter, sorry it took longer than the previous ones! motivation took a hit but i still love this story and these characters so i’m not abandoning it anytime soon. btw, i am well aware that Moving Pictures as an album came out in 81’, but also walkmans didn’t exist until 1979, so everyone can shut up about my lack of accuracy with the timeline (jk). just roll with it, lads. 

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

“Omega level, I’d say,” the Professor says, rather calmly for the fact; he sets his fingers down, picks a fountain pen up and looks to Dr. McCoy, whose lips part in shock in turn. 

“Are you sure?” He asks in disbelief.

Writing on a pad, Professor Xavier confirms, “Positively. She’s a psychoscope with no discernable upper limit to her abilities. There are some… complications as to how that manifests for contact with lifeforms.”

I swallow. He must have seen my father. “Professor, did you…?”

Only now do I notice the slightest shine to his eye. “Oh, my dear, I did. I normally would have avoided anything personal, but the wound is a little too fresh for those memories to stay hidden at all,” he exhales. “I’m so incredibly sorry, both for intruding on your privacy but also that that ever happened to you. For what it’s worth, nothing like that would ever happen to you here, I’m sure of it.”

“It’s alright, Professor. I wasn’t opposed to sharing that with you and Dr. McCoy anyway; besides, it’s the only instance of that power manifesting. There’s no way you could have missed it. I understand.”

“Hey, uh—I’m sorry to hear that something awful happened to you, even though I don’t really know what’s going on,” Dr. McCoy’s condolences are heartwarming. “For what it’s worth, I think your powers are going to be really useful in the lab. I’m sure the Professor already knew that when he suggested I take you in.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I would be glad to offer you whatever help I can. I’m looking forward to working with you—laboratory work has always been a dream of mine; if this power can be used for academic research, then at least there’s one good reason for all of this.”

Glancing at Dr. McCoy, Professor Xavier wheels himself over to me. “May I have one more look? In there?”

“Of course. For you, I’m an open book. Nothing to hide,” I say, briefly forgetting that I had ever been worried about my thoughts pertaining to Peter. Not to mention, it’s true; I don’t take any issue with sharing this tumult with the Professor. If anyone can understand this plight, it’d be him. 

‘One good reason’—a Freudian slip. It’s been evident for a long while now that my relationship with and attitude towards my power has been complicated at best. What started off as an innocent excitement for knowledge became hubris, and now punishment. How warped, how corrupt! for the thing I adore the most to turn into fodder for nightmares. How wicked it’s been for me, that should this power devour me whole that I would lose the very fabric to my reason for living. Not only my capacity to understand would be corrupted, no—just how simple that would be. With this psychometric curse growing would come the devastation of everything I could hope to do. My contact with the world in all meanings of the word would be severed. All or nothing; know everything there is to or don’t at all. If this takes over me, how can I ever hold someone again? How could I love if to do so would be to intrude on their soul?

After a pause, he sets himself back as a tear buds at the corner of his eye. “My dear, nature loads the gun, nurture pulls the trigger. I know that this power feels like a curse to you - for the moment, I should say - but I want to assure you; with training, this power coupled with your extraordinary mind is certain to be a force to be reckoned with. As much hurt as you’ve been caused by having this ability, it’s a gift, truly. You can train it such that it wouldn’t cause others hurt the same way. These powers never feel like gifts at the beginning, but you’ll grow to develop it, hone it. It’ll be an instrument beyond any others that have come before it—for whom it is that you are, this power is perfect.”

I’d thought that for someone like me, so easily overwhelmed by the littlest things, having the sheer force of this psychometry was the worst possible thing that could have happened to me. Just touching any object sends a torrent of information strong enough to make one collapse just by bearing witness. Even the prospect of it being useful in any trivial way had been vastly overshadowed thus far; hearing it from the Professor changes so much within me. “That means so incredibly much to me, Professor. Thank you, truly.”

“No matter, I only speak the truth.”

Dr. McCoy moves to sit in the chair next to me. “He’s right, you know. Your mind and your psychometry together could make you one of the greatest researchers of the history of Science. No flattery. You have access to so much more information than anyone else ever could dream of. Your power is invaluable; I hope you’ll come to see that one day.”

At the Doctor’s encouragement, I can only smile in the comfort he offers. “I’ll try my best, Doctor. Thank you kindly.”

“Of course. Do you have any other secondary abilities? Mutants often do,” Dr. McCoy asks.

I look to the Professor for permission to demonstrate, and to me he grants it with a single nod. As I point at the pen he had used to write, it floats over to the pad and writes the words ‘Beta level telekinesis’ under ‘Omega level psychometry’; the top sheet of paper rips itself off the pad and slips into Dr. McCoys hands.

He grins. “I can’t wait to have you in the lab.”

“The pleasure will be all mine, Dr. McCoy. I’m excited to join you.”

“It’ll be great. Oh, any ideas for a codename? We do have good fun with them, but it’s also always helpful to have a shield of anonymity when we’re out in the field,” the Doctor asks. 

Peter had mentioned that I would need one, though I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. A codename—seems almost fictional. All I am is a British teenager, I’m not MI6. “How would I go about deciding? What would I even base it off of?”

Professor Xavier hums. “Oftentimes our abilities, or sometimes, such as in Hank’s case here, appearance. For example, you’ve met Peter; he goes by Quicksilver, and it’s rather evident as to why. I’m Professor X, and Hank is the Beast.”

“I’m sorry, the Beast?” I query.

“Uh—you’ll understand when you see it,” Dr. McCoy states matter-of-factly. “Bad medication gave me some side effects.” 

Sensing the trepidation, I leave it be. “Alright, I see. Well, I’m honestly quite lost; drawing a blank, as it were. Professor, I’m more than happy to receive a name from you. You’ve looked in here, after all,” I point to my head, “I trust you’ll come up with a good one.”

“I’d be honoured,” Professor Xavier’s smile is knowing—a soft smile much like the ones my father used to give me in my childhood, in the years before everything had gone awry. Where my father hates me for my mutation, this man before me will name me for it. A conflicting confusion of sentiments. It dawns on me: the Institution isn’t the sanctuary; the Professor is. His philosophy and his teaching—that’s what serves as the protection and nurturing on these grounds. 

“With your psychometry and your intellect? I think we best name you Cognitia.”

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

Peter had never been so forward before. Hell, he’d never been forward, ever. S’not like he was ever that serious about anyone before, so... sure, okay, if he was really being honest with himself? He’d occasionally find himself feeling a little attracted to someone he’d see passing by.

Dang, remember that one guy, the one with the sleeves always rolled up? His arms w—uh, no, his ripped jeans were hot. Peter didn't know what the hell he was doing on Xavier’s grounds that week, but he wasn’t complaining at the time at all. Still, it’s not like Peter ever really gave that much of a shit about any of the admittedly sorta-maybe-kinda-a-little-tiny-bit attractive folk he’d - okay, fine - had minor crushes on. It really didn’t mean anything, though, he swears on his life. Man, it was only just ‘cause they looked nice, y’know? That’s all there was to it. Unless he’d fooled around with them for a second, he never even actually bothered to talk to any of them—testament to how little it meant, he thinks. Even then, Peter was always the one to be hit on, and he would just roll with it. He’s never had it in him to really actively pursue anyone, really. Looking was plenty enough for Peter. The feelings would eventually pass pretty quickly anyway. That’s what he was always good at, right? Being quick and all. That was his thing.

Scarily, he isn’t so sure this feeling would eventually pass quickly. Worse, he isn't sure this feeling would pass at all, for the foreseeable future, anyway. He tries not to think about the implications too much. Some itching in his heart is refusing to let him deny that whatever is happening to him is different to the random and superficial infatuations he’d had before.

She’s the on–

What the actual fuck is wrong with Peter? He doesn’t even know her, not to mention, he didn’t even think he’d ever wanted anything seriously romantic before. Everything before was just ‘that guy is hot’, ‘that girl can get it’, but this is… 

He has to stop this. This can’t happen.

She probably wouldn’t ever consider him that way. Peter’s pretty sure he saw she looked nervous whenever he had been a little flirty—what was up with the flirting, by the way? He didn’t even know he was capable of doing that; it was like he was in a trance, a perpetual state of internal panic whenever he had teased her. He’d just been witnessing his body go through the motions while he had alarms sounding, flashing red in his head the entire time. However nervous she was, Peter’s certain his nerves were tenfold. The fact that he didn’t explode is shocking.

Fuck, what if Peter actually freaked her out? What if she’d never want to actually talk to him again because of that stupid shit he pulled on the couch? That would be hell. Genuine torture. She had said earlier that she would, but Peter also had just ambushed her when she agreed. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore; it would be actual agony for Peter if she never wanted to speak to him again.

Weirdly, it wasn’t during the lighthearted joking around that Peter felt the most lucid. Instead, it was when they were being open, vulnerable, and emotional. That has to mean something, right? Why her? It hits him: he sees himself in her. What really gets him? is how real he felt while talking to her. He’d never felt that comfortable being honest about himself before. Every time he made a joke about how much he thought he was a loser, everyone else would just laugh it off. Speaking to this one British girl he’d only just met was the most genuine he had ever been other than with his sister and mother. To be fair, Wanda doesn’t count, though, he thinks. She can just look into his head whenever she wants, often regardless of whether Peter wants. This was him actually actively sharing parts of himself with someone else.

He just really, really wants to be her friend. After all, she’s really cool! he thinks.

She’s really prett—No. 

She’s really smart! he thinks.

She was flirting bac—No. No. 

She was really nice to me! he thinks. 

It’s not like Peter thinks she’s pretty. Alright, fine, he thinks she’s beautiful, drop dead gorgeous, completely bewitching—sue him. Still, it’s not a big deal to him! He just thinks she’s really smart, and kind, and funny, and powerful. In a really platonic way. Super, super platonic; no romantic or sexual attraction anywhere as far as the eye can see. She doesn’t have Peter whipped at all. No, no way. Peter’s going to be fine. He’s going to be totally fine.

I want to be with he—

Oh, fuck.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

Holding the door open to my new quarters, Dr. McCoy allows the Professor and I to enter the room. There's a sweet full-circle from the Doctor letting me into the mansion, and now letting me into my new bedroom. My eyeline darts around the space, and it meets a bed, a desk, a closet. Clothes are set on the bed for me. Down are wooden floorboards matching the foyer, before is decor reminiscent of the common room. The room looks the part to be one in a mansion of this standing—somehow, the posh English privilege hasn’t left my life. This bedroom for me is my respite, my salvation, my gratitude.

Spinning his chair to face me, the Professor remarks, “Here we are, then. This wing is where some of our older students live. You’re seventeen, yes?”

“I am, that’s right.”

Professor Xavier nods, “That’s about the age range here. Mind, we only had this room left in this wing, so if you’d like to switch, we’ll have to see what we can do…”

My curiosity is piqued. “Oh no, I absolutely adore this room. I have no complaints in the slightest, and I’m so grateful and relieved to even have anywhere to stay. Why would I ever want to switch?”

With impeccable timing, my question is answered wordlessly. Cue a loud bang, followed by an ‘oh fuck!’, rounded off with the chimes and riffs of Rush’s YYZ. Faint is the Doppler effect’s familiar melody in whooshing gusts of air zipping to and fro across the hallway. It’s not at all slow to dawn on me—my neighbour immediately opposite the hallway is the speedster I’ve been desperately trying to ward out of my mind all this while.

Dr. McCoy sighs. “Peter.”

“Look now, I’m going to be candid; we’ve seen our fair share of Peter being a pain in the arse, but what happened earlier was an anomaly even for him,” Professor Xavier explains, to which my face reddens accordingly. “He’s normally a good young lad, but we don’t want to force you into an uncomfortable living situation if you wouldn’t feel at ease here.”

‘An anomaly even for him’? I suppose my suspicions that he was always that flirty are moot. “I think I’ll be fine, honest. I’ll let you both know if that isn’t the case, but it should be alright. I can handle my own,” I say, unsure of how convinced I am myself. “I promise I’ll voice it if I change my mind.”

“Good. Well, as long as you’re alright, we’re happy. We’ll leave you to get settled in then; you’ve had quite a long day, Cognitia,” Professor Xavier graces me with a smile.

Dr. McCoy opens the door and readies himself to leave after the Professor wheels himself out. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We can go down to the lab after breakfast if you’re up for it.”

I can’t contain my excitement; to be surrounded by cutting edge apparatus and research with one of the most well respected academics in genomics? What a rush it’ll be! All I had wanted was somewhere to live, anything better than that cold London homelessness; and yet, it’s beginning to truly sink in—I’m to work with the Dr. Hank McCoy from tomorrow onwards. I may as well collapse from the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation.

Laughing, I say, “I’m sure I’ll be up for it. Thank you both once again; I know I’ve repeated myself much but I genuinely don’t know how else to thank you. You’ve saved my life.”

“Don’t thank us, we’re doing our jobs is all. Protecting and caring for young mutants is all we can hope to do. We both look forward to having you be a fixture in the School and our R&D facility. Rest well, then,” Professor Xavier bids me good night as he and Dr. McCoy exit the room.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

As I pace about, taking everything in, my heart rate climbs ever so slightly. I look around the room in my lonesome, still hearing Rush playing through my door. Peter’s zipping around seems to have come to a conclusion, though I can’t say I know the reason as to why. A small part of me wonders if he isn’t alright, and an even smaller part is tempted to go over to check, but I dismiss it. The timing isn’t right. 

Stopping at the foot of the bed, I look at the clothes in front of me; I rummage through them and find an appropriate set of a black t-shirt and some simple shorts for sleep. I notice a pair of gloves much cleaner and sleeker than the ones I currently adorn have been placed on the bedside table for me. How kind! of the Professor and Doctor to think of me so; my heart soars. I can’t wait to get out of this ridiculous hodgepodge of an outfit. Not to mention, I can’t wait to get out of being completely covered up. It is dreadfully uncomfortable in the Summer Heat.

Picking the clothes up and making my way to my en-suite - and I must say, how very delightful it is to have one - I can’t shake the nervousness. Peter lives directly opposite to me, and that notion is... conflicting. Quite obviously, I bear no grievances towards him and I really did enjoy his company, but I still have my worries. I’m not sure I can survive the emotional rollercoaster constantly being teased by him. If that moment on the sofa was anything to base my suspicions on, I may as well be pumping myself full of adrenaline shots on a daily basis. Who needs a cuppa when the mind reels so easily? Honestly, what have I become?

I enter the bathroom. It’s time then—to take these gloves off. Drenched in hesitance, I slide my old gloves off and place them on the bathroom countertop by the sink and the rest of my clothes follow. Nervously, I turn the shower on as quickly as possible; thankfully, I’m spared the hell of attempting to solve the impossible mystery of working out how to operate a shower with which one is not already familiar. Another good thing about these powers, I suppose.

As I wash myself off, I notice that the stream of water in this shower isn’t bothering me as much as the raindrops splattering themselves onto me when last I was at my family home. Perhaps the emotional state affects my psychometric experience? I wonder. That hypothesis will have to be tested—another study to add to the list of questions I want answered.

Drying myself off and stepping out of the shower, I’m met once again with Moving Pictures. Vital Signs; the humour of the aptness the lyrics are for me at this moment is hysterical. Unstable condition? A symptom of life in mental and environmental change? How very, very on the nose. I don’t mind the music at all, strangely. Maybe if it continues every night I might, but right now it soothes the loneliness away. With the music is the feeling that someone is right there—I know for a fact that I’m not living alone. Others are right by me, and I know that they’re like me too. Rather, I’m like them.

Once I’m changed, I make my way back into my new bedroom and sit on the bed. It doesn’t yet feel like home, but I cannot wait for the day that it does. Looking over, I see that I had left the clothes I had been going through in a messy pile. They were so kind to even give me clothes, and I made a mess of them immediately? What is the actual matter with me? Sighing, I collect the motivation to do anything about it; this is for the Professor and Dr. McCoy, I think to myself. Out of respect and gratitude for their help. At least pinning my obligation onto others helps in manifesting the guilt into doing basic tasks.

I hum along to Vital Signs as I start folding the clothes and moving back and forth between the bed and the new wardrobe. Finding new homes for all the clothes feels poignant given the circumstances. In the monotony, I lose myself to the music and sing along. “Everybody need reverse polarity—”

Immediately, a zoom and a knock at the door. It’s obviously Peter. We did agree that we would talk, I remember. Scanning the room, I decide it’s in a decent enough state for him to see. “Come in…?”

The door opens a touch, and his head pokes in through the narrow gap. “Everybody got mixed feelings?” He shyly continues the lyrics. 

Huffing, my eyes shut closed. “God, truer words have never been spoken…” I mutter. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. Just blanked for a second. You can come in, Peter.”

Walking into the room, his tongue briefly darts out and he ruffles his hair. “Hey, sorry for barging in. So uh, you know Rush?”

“Yeah, I do,” I laugh. “Thanks for playing the music. It’s nice to hear other people around.”

He shifts his weight and points at the chair, and I nod for him to sit. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that too. Since this room was empty for ages, I’ve gotten kinda used to just blasting my music out loud when I’m in my own room. The other rooms are further down the hallway,” he explains, and I flush at my own inferences. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my Walkman, but sometimes I don’t wanna have the earpieces on, y’know?”

“No yeah, I understand. No worries at all mate, I don’t mind. Just let me pick out what we listen to sometimes, yeah?” I giggle. “I had a lot of music back home but I couldn’t bring it over. So many LPs and cassettes just wasted…”

Upon my words, Peter grins widely in enthusiasm. “Wow, really? That’s great though, y’know, the others around here aren’t so big into music like I am. Another thing we have in common then, huh? And don’t worry about it, we’ll get you new music in no time. I’m a decent pickpocket, I can get you whatever you want easily.”

“That sounds great,” I grin back. “And hey, the music’ll sound great too.”

“Pfft. Yeah, no shit, that’s sorta what it’s for,” The corner of his mouth quirks in amusement. 

I fold my arms. “Alright, smartarse. Thank you for that; and by the way, I’m a good pickpocket. I’m better than good. Everything you saw me wearing earlier was stolen.”

Peter’s eyes widen impossibly large. “No way. Also, you’re one to call me a smartass.”

Waving my hand in dismissal, I explain, “Yeah, I didn’t have a choice. I had to leave with nothing, so all I could do was take whatever I could since I didn’t have any money either,” I huff. “Thanks to my father, anyway.”

He nods. “I get it. Don’t blame you at all. Also, I get the whole shitty dad thing, I’ll tell you about it some time, but uh—that’s not what I came in here to talk about. Sorry if that ruins the vibe but I… yeah. We said we would, right?”

Gulping, I reply, “That we did. We did say that. Yes. Let’s… do that.”

“Hey hey hey, if you don’t wanna right now, that’s fine! Seriously, we can go back to talking about the music crap or I could go back to my room, I get it. I’ll even switch to talking about my crappy father if you want that for some reason. It’s been a long day for you, y’know? I don’t mi—” He dramatically punctuates each clause in gesture.

Shaking my head, I interrupt him, “No, it’s fine. It’s good, actually. I want to talk about it, you don’t have to leave. I’m just a little antsy.”

“Oh. Great, thanks. So I wanted to say that I—oh hey, the gloves are off, huh?” Peter notes.

I double back and notice how uncovered I am. Compared to how Peter saw me covered head to toe, my arms and legs are now relatively bare as I sit across from him cross legged on my bed. In embarrassment I redden slightly, but notice that Peter’s shirt is tucked in a tad awkwardly into his shorts in one spot. The boy must have rushed to change before knocking on my door. Rushed… Rush. Hilarious. I wonder for a moment what Peter in a superspeed rush looks like. Must be a complete blur if at all visible. I retort in snark, “I mean, yeah, If I was in a t-shirt and shorts but still had the gloves on, I think the purpose would be sort of defeated.”

“Good point. I’m not complaining about the view, though,” he smirks, but quite immediately, it drops and he smacks himself in the forehead and buries his fingers into his silver hair. “Fuck, sorry. I need to stop. That’s literally what I came in here to apologise for. I dunno why but I can't help myself from fl—uh, I mean, teasing you.”

I blink. So apparently he was flirting. Does that mean anything? Was it just playful? What are the consequences? What is he thinking? How is he feeling? What are his feelings? Yeah, this is mint. Absolutely sound. Very much so. I am, at this moment, the pinnacle of calm. I’m merciful enough to spare him the embarrassment by harping on it, despite my own nerves. “It’s fine, Peter. It really is. It was alright! I was just a little bit thrown off because I wasn’t expecting it, but I didn’t mind.”

“No, no, it’s not alright. You’ve been so fun and nice to talk to and we were laughing and being honest and all that, and I just… God, I dunno. I’m sorry man, it wasn’t cool o’ me,” he purses his lips. “I’m really sorry. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I wanna be friends and I don’t want whatever bullshit I pulled earlier to ruin that before we even actually get to know each other.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. “Peter, you asked me if I was alright—you didn’t overstep in the slightest. Additionally, we both admitted we could be really open with each other. I think it’s safe to say we’re friends. I genuinely don’t know what you’re on about ‘ruining’ anything, mate.”

Almost as if he’s deflating, he breathes a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. Friends?” He extends his hand out towards me from his chair. I whip around and grab my new gloves, I slide them on shivering with the influx of information, and I take his hand in mine.

“Most definitely,” I grin, and he does the same back at me. Barely noticeable is the whisper in the back of my mind wondering if friends are all we’ll ever be.

══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══

older!eddie mood board requested by anon

all the credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple for the edit of eddie!

the fact that starlord and quicksilver are both adhd coded guys named peter and run around doing hero shit with diegetic walkman music on feels kind of crazy like excuse me marvel how do you repeat that and still make two completely distinct characters

also maximoff was born 56 and quill in 80 but if they were the same age you know they’d be Best Bros Forever And Ever

—

not to mention peter parker and then just that other guy called peter like. do they need more white man names? at least i can hc that peter’s actual name is pietro

crush (peter parker)

summary: peter has been visiting you as spider-man long enough to develop a crush on you. the problem? you have a crush on somebody else.

notes: u guys…i love peter parker so much okay!!! also this is a short fic bc i have a longer one in the works. yes i realize this is 4k words but like, that’s short for me ok bye happy reading! 

warnings: typos, probably.

Peter Parker sat on the ledge of your fire escape, careful to avoid the patches of snow from the previous day. It had been a long night of patrolling and his lower back ached to no end. The familiar space spread warmth to Peter’s chest as he attempted to collect his breath, the inside of his suit scratching against his skin. 

It had been dark out for a few hours. Peter knew that May would be going to sleep in an hour, leaving the perfect opportunity for him to slip back into his bedroom undetected. He had lied to her earlier, saying that he’d be studying with a group of friends he had made at university earlier that semester. But he had other places he needed to be. 

He would be lying if he said his only reason for patrolling was to keep his city out of danger. While that was a big motivation for him to put his suit on, the other reason was because he wanted to see you.

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✨ EVAN PETERS ICONS/HEADERS ✨

• TATE LANGDON

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Silver Wit: IV - Let Barricades Be Bygones 

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'“Cool, cool. Great, even,” Peter hums his approval. Leaning in impossibly closer, somehow taking care not to touch me, he whispers into my ear.

“So– we’ll just have to get to know each other better, then.”"

Silver Wit Masterlist Silver Wit on ao3 taglist: @silverzoomies, @quickandsilvers, @icannot3

tw: more adhd coded trauma and vulnerability, not sure it warrants a tw

a/n: i cannot believe it and i apologise deeply for doing this, but i wrote another entire fucking chapter of this first conversation between speaker and peter. i promise this is the last one - their conversation ends at the end of this chapter i am baffled that i ever intended on having their first interaction be a couple of minutes. even a few seconds. wtf also idk how i keep churning out these chapters so im not sure if the quality of the writing is being maintained - i'm still very impulsive, though, so i'm publishing them as i go anyway. i have no beta so please forgive me

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The two of us bathe in silence for a moment that to me – feels simultaneously both like eternity and nary a trice. Calling this ‘perplexing’ would be a gross understatement. 

I wonder how long this moment is for Peter.

My god, how easily the flutters in my chest from only moments ago had turned into aches, so much like thunderstorms buried deep within my chest; bitter storms not unlike the London rains that punished me not long ago. At my heartstrings is Aphrodite pulling, breaking, tearing away with forces unattainable by any of us mortals, but she has absolutely no need. Whatever the higher powers may do upon me would be in vain; I would feel this deeply for Peter regardless of anything that tried to stop me.

I can’t bear holding my words back anymore. “Peter…” I whisper, my voice breaking, a tremble, a tremolo.

“Yeah?” From his eyes being fixated on the floor, back to me they flicker in an instant. I can just about see wells of stifled sorrow threatening to spill from them; only a dam he’s been building for years is stopping the flood. His mask of jocular self-deprecation is cracking. 

It’s difficult to read his expression, but he can’t read mine either. 

In the few years of my life, admittedly so far short - living as whatever it is that I am - I’ve learned that in silence readily comes doubt. The mind panics as it reels, from a self-loathing spiral to desperately attempting to console itself; often, with little to no success. If in Peter I see myself, perhaps he’s the same way.

A small part of me hopes he sees me in himself too. 

“I think I understand… I get what you meant now. How you told me that what I was saying felt like it was straight out of your head?” I confess.

The unreadable look on his face turns into that same sombre smile I saw from before. He shakily nods as he takes in a breath, shallow.

“Maybe you’re afraid - that those people who’ve already gotten to know you as Quicksilver - wouldn’t like to see you change – no, not change; open up. That you don’t want to upset the equilibrium that’s already been established?”

I’m making sure to look him in the eyes. He needs to know whatever I’m saying is the truth and nothing but the truth. “But the person I met here was you, Peter. I didn’t meet ‘Quicksilver’,” I say slowly, such that he has the time to ingest every single word that I’m saying to him.

Peter swallows and hums an affirmation, his head dipping before he nods.

I continue, “I… can’t even explain how much I understand being afraid of being honest. Being authentic. But from what I’ve seen, whoever ‘Peter’ is? He’s hilarious, he’s kind, and he’s insightful. He’s loveable. Even from the little while we’ve sat here together, I know for a fact that there’s more to you than meets the eye. You don’t have to keep hiding. We already have to do enough hiding as it is.”

“Thank you… seriously,” Peter whispers, choking. He takes another breath in, lets it out, and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, I– I need a second. It’s not that I’m not thankful that you’re being so nice. I am, really. You’re being so understanding and I– I just… gotta process everything. I’m good, promise.” 

I nod and internally smack myself in the head once I realise he can’t see it. You absolute pillock. “Of course. Take whatever time you need.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, relieved. Through the look on his face, I can see clearly how quickly his mind is racing. As he props his head up in his hands, elbows on his knees, his eyes remain closed. The outside has to be shut out – inside is chaos enough. It doesn’t matter that I’m growing anxious waiting for him to respond. He needs this respite. 

Peter finally opens his eyes and returns his gaze to meet mine with a timid smile. “Sorry about that,” he breathes. “You don’t know how much I needed to hear what you said. I worry about it so much, but I just can’t tell anyone, y’know? Like, that’s the entire problem. It’s a fucked up paradox.”

Shaking my head, I say, “Mm-mm, it’s alright. I think I do understand, now. I mean– it wouldn’t be fair to say that I know exactly what you feel,” I glance up at the clock above the fireplace. “After all, we did just meet for the first time only half an hour ago.”

“Wow… Half an hour? Man… it feels like I’ve known you for ages. Or that you’ve known me for ages, anyway…” Peter murmurs in disbelief.

“I know. It’s… strange. I– I will never know what it’s like to be you, that’s impossible, and I’ll never try nor claim to. But… I just can’t shake this feeling. Somehow I feel like we’re–” I catch myself before I say something daft. What the hell are you thinking?

“Don’t overthink it,” Peter interjects. Silently, I thank the Fates for saving me from impulsively humiliating myself. “I feel it too, man. I mean, yeah. We’re not the same person, obviously. You have your own personality and I have mine, but…” He stops for a second, his face turning pink once more. “I’ve never ever met someone else who’s so much like me– At least, someone else who’s… I don’t know what you would even call it, but… different; and I’m not talking about being a mutant.”

Peter stills for a breath. “Like, fine, sure, we just met. Doesn’t mean it’s not true. I’ve been more myself around you than I have anyone else in years.” It’s a relief to see how quickly he’s bounced back.

What Peter just said doesn’t register immediately, but my eyes fly wide open the moment it does. The blush I’ve been trying so hard to force back down decides to bend to my rule no longer. My heartbeat is drumming against my ribs. Pursing my lips in my completely flustered state, I turn away to hide whatever idiocy is emanating from my entire being. 

Without meeting his eyes, I say, “I’m glad you said it and not me, because I think I might have died if you hadn’t agreed. And… I agree– about never meeting someone else like me before. I don’t know how else to say this, but it’s really comforting knowing I’m not the only one who’s… like this. Whatever ‘this’ is.”

He sniffs then chuckles; the sound of it sends reverberations saccharine straight into my heartbeat. “You aren’t the only one, and now I finally know I’m not either, so, thank you; and seriously, thanks for saying what you said. I never thought I’d ever hear anyone tell me what you just did.”

“I meant all of it,” I say sincerely.

He tries to suppress that smug smirk I’d seen so many times before. “All of it? So… Loveable, huh?” he finally says.

Fuck.

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Mission abort. Mission abort. Turn around now before you can never go back. 

“Oi! You know what I mean, stop poking fun at me. I was trying to be nice and you just take it as an opportunity to take the piss out of me? You’re such a prat,” I swat at him as I joke.

“I know, I know. I’m just making a little fun. What’s a prat? Also... taking the piss? Does that mean what I think it means?” Peter asks, a sly grin plastered across his face.

I sigh loudly. “Oh come on, you can get these from context, can’t you?” I say, exaggeratedly exasperated. Inwardly, I’m tickled pink.

“Oh, the genius can’t take the time to teach the idiot about one little thing?” He feigns a fainting spell in despair, much like those so common in tragic theatricals. Charming.

“Hey, you’re not an idiot. But seriously, do you actually want me to sit you down so that I can teach you British slang? Learning is my entire thing, and even I have to say that that sounds like a dreadful class,” I cock my head to the side, raising an eyebrow dubiously. 

Peter beams coyly, tousles his hair, and bounces his leg. “If I get to listen to you talk the whole time? Yeah, man, I’d take a whole course. I know you said that you think Slavic languages sound pretty, but your accent is real pretty, y’know? It’ll probably get even stronger if you start talking about all of your English stuff. Come on, I can’t miss that.”

I blink. Did not expect that response, at all. I did think to myself that I would eventually educate him on British slang, but I didn’t think he’d actually want to sit down and learn about any of it.

“You’re… probably right, actually. I imagine my accent would start getting even more painfully British if I actually focused on talking about… well, Britain. Still though, I truly don’t believe you’ll enjoy sitting through me lecturing you about our weird insults and euphemisms.”

“Try me,” Peter taunts me, a coy smirk lacing his tone with mirth. “Hell, I’ll even speak some Russian to you in exchange.”

“Really?” I ask, doubtful. I can’t lie, getting to hear Peter speak in Russian does seem really appealing. Not because it’s Peter, I tell myself. It’s just getting to hear a Slavic language for the first time. I’ve always wanted that, right? 

Peter nods.

“Don’t complain when I come back with a three hour lesson plan, then,” I jokingly warn him. The teasing is starting to grow on me. I can see why he’s been doing it to me so much now.

He grins, pleased. “I’ll ace this class. You don’t even know, man. I try not to brag about it–”

I point a finger at him accusingly. “You try not to brag?” I interject rhetorically. “That’s definitely not consistent with whatever I’ve seen so far.”

“Hey! That’s just about my powers. I’m a totally badass speedster and I’m not afraid to show it. If that means I’m bragging, then fine,” Peter harrumphs, defensively denying whatever I insinuated, and I snicker. “Anyway, like I was saying - before someone rudely interrupted me…” Peter looks at me pointedly, to which I disapprovingly raise my eyebrows in response. 

He continues, “I try not to brag about it, since I’ve been maintaining this whole class clown schtick I have going on? But I’m actually a pretty good student. Only when I want to be, though. I’m not good at the actual studying bit.”

“I’m honestly not surprised, Peter,” I say, and I genuinely mean it. 

It’s not like he had tried to be overtly intellectual while we’d been getting acquainted with one another, but he did carry himself with an intelligence – admittedly, an intelligence that might have gone unnoticed to some if they hadn’t paid attention. It takes brains to consistently pretend not to have them. “And also, you really don’t have to dumb yourself down for me. Please don’t. I actually actively dislike it when people do.”

Peter tilts his head side to side. “Oh, so the little genius wants me to get on her level? Challenge accepted, I’ll do it, just you wait,” he chaffs. 

For all of my worries that I’d be treated differently for being slapped in the face with the ‘genius’ label, Peter’s nonchalance about it really eases my spirits. Hell, the boy was even incorporating it into his banter. I’ve been so afraid that it would make people think that if I was honest about it, that I was being haughty, ‘holier-than-thou’. To Peter, it’s as if it’s just another regular thing about me– it doesn’t make me an outsider, and he doesn't think I need to be placed on a pedestal. I can finally breathe again.

Still, I don’t want him to get the impression that I’m just an arrogant arsehole. “Oi, bugger off. I don’t think I’m better than you or anything like that. I’m just saying; you shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone else, right? Like we were literally saying just a moment ago? Especially if being ‘someone else’ means you have to hide your strengths,” I clarify.

Peter squints as he looks off into the middle distance, calculating something in his head. “Hey… I couldn’t impress you by breaking into the actual Pentagon, right?”

I frown. “I never said that.”

Peter touches his hand to his heart, shaking his head. “Didn’t have to– heard you loud and clear, man. It wasn’t good enough for you, that’s fine,” he showily gestures and huffs with finality.

I roll my eyes at the melodrama. “Again, never said that, but sure mate, whatever you say,” I concede with a sigh. 

“Listen, I made a vow to myself that I’d impress you. Fine, the superhero stuff doesn’t cut it for you. And y’know, I gotta say, I was kinda expecting that the whole superhero thing would impress girls by default. You’re gonna be a challenge, but Peter Maximoff will not be defeated. So… Maybe I just have to take the intellectual route with ya’, huh?” he ribs at me, ruffling his hair.

Teasing Peter is fun, but being teased by him is mortifying.

I can maintain my calm. I can be smooth. “Alright, sure then, if you insist,” I fold my arms and press myself back into the cushions behind me. “I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on trying to win my admiration, but it’ll be entertaining to watch your many attempts. What do you have for me?”

Peter bubbles his lips with a loud pop. He looks at me warningly. “I know I said I only brag about my powers, but fuck it, I’ll boast about this– And hey, before you complain, you invited me to.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. Go on, the floor is yours,” I motion for him to proceed.

“Yeah so, no one would expect it, but I get top marks all round, baby. Only the teachers know that, ‘cause I wanna keep things on the down low, yeah? But hey, you’ll find out for yourself soon, right? I’m gonna take this class o’ yours, and I’ll turn in assignments, I’ll go to every class, I’ll do all of your required reading—” Peter rattles on.

“Really?” I interrupt to ask dubiously, bringing my hand up to my chin, “What about the recommended reading?” No one does the recommended reading. This has to be a joke, right?

Peter clicks his tongue and winks. “Hey, if it’ll get me in with the teacher, I’d do all the reading and more. I can totally be a teacher’s pet. You just wait and see.” 

Let me implode right now.

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“But uh, seriously, joking aside,” Turning sincere again, Peter clears his throat again and adjusts his seating position on the sofa to face me better. Thank god, he was joking. “I know I can get carried away trying to joke about things and all? But what you said before that means a lot to me.”

Right. That.

“Oh, uh– Don’t worry about it, yeah?” I’m getting embarrassed again remembering what I’d said. I was so caught up in the moment, I called Peter loveable? I know we brushed it off, but this is a nightmare. Why did I have to be reminded of that? 

I find myself unable to stop over-elaborating in an attempt to cover up my awkwardness, “I just think you should start being more yourself, Peter. Since that’s what you want, right? Maybe break out of your shell? Oh, god, that’s too much of a cliche– uh, live more authentically? Be who you really are? Ugh, no, now I sound like some counsellor. How do I even say this? I… just hope that you can feel comfortable being yourself some day.”

“Hey, you don’t needa freak out. I get what you’re saying, and uh… thanks. Thank you, I mean. Don’t wanna make you think I’m not appreciative or whatever,” Peter begins twisting a silver lock between his fingers. “And uh… I hope you get to take them off one day, if you want. The gloves, I mean.”

The gloves – I’m caught off guard. I try to look down at my hands but I don’t see them. All I do see is the leather gloves covering them, separating me from the rest of the world. There are a few biological mutations that propelled humans into becoming the complex lifeforms that we are today. Overdeveloped brains, larynxes capable of complex speech, bipedalism. Our hands. Our capacity for fine motor control, for heightened kinesthetic sensitivity in the pads of our fingers, grip with the opposable thumb. It can easily be argued that our hands are one of the core ways in which we as people can interact with the world around us.

Mine are covered. “I do want to. I hope I can.”

Peter smiles ever so slightly, and lets out a breath of relief. I didn’t even realise he was holding his breath. Tension leaves his frame, and he relaxes. Just how worried was he for me, exactly? Was it just as much as I was worried for him?

“Good, good. I’m glad,” he tilts his head slightly to meet my eyes. They’re looking into me, bittersweet. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but…”

“It’s alright. Go on,” I encourage him.

Peter takes a sharp breath and looks around - I don’t think at anything in particular - and brings his hand to cup the side of his face, fingers twisting the hairs that frame it. Looking away, he asks, “Do you think you’ll ever be okay touching somebody else again?”

My body trembles at the thought — what if I can never take the gloves off? All I’ve been thinking for the last few days since leaving my parents was to cover, protect, shield. Of course, I covered myself up after that first attack. How could I even think to let myself be vulnerable to that kind of torment again?

It was like Hades himself had personally devised for me some tortuous punishment. I didn’t even know what I was being punished for. My heart is sinking at the realisation; this buffer between my skin and the external world wouldn't be my safety if it was for forever. It would be my own prison. The harrowing reality is that I have no idea if I can ever let myself escape it.

I blink slowly, swallowing, and try to hold the tears back. “I want… to be able to.”

The gloom in the air is blatant and palpable. Whatever Peter’s thinking, he’s giving me no indication whatsoever as to what it is that’s going on in his mind. “This might sound a little insane–” he hesitates, a flurry of anxiety in his eyes.

“No, say whatever it is you want to say. I’ll hear you out.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m just proposing this, so it’s totally fine if you don’t like the idea. Wouldn’t blame ya at all, no hard feelings. But, y’know - only if you want - whenever you think you’re ready to… take the gloves off? I don’t mind being your test subject. I can be your lab rat.”

Shock doesn’t begin to describe this. My heart catches a beat. My jaw slacks. My stomach twists. My eyes widen. The butterflies come back. I squash them down. 

“Peter, I don’t think you understand what you’re offering to me,” I whisper. 

Before I can make out his expression, he looks away. “It’s okay, if you don’t wanna. You don’t have to justify it.”

“No, no, it’s really not that. I’m honoured and so grateful that you’d even offer, but… I really don’t think you would if you understood what it meant,” I try to explain. 

He nods, and I go on, “You’d be letting me into everything. I could see your whole life, know every thought you’ve ever had, feel every emotion you’ve ever felt. I could know everything there is to know about you. You don’t have to give me all of that. It’s not even about how we just met. No one should have to give me that, and I’ll never ask for it.”

“... Oh.” 

“... Yeah. I don’t think you really want to be my ‘lab rat’.”

Peter presses his hand into his jaw, his forehead tenses and his eyes frantically dart around. He blows a puff of air out into his hand and it escapes with a hiss.

“Okay… do you wanna make a pact, then?” he eventually asks.

With much hesitance, I ask back, “What kind of a pact?”

“I try to stop hiding myself from everyone, you try to stop hiding your skin. I’ll already be trying to be real, authentic, right? Share myself with everyone and all? And… If I’m already doing that…” he trails off, beginning to himself. “Then maybe it won’t be so different if you actually touch me.”

For once, I truly don’t know what to say back. Peter cuts into the silence, “Shit, that’s not what I meant. You know that, right? I don’t mean touch me like tha–”

“Peter, I know that’s not what you meant,” I interject in his panic. God, it’s like looking into a mirror.

He stops talking, taking in my words. “Okay, uh– good. Good.”

Sighing, I say, “I don’t know, Peter, we barely know each other. I don’t want you to impulsively promise to let me in like that. If we were already really close - like childhood friends for years, or, I don’t know, if it wasn’t literally the first time we’d ever spoken to each other? Maybe things would be different. It’s not because I don’t like you or anything, honest to god. I just… You shouldn’t. You would stand to lose everything in this pact. I can’t do that to you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Peter rustles his hair, shoots me an oddly confident smirk for the context, and he shifts. Biting the inside of his cheek, he begins shuffling his way over to my side of the sofa. What in the actual fuck is happening? 

Processing the sight of Peter edging closer and closer towards me feels… unreal. It’s as if I’m an audience member watching a scene play out before me on a screen. My heart is a furnace whose fires crackle raucously in my ears, head-splitting. There’s simply no possibility that I’m here on this plane of existence, at this moment in the temporal line. He’s dangerously close now – teetering on the line between the platonic and… something more. 

I just know my face is red.

In a pace so slow it almost kills me, he slinks his arm behind me to rest on the back of the sofa. In a dulcet tone most incongruous with his demeanour, he softly asks, “Is this okay?”

Whether I nod or only tremble out of how flustered he’s getting me is almost unknowable. Taking in a breath, deep, so deep it nearly feels like I’m not breathing at all, I attempt to desperately cling onto whatever sanity is left within me. I give him a nod with more certainty.

“Cool, cool. Great, even,” Peter hums his approval. Leaning in impossibly closer, somehow taking care not to touch me, he whispers into my ear.

“So– we’ll just have to get to know each other better, then.”

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Gprgeous

3123 - August 27, 2023

#Titanic #EDIDtT

Fanart of Spectra dying in a gluetrap

YASS

It might be almost 2 am but I am glad that I actually found out why that cat looked awfully familiar to me. I dare you to spot the difference 😼

Could you please write a story about how best friend reader somehow blips from the TASM!Peter’s universe into MCU!Peters universe and just about the reunion between the reader and TASM!Peter

Bonus points for angst if the reader and TASM!Peter had a fight before they blipped our

AN | This has been in my inbox for months but anon, I hope you see this, and I hope you enjoy it! And yes, I took some liberties with the Peters/timelines ❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language, Nondescript mentions of Injury

Word Count | 3.3k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous,” you folded your arms across your chest as you glared at your best friend. The very same best friend that happened to be Peter Parker that also happened to be Spider-Man. The boy sighed as he hung his head, his face bruised and bloodied from a rough night. 

“I think I’m being the normal amount of ridiculous,” his attempt to make a joke didn’t land well with you at all. You took the warm, wet washcloth that had been in your hand and tossed it at him. He caught it effortlessly and looked up at you with a pathetic little look on his face, “alright, I deserved that.”

“Peter,” the way you said his name was enough to make his heart constrict. He hated seeing you upset, but he hated knowing that he was the cause of your pain, “look at you. It’s almost four in the morning and you crawled in through my window, bleeding and clearly in pain. I know…fuck, I know you’re Spider-Man but I worry about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me-”

“Telling me that isn’t going to suddenly make me stop caring, Peter Benjamin Parker,” you sat down on the bed next to him, “I think that sometimes you take too many risks when you could play it safer.”

“I don’t…” he couldn’t even get the sentence out. He knew you were right and he knew that’d been even more reckless than normal lately. Peter wasn’t doing it out of anything really…he just wanted to get things and get his point across, “I guess you’re right.”

“I am right,” you whispered, gently taking the cloth back from him, reaching up and gently washing off the blood that had started to dry. The way he winced at even the lightest of touches caused you to frown again, “I love you, Pete. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t know if…” 

You swallowed the lump that had welled up in your throat, blinking back the tears that were already stinging at the back of your eyes. Peter put his hand on top of your where it rested on his cheek, “nothing is going to happen to me. You’re stuck with me forever, sunshine.”

“Am I?” your voice dropped to a soft whispered, “am I stuck with you forever? Because sometimes I truly wonder about that. I don’t want you coming to me in the middle of the night hurt and upset, but I’d rather have that then nothing because the alternative is…much worse.”

“Yeah,” he missed your touch as soon as you pulled your hand back from him, “I know.”

“Promise me you’ll be more careful?” your voice shook as you willed him to look at you. You wanted him to look at you, wanted to see those big brown eyes looking back at you, “Pete…please.”

“I’ll try and be more careful,” he would barely look in your eyes and that served to break your heart even more, “but I can’t make promises that nothing’s ever going to happen again.”

“Just please don’t make all these sudden, rash decisions, Pete-”

“I can’t promise that will or won’t happen!” he didn’t mean to raise his voice and the way you flinched broke his heart, “you don’t know what it’s like out there! Sometimes you just have to do things…you can’t just think about them!”

You remained silent for a few long moments, before standing up and nodding slightly, “okay. Okay. Get out  please, Peter.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I mean it Peter,” this time it was you that looked away and refused to meet his eyes, “get out. And if you keep acting like this, don’t come back.”

He looked at you in disbelief but when he saw that you weren’t joking, the reality of the situation hit him. He made a small sound before nodding and standing up. He stood there for a moment, both of you avoiding looking at each other, before he gently brushed past you and towards the window. He slid it open but before he could step all the way out he turned back, “I love you too, you know.”

He left without another word, leaving you there with your mind teeling. Had he really just said that and left?

Of course he had. This was Peter Parker after all. With the heaviest of sighs you flopped into bed, not even bothering to get under the covers as you willed sleep to claim you. 

This night had turned out so entirely different from what you had imagined. Now you were afraid you’d lost him forever. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hoped that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Right? Right?

You woke up the next morning to sun streaming in through your window. You groaned as you rolled onto your other side to try and hang onto your sleepiness so you could get a little more shut eye. But luck wasn't having it, and you felt wide awake. With a groan you fumbled out of bed and headed towards the bathroom; you couldn't place it but something felt…off. 

You couldn't shake the feeling all morning as you got ready for work. You checked your phone too many times for what was warranted and found nothing from Peter. You were half surprised but figured that you were pretty harsh on him last night and decided to give him some more space. You'd try him later if he hadn’t gotten back to you.

As you left your apartment for work, everything seemed slightly…different. Like there was some sort of lavender haze settling over everything. You tried to ignore it, rationalizing that you just weren't thinking straight. 

When you got to your office, you received a few weird looks but no one really said anything. So, you settled into your office and got to work, ignoring the nagging feeling. The fact that you somehow couldn't remember your computer password or that everything in your office was just slightly different didn't register.

What did, however, was that Peter hadn't contacted you. So, during your lunch you decided to call him and apologize. If he was willing to listen anyway. You didn't actually want to lose him, you did, however, want him to stay safe and sound.

Midway through the day you grabbed your phone and called him, waiting either bated breath for him to answer. It rang and rang and when you thought it would be kicked over to voice-mail, it was answered.

"Hello?" It was a voice that was most decidedly not Peter. This one sounded…younger? Different? Something.

"Hi, umm, can I talk to Peter?" Maybe one of his coworkers had answered the phone for him. 

"Well, you're talking to him, so…" he sounded confused as your brows knitted together, "w-who is this?"

"This isn't funny," your eyes were tearing up as you tried to figure out what kind of joke this was, "please just put on Peter. I-I need to talk to him, it's important."

"This is Peter-"

"Peter Parker."

"This is Peter Parker," you wanted to be mad but the voice on the other end of the line wasn't laughing. Nor did he sound even remotely amused, "I'm sorry, I don't know what's going on but…maybe you have the wrong number?"

You hung up without another word, mind racing as you tried to put all the pieces together. Who had Peter's phone? And why?

What was going on?

The rest of the day went by in a blur, as your mind wandered and wandered through a million possibilities of what was going on with Peter. You came to the only logical explanation you could think of - you would simply go by his place to see what was going on.

As soon as you were done, you almost ran out and to his apartment. The concerned looks you were getting from passersby didn't phase you. All you could think of was Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter.

You knocked on his door, looking around the hall and noticing that a lot of people had made some changes to their places and there were new plants. You listened for his familiar footsteps but after a few moments when you didn't hear anything, you knocked again, this time with more vigor.

This door was wrenched open after a few moments and you found yourself face to face with a young man with wide brown eyes and curious expression etched onto his features.

"Hello?" He asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion, "can I help you?"

"Peter - where's Peter?" You tried to look past him but realized you had no clue who this kid was. Peter was your best friend, you knew his other friends too, "and who are you?"

"Umm…" he looked behind you before turning around and studying his own space. The boy grimaced before exhaling slowly, "I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

"I…I don't understand," you shook your head, rubbing at your tired face in exasperation, "is this supposed to be a joke? Is he in on it?"

"There's - no. Here," he reached into his pocket and fished out his ID and handed it to you. A gasp escaped your lips as you studied. He was Peter Parker and his home address was listed the same as the real Peter, "I don't know what happened with the mix up but-

"Spider-Man," you breathed out softly and a look of shock crossed his features, "how did…how?"

"Peter - my Peter - he's Spider-Man," your mind was reeling as you tried to put all the pieces together, "he has the same phone number and this is his address."

"Wait…" his brows knitted together, "what's your name?"

You told him your name and let out a bit of incredulous laughter, "I know you. Well, umm…I-I guess a version of you. Or whatever this is you. My aunt works with you."

"May? May Parker?" You asked and he nodded with a sheepish shrug. Your May was definitely not going to be the same person, you knew that much. You exhaled slowly, "this is so weird. I don't know what or how or why or anything but I don't think I belong here. You're not…my Peter."

"No," he shook his head and motioned for you to come inside. You stepped into the familiar, yet completely new, apartment and looked around, "is everything okay with him? Your Peter? Are you....?”

“He’s my best friend,” you looked around at all the photos that lined the walls. There were plenty of Peter along with what you assumed were his friends and aunt. Definitely not your May, “at least we were. We kind of got into a fight last night and I basically told him to get out.”

“Oh,” he watched you curiously, “I’ve gotten into a few of those arguments before.”

“You mean the ones where someone gets mad at you for being reckless and asks you to be careful but you claim its part of the job but you’ll try your best?” you asked and Peter nodded in amusement. Part of the job, you supposed. You ran a hand through your hair, “He kept getting hurt and its been getting worse lately and I just…I want him to be careful, you know? He keeps coming through my window, bleeding and bruised, and I’m afraid one day that he’s just not going to be there. He’s not going to come home to me. And I-I can’t lose him. He is…everything to me.”

A mixture of emotions colored his features as you offered him a small, sad little smile, “you’re in love with him.”

“Yeah,” you couldn’t even pretend to lie about it, “I am. I have been for a long time. I’ve just never told him. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I don’t think you have to tell him,” he offered you a lopsided little smile before tilting his head to one of the pictures on the wall. It was of him and a beautiful girl, both of them beaming at the camera, “not if it’s anything like that.”

“I don’t know,” you’d always wondered if he knew or felt the same. You had no idea and now you were afraid that you might never find out, “but what if I…how do I even get back? What am I doing here?”

“I don’t know how it all works,” he confessed and while you knew that it wasn’t his fault at all, you couldn’t help your sigh, “it’s confusing to me at times too. But there’s a whole…multiverse…theory and all that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly, “all that wild, sciencey stuff. Pete is the science brain…just like you I presume. I’m the…not science person. It all gets kind of lost on me. I just don’t know what to do now.”

“Maybe we can figure it out,” he suggested and you couldn’t help but admit that the kid was growing on you. He seemed sincere and kind…he did remind you of your Peter in a lot of ways, “just give me some time to think, okay?”

“Thank you,” you reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze, “you’re very kind. In the meantime I guess I’ll just try and keep calm and all that.”

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked softly, “do you want to stay here?”

“I’ll go back to my…well, this world’s anyway, apartment,” you hadn’t seen anyone else, namely the alternate universe you, in the apartment or anywhere at your work. You figured you’d probably replaced her…or yourself or whatever it was, “I guess I’ll see you around? You have my number now if you think of anything.”

“I will,” he promised, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow and we can figure out something. If you need anything or anything seems off, please call or text me.”

“Sounds good,” you headed towards the door and gave him a small smile, “thank you, Peter. It seems like in every universe you’re a good guy.”

“But we’ll get you back to your Peter. Promise,” he held up his hand with his outstretched pinkie and you couldn’t help but laugh at his silliness. You hooked your pinkie around his and nodded.

You had some hope that whatever happened would be fixed. 

Then you’d go back to Peter and finally tell him how you felt. You had to - you knew you did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few days had passed without much happening. You spent the time you could with Peter and his friend Ned trying to go through all the possible things that could have happened. You kept rehashing each moment in your mind, going through it all over and over again until you felt like you no longer knew what had actually happened. 

The worst part of all was that none of you could figure out exactly what happened or why you were suddenly there instead of your own home. The only thing it did was cause your hope to slowly dwindle away - what if you were stuck there forever? What if you never saw Peter again? That would have been the worst thing of all. The boys did help though and kept reassuring you that things would be alright. You hoped they were right.

After a week, you started to accept that you weren’t going anywhere. At least, you reasoned with yourself, you weren’t stuck in some weird universe that was completely different from what you knew. 

Things were starting to seem normal, until late one evening while you were watching a movie and you heard a loud, frantic knocking at the door.

“Hold on, hold on,” you set your ice cream down and padded towards the door. Perhaps it was a neighbor you hadn’t met before or maybe someone had the wrong address; either way, you definitely weren’t expecting anyone. You opened the door without even thinking about checking to see who it was, “hello?”

“Hi,” your mouth opened and closed a few times as you looked at the man standing across the threshold. Peter Parker. But not just any Peter Parker, it was your Peter. 

“Peter?” you almost whispered his name and he nodded at you, confused for just a moment. Without thinking about it, you threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you without missing a beat as he hugged you back just as fiercely, “Peter!”

“Sunshine,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “oh, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you pulled back and took his face in your hands, looking him over. It was still the same man you loved and adored, the bruises and scratches from the last time you’d seen him almost completely gone, “I…I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

“You didn’t really think one little argument was going to keep me away, did you?” he wrapped his fingers around your wrists, looking at you softly, “I thought that maybe you didn’t want to see me. You weren’t answering my calls or texts.”

“I…” he had no clue. He had no idea that you’d been gone for over a week, “how long was I avoiding you?”

“Like…ten days, not that I’ve been counting or anything,” he admitted sheepishly, cheeks pinking, “this was kind of my last ditch attempt to apologize and to tell you that -”

“I’m in love with you,” you couldn't help yourself - you just had to get it out. His big, brown eyes softened and he seemed to lose his voice for a moment. You nervously smiled at him, “Peter Parker. My Peter.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, heart eyed with a lovesick smile on his face, “I’m yours.”

This time he surprised you by pulling you in and kissing you. His actions caught you so off guard that it took you a moment to respond. When you did, you looped your arms around his neck and kissed him back with just as much hunger and neediness. Neither of you wanted to stop, reluctantly pulling apart when you needed air. 

“I’m, ugh, in love with you too,” he pressed his forehead against yours and you couldn’t help but steal a few more kisses from him, “have you been okay? I was getting worried when you didn’t call or text back. No one had seen you either.”

“I’ve got so much to tell you,” you reached for his hand and pulled him inside, “so much.”

“Wait - did something happen?” he looked you over, relieved to see that you didn’t appear to be in any sort of pain or harm, “sunshine?”

“I haven’t been gone,” you weren’t even sure where to begin with this one, “well, not really. I was with Peter Parker.”

“Umm….not sure where I was, but I don’t remember…”

“I don’t expect you to - but you’ll understand,” you looked at him with wide eyes, “because while it was Peter Parker - it wasn’t you. A-and Aunt May was different too.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he grew excited as he quickly caught up on what you were saying - he was a practical genius after all, “are you saying that…”

“Multiverse,” you finished for him, “it’s all true - I think. Some of it anyway.”

“Holy shit.”

“I have so much to tell you,” you grinned, “and, ugh, thank you for not immediately assuming I was crazy.”

“I’m Spider-Man,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’ve heard and experienced stranger things. Tell me more.”

“I will,” you promised, dragging him over to the couch before stopping yourself, “wait - there’s something else I want to do first.”

“What is it-”

And then you were kissing him again and he immediately melted into your touch. 

“Oh,” he sighed softly, “I could get used to that.”

“Good,” you beamed at him and things suddenly felt right again the world, “me too.”

pocket-sized

percy hynes white x short! reader

masterlist

mentions of: height? idk let me know if you find any!

synopsis: percy liked that you are shorter than him

i’m no longer writing for him so plz no hate!!!!

12 inches. a whole foot shorter. you were 5”2 and Percy was 6”2. he liked how he could tower you. he liked the way you would have to look up at him. he especially appreciated when it was sunny outside because you would have to look up and the sun would catch your eyes making you scrunch your face. he also enjoyed how your hands would be wayyyy smaller than his. but out of all these things, his favorite thing about how short you were was putting his head on top of yours and wrapping his hands around your waist.

You and Percy have been dating for a year. you bumped into him in a pharmacy, trying to develop your film. Percy was waiting next to you holding his camera and you with yours.

“you take pictures” he tries to start a conversation with a girl he found attractive

“yeah, just started with this, I have an actual camera,” you say smiling weakly

“I think you should keep using a disposable camera so we could bump into one another more often,” he says trying to secure a date with you

“or you could just ask for my number” a date you wanted

“would Instagram be included in that bundle” he tried to stalk you, he tried to find out who you were as a person

“or maybe on the other hand I actually don’t have a number” you try to joke

“no don’t be like that” he’s a little flustered now

a few days later after that interaction, you were on a date. after that date led to more dates than asking for you to be his officially. it was nice to have someone to call yours and be excited to hang out with whenever possible.

—-

“ready to head out,” Percy says wrapping his hands around your waist as you’re putting on the final touches of your makeup and hair

“yeah, one second,” you say putting on some perfume that Percy got you during his time in Romania. it was vanilla-scented. your favorite

you were ready to go out on your date. the date was a dinner and you wanted to bet Percy that he was going to move your seat next to his to be able to sit next to you.

right, when you were seated across from each other Percy gets up and moves his chair in the middle asking you to do the same and you did. the thing is that you thought that the distance between the two of you was perfect, but in Percy's eyes he thought differently, he scooted your chair so his practically touched. the whole night after was him with his arm around your shoulder or his hand lying on your thigh.

—-

during car rides, Percy likes to put his hand on your lap. squeezing it and making his fingers dance around. when it was summer he liked how you would dangle your head out the window. how your hair would dance in the wind.

he also liked how in the winter you would bundle up and wear his hoodies because they were so warm but you secretly liked the smell of them. he liked that you would wear the hood and sit on the car seat with yours legs held to your chest because you were so cold.

—-

he never cared about the arts really until he met you. he liked being able to take pictures of you in his bed in a small form but never liked actually making the art. he never learned from the lessons that Netflix made him do.

he liked how you would look when putting your head on his bicep. while you would observe the art. he would have you wrapped around his arms. his head on top of yours. you would talk about all the details of the painting and he would listen nodding and humming in amusement.

one thing the two of you had in common was liking films. every Tuesday heading to the closest AMC theatre. you would watch films and analyze them together afterward.

the theatre had reclining seats and you could move the middle cup holder up so the both of you could cuddle together. and that’s what you did.

every film no matters if it was scary or not you would lie on his chest while he wrapped his arms around you. (the same way you both slept) you liked the way his heart would beat speed up when he would look down on you. you could tell because his head would move around. and you could tell his shit-eating grin was on his face once again.

of course, afterward, you would talk about the film going back to your shared place. he would laugh at your theories of the film. he would play your theories in his head on the way to sleep and they would always make sense.

—-

he also liked baking with you. he liked how you would move around a lot and get the batter on your face somehow. he liked that you had your hair back in a messy style and would have an apron on. sleeves rolled up ready to take on whatever you were doing

“perc! I need your help” you yelled and saw him resting his body on the wall that splits your living room from the kitchen

“what do you need my highness” he bows down

“I need you to get me the pink bowl on the top right cabinet” you point to the thing causing your pissed-off state.

you never understood why he never got you a stool. maybe he liked being of help and being able to be in your bubble while you bake. because he never once got in the way of your work.

he never once let you put the pan into the oven because he was scared you would burn yourself. which never happened when you were on your own.

“why can’t I do it,” you ask feeling like all the work he has done

“don’t want you to get burnt,” he says opening the oven and putting in the pan

“there are mittens for a reason, y’know they aren’t decorations”

“but you look so pretty all healthy and smooth,” he says getting the brown batter from your nose and licking his finger clean

he liked cleaning up with you. playing with bubbles and splashing you with water. he grew in love with your face, he grew to be able to read your facial expressions. enough being said he could read how pissed you were but he knew to not mess around anymore.

waiting for the pastry was enjoyable. he liked waiting on the couch with you. you were in between his legs and your head rested on his chest. you would scroll on your phone and Percy would watch. when the pastry was ready you both would always burn yourselves it was like you never learned. and you would both laugh at each other. but it was enjoyable and you both would finish it in a day.

—-

the get-together was at his place. it was strictly just the cast. they slowly started to pile in through the door. he was excited to be reunited with them. he found the friends that he loved. and you were happy for him. as he greeted everyone he was ready to sit down on the couch and you were close behind. he was holding your hand guiding you to your seat.

another thing Percy was extremely mad about was you sitting on his lap. no matter if there was plenty of space everywhere else. he loved sitting with you. he especially did this when you were laying on the couch watching some TikToks and he would make you get up and lay on top of him. it would make you go crazy and not in a good way. but it made him happy so you let it slide.

“so how long have you two dated” hunter asked

“About two years,” Percy says playing with your hair. twisting it and fiddling with it between his two fingers

Emma was trying to get your attention. she thought you were interesting. she liked the way you probably have a lot to say but just keep to yourself. she knew deep down you were funny because well you were dating Percy.

“what’s something that Percy has done here that no one else knows about,” Emma asks looking directly at you. you start laughing at the thought

“no-“ Percy says trying to hold you from saying it

“he…he sings t swift when he’s bored” Percy tried to cover your mouth before you finished the sentence, but it was too late because what you said was out and everyone was laughing

“so- uh- so who wants to play uno” Percy says trying to move the conversation

wanting to get the Uno cards that were under the coffee table. in a red tin box that once contained chocolates, Percy got you for valentines day. once you got it you were walking to his kitchen. all the seats were taken and Percy put you on his lap. he shuffled the cards and something about that no matter who did it, was attractive. Percy however liked the way your hands made the Uno cards look humongous while he made them look tiny.

“Are you both teaming?” Jenna asked

“should we” Percy whispers in your ear sending butterflies straight to your stomach

“Sure,” you say kissing his cheek and everyone started teaming up.

halfway through the game, Percy has half the deck with him.

“I should've never teamed with you” you laugh at just seeing the cards

“I’ll make us win don’t worry” he had his eyes wide like he was determined. and that he was because he always kept his promises to you.

and by the end of the night you both did. he liked the way your eyes would sparkle with joy that only lit up with winning. how you would wrap your hands around him and laugh.

—-

one thing Percy hated was high heels. it was like they were enemies. you never understood it. it wasn’t like you would get whiny about the heels hurting you. in fact it was the opposite. you would run dance jump all of it and all Percy’s face was saying is how much he hated those things giving you height.

he liked that you would have to tip-toe for him but those were easy access they took one of his favorite things about you. and if he could he would destroy them all.

he liked that at the end of the day, you would dress in his clothes to go to bed. it was practically a nightgown for you. he liked how you would clean your face and make sure you felt clean. he liked the way you would be ready to go to bed and not even act like you didn’t want to be by him. because you did you wanted him to wrap his arms around you because it is reassuring and comforting. and wake up in that same form in the morning.

For the I love you prompts how about tasm!peter and

[  ASLEEP  ]:     sender, having climbed into bed to cuddle the receiver (who they believe to be asleep), tells them that they love them.

🥹💕I just think this radiates Peter energy 😫

AN |  Alright, so this is just soft and with a happy ending❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 3.3k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Peter?” It was the combination of how softly you said his voice contrasted to your rapid knocking that captured his attention more than anything. He stopped what he was doing, jumping off the couch before almost running to the door. He opened it without hesitation, only to frown deeply when he saw you on the other. Peter was always over the moon to see you…but he hated seeing you upset. You looked at him with teary eyes, lips trembling with effort not to cry, “hi.”

“Hey,” he pulled you into his arms before you could say anything else, and you fell apart as soon as he touched you. You buried your face into his chest, holding on to him tightly as he brought you inside and closed the door. His heart broke as he listened to you sniffle, trying your best to hold in your tears, “it’s okay, sweetheart. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

“I know,” your soft response was muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt, “‘m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he rested his head on top of yours, rubbing your back in soothing circles, “you don’t ever have to apologize.”

Peter felt you nod in response before the emotion overwhelmed you and the tears started to roll down your cheeks. It wasn’t long before he felt the cotton of his shirt get soaked. He held you, rocking you gently back and forth until you slowly calmed down. The boy possessed many amazing qualities and skills, and giving the best hugs in the world was one of them.

“C’mere,” he loosened his grip, smiling softly when he saw the pretty pout on your lips, already missing his touch. He took your hand in his, his much larger one dwarfing yours as he led you to the couch. He set you before kneeling in front of and tenderly brushing away your tears with his thumb before pushing a few rogue locks of hair behind your hair, “do you know what this moment calls for?”

“For me to stop being a blubbering idiot?” you asked meekly, the corner of your mouth twitching up ever so slightly. 

“First of all - no,” he tutted softly, “and secondly - you’re not an idiot. The moment calls for hot chocolate.”

“Oh,” your eyes widened in excitement and you reminded him of a kid on Christmas morning, “will there be mini marshmallows?”

“You should know by now that I always keep  a bag on hand for you,” he gently tapped your chin with his knuckle before standing up, “just back, get comfy, and I will be right back.”

“Do you need a hand, Pete?”

“Absolutely not,” he insisted, “you stay and I’ll be back. Less than ten minutes. Pick out something to watch - and it better be something good!”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, such a normal thing for either of you to do, and as always it made your stomach burst with butterflies. You watched him go, already feeling a million times better; Peter had that effect on you. No matter what happened or what was going on, he always made everything better. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter made good on his promise and was back in even less time than he originally promised, two large mugs in his hands. You gratefully took one of them and moved so he had plenty of room to sit next to you. He set his own mug on the coffee before grabbing the big, fluffy blanket off the back of the couch and draping it over the two of you. He’d never admit it, but he bought that blanket because you had liked it so much at the store and he wanted you to have it at his place whenever you wanted it. He was thoughtful like that, among so many other things.

You pulled the blanket around your frame before cuddling up into his side before putting your feet on the table. Next to Peter, whether at his place or yours, or anywhere else was definitely your favorite place in the world. You’d put on some random show, more for background noise rather than anything else. 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked after a few moments of quiet. You knew it was coming but it still made you sigh softly, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I hope you know you can tell me anything.”

“Of course I know,” you gently nudged your arm into his side, “you’re my best friend, Pete. I trust you more than anything or anyone in this world.”

“Yeah?” he teased softly, giving that boyish smile you adored, “glad to know the feeling’s mutual.”

You finished off the rest of your hot chocolate and set the mug down, shifting in your seat so you were facing him. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to meet his eyes, knowing it would make you want to cry all over again. It wasn’t even Peter himself that made you want to cry; if you were being completely honest with yourself, it was that you knew he would never be yours.It was something you’d accepted over the years - not that it made it any easier - which is why you forced yourself to date other people. 

Not that any of those worked. You knew why this never did. This time around, your current boyfriend figured out exactly why. 

“Matt, umm…he broke up with me today,” you confessed, voice dropping so much that the average person definitely would not have heard you, but you knew that Peter heard you loud and clear. His eyebrows raised in surprise, so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. 

“I…what?” he asked softly, clearly not believing what you had said. Although there was no reason you’d lie to him. It just seemed so sudden, “he broke up with you? That makes no sense. You two were so good together.”

Too good together if you asked Peter Parker.

“Well,” you exhaled slowly before shrugging your shoulders, “I guess we weren’t. At least not to him. So…he ended things today.”

“Did something happen?” he asked softly, putting a finger under your chin to turn your face up towards his. He could see that the tears were welling up again and wished he could do something to make it all better. Peter could see that you were struggling with trying to find the words, “did he do something?”

“No,” you shook your head, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and pulling his hand away. Despite the fact that he broke up with you - for the most valid of reasons - you couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike him. He wasn’t a bad person….he just got caught up with someone that happened to be in love with someone else, “he didn’t. I’m not…it sucks, but I’m not mad at him. I guess it’s just the situation.”

Peter could tell that you were holding back and not telling him the entire truth but he always didn’t want to push you. He knew you’d talk about the full details if and when you were ready.  He let out a small sigh to commiserate with you before reaching over and putting his hand on your face, resting it on your cheek, “well, if you ever want to talk about it, just let me know. And if it’s any consolation, it’s his loss. Anyone would be a fool to let you go. You’re gold, sweetheart - I can’t believe he didn’t see that.”

You swallowed thickly, desperately wanting to ask what about you, Peter? Do you want me?

But you didn’t. You weren’t about to throw about two decades worth of friendship out the window just because you couldn’t get your feelings in check. 

“Thanks Pete,” you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything else. Did he really have to look at you like that? With the sweetest, most honeyed eyes that made you want to get on your knees and beg him to love you? You nodded instead, keeping your mouth shut, “there’s some girl out there that’s going to be so lucky to get to love you one day, Parker. Whether or not you see it, you’re a huge catch.”

His cheeks flushed a pretty shade of rose as he turned his head away. You laughed softly. The sound went straight to his heart and was easily his favorite sound in the world. He gave you your knee a small squeeze, “well, I guess one day we’ll both find those people that are worthy won’t we?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed softly, “can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can I stay tonight?” you asked, as if Peter Parker ever said no to you, “you know what, I’m so rude. I just kind barged right now and didn’t even ask if you had plans or were busy. I shouldn’t just-”

“Shh,” he put a gentle finger to your lips to keep you from rambling further, “I am never too busy for you and before you argue, you are never a bother. Besides, I didn’t have plans. Just maybe some patrolling, but it can wait.”

“You don’t have to put that off,” you insisted softly, “there are more important things out there than just me.”

Doubtful, he wanted to say. 

“I don’t mind-”

“Peter, I can just go home,” you promised, “or stay here if you don’t mind.”

“When have I ever minded?” he teased as you grinned sheepishly, “never. And I don’t mind now. Stay, please. You practically live here anyway, don’t act like some sort of stranger.”

“Okay,” you felt ready to cry again, “thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he insisted sweetly, “and you got lucky - I just washed and put on my clean sheets.”

“Ahhh, you’re my hero,” the idea of slipping into his warm bed with the smell of fresh laundry and pillows that always smelled like him was heavenly, “thank you, Peter. Will you…don’t be out too late?”

“You just want me for my warm body,” he playfully huffed but you grinned like the Cheshire cat, “all these years, I should have known.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a radiator,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “one of the many good things that came out of you being bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teased, “there’s some clean stuff for you in the dresser, okay? Are you sure you’ll be fine-”

“I’m sure, Pete,” before you could stop yourself or overthink it, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll be okay if you promise me two things.”

“Anything.”

“Come home soon,” you pleaded softly, “and come home safe.”

“I always do,” you raised an eyebrow, silently reminding him of the many times he came home battered and bruised, “you know I’ll always come home to you.”

“I know,” you wondered if he picked up on how quickly your heart was suddenly beating; you were sure he did. You swallowed thickly before turning your face away, “I guess I’ll let you go then.”

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, “I know it’s pointless to say, but don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

“It is pointless,” you snorted in amusement, “but I’m just gonna go to bed and maybe watch a movie or something while you’re out.”

“Don’t wait up.”

“Again, pointless to say,” you were both well aware of that fact, “I’ll see you soon, Pete.”

“Soon, sweetheart.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Once he left, you padded to his bedroom and snuggled up in his bed, letting the warmth and familiar smell surround you. Nothing made you feel better and more at home than being in his bed. You helped yourself to a shower as you often did before rummaging through his drawer and picking a pair of his boxers and a sweater to put on. You felt so much better already, but then, that just proved that Matt had been right all along. You pushed that thought to the back of your mind as you cuddled up in his and turned on the TV. You knew you weren’t going to be able to focus on much so you turned on a show the two of you had seen a million times.

Despite your best efforts to stay awake, you were fast asleep in less than an hour. It was definitely the combination of warmth and comfort and the overwhelming feelings you were currently trying to process. 

Peter came back at a relatively early hour, deciding that things were quiet enough for him to go home. And honestly? He really just wanted to go home and see his favorite girl; his girl  - at least in his mind. His heart panged when he remembered the fact that you were unfortunately not his and likely never be his. But he could pretend, right? There was no harm in it. 

When he got home, landing on his firescape, he was ready to tap on the window to let you know he was back, but then saw that you were sleeping peacefully. A smile crossed his features as he quietly let himself in, landing on the floor with the softest thud. The boy made quick work of pulling off his mask before grabbing some pajamas out of his dresser and quickly changing in the bathroom. He thought about changing in the bedroom but didn’t want to give you a heart attack in case you woke up. Not that you hadn’t seen him shirtless about a million times before, but still. Peter was a gentleman.

Once he came back out, he walked to his side of the bed and watched you for a moment, taking in your small, light snores and even breathing. He pulled and blankets back before climbing into bed as quietly and gently as he could. Despite his best efforts, you made a small sound, “Peter?”

“It’s me,” he whispered, “‘m back. Just rest, sweetheart.”

He immediately felt the warmth of your body and he realized just how badly he wanted to hold you. Like really, really badly. You listened to him try and get comfortable while maintaining a proper distance and smiled to yourself, “can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” oh. You could practically feel the smile on the boy’s face, “but I guess you can ask something else.”

“Will you…will you cuddle me?” the shocked look on Peter’s face was something to behold. You let out a small little exhale before slowly turning around to face him. Even in the dark you could see the pretty flush on his cheeks, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” he was quick to dispel any of your worries as he swallowed the lump in throat. He wanted nothing more, “I-I always want to.”

You hummed in content as you scooted closer to him and you felt him wrap an arm around you. Before you could say or do anything, he pulled you closer, causing you to bump noses and laugh softly, “you’re so warm.”

“You’re so soft,” he sounded like he was in awe as you tangled your legs with his, “so soft and delicate.”

“Peter,” you leaned into him and buried your face near his chest before closing your eyes again. Alright, this was definitely your favorite spot in the entire galaxy. You laughed despite your best efforts to stay away, “you smell ‘s good.”

“Oh yeah?” you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, “so do you.”

You smiled to yourself as you let yourself get lolled back to sleep. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as Peter tried to keep calm as you slept in his arms. He wanted to get some rest too, but found that it was almost impossible with how loud his thoughts were. He tried to ground himself with the feeling of you in his arms, along with your steady breathing. It all served to remind him just how deeply in love with you he was.

He laid there for a while, trying to figure out and process his own feelings. Eventually he ended up watching you, trailing his fingers over your cheek and along your jaw before sighing softly. How were you so pretty and soft and lovely and everything? It almost wasn’t fair. 

“I hope you know how much I love you,” he whispered into the dark, accompanied by a wistful little sigh, “maybe one I’ll actually be able to tell you.”

What he didn’t know was that you were awake as well, unable to fall asleep while you were in his touch. You tried to control your inhale, still contemplating if you should say anything or just let him think you were sleeping. But you were pretty sure that he might have just said the words you’d been wanting to hear for the years.

“Peter?” you whispered after a few moments, so softly that he almost didn’t hear it. But you could hear the small sound of surprise that he made, “I wasn’t fully honest when I told you that Matt broke up with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He broke up with me because he said he wasn’t the one for me,” you could feel him watching you intently with baited breath, “he told me that I could never love him like he deserved to be loved because…because I was already in love with someone else.”

“O-oh.”

“Because I’m in love with you,” you confessed, finally getting it all out in the open, “because it’s so obvious.” 

Peter was silent for a few moments, his mind racing as he tried to figure out if you were being serious or just repeating what Matt had said. You pulled back so you could face him, reaching over and brushing some of his wild hair out of his face, “and he was right.”

“He was?” he asked softly, setting his hand on top of yours where it rested on his face, “sweetheart?”

“He was,” you promised, “it’s always been you, Peter. I just never thought that you’d feel the same. If I did-”

“I would have said something years ago,” he finished for you as you nodded, “me too. I…I feel so dumb. All this time…”

“It’s okay,” you insisted sweetly, “we’ve always had each other - and we always will. Now we can just…do all the other stuff too.”

“All the other stuff,” he teased and you laughed softly, a mixture of adoration and nerves, “hmm, you might have to tell me more. Just to make sure that we’re on the same page.”

“First of all,” you leaned in so your lips were almost brushing against each other, “like kissing, you know?”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

“I insist on it, Parker,” the two of you were grinning at each other like fools, “please.”

“What if I don’t want to stop?” you saw his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, a sight he was sure would kill him. He pulled you towards him, his large hand splaying on your waist as you stared at each other intensely. 

“Don’t,” you insisted softly, “don’t ever stop.”