This Was 😭😭😭

This was 😭😭😭

A part 2 please 🥺🥺🥺 where the reader has moved on with someone else (maybe loki or Pietro) and Peter is full of regret and wants the reader back????

Me or Her?

summary: Peter has to choose between you, his girlfriend, and MJ, his best friend.

prompt: requested by: @gf4hjp - “Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t make me choose. Every time I’ll pick her. Every time. I can’t have you hate me for that.”

warnings: angst. this was a lil sad to write

notes: angst (if I did a decent job)

word count: 1.5k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There were only a handful of people that knew Peter Parker’s biggest secret, and after dating him for almost six months, he trusted you enough to know too. You, Ned and MJ were his inner circle.

You could honestly say being with Peter was incredible. He was so charming, he had the perfect mix of shyness and confidence and he made you laugh every single day, so much that your jaw hurt, and it felt like you had done seventy sit ups.

Of course, there were moments where it was hard. He was a super-hero trying to juggle his high-school life, family, friends and his girlfriend. That didn’t bother you though, you knew it was a huge responsibility and you respected that.

The hardest thing to deal with was probably feeling like a second choice at times.

You came around much later than Ned and MJ. You came into an inner circle that had already been through so much together, and it felt like you were always right behind MJ, when really, your relationship was serious enough that you should have at least been on the same level.

You never told Peter any of your concerns. He had too much going on already. The last thing you wanted him to think was that you were a jealous girlfriend.

But things were starting to get worse. He was starting to blow you off to hang out with MJ. He was sitting with her in classes and always making time for her, but hardly ever you.

And you had just about reached your boiling point.

“God, Peter. Pick up!” You spoke through the dial tone, pacing the front of the restaurant you were supposed to be eating at with Peter. For your six-month anniversary.

It was the third time he’d been late to a date this week, but this was the longest by far.

You were fuming. You could feel your heart contracting, your stomach turning, and your hands were starting to shake. But you wouldn’t blow up. He could’ve been stuck with super-hero things. You’d hear what he had to say first.

Almost forty minutes later, when you had given up on calling him and had instead sat on the shady looking curb, Peter landed in front of you, a trail of web following him.

“Hey, babe. I’m so sorry I’m late. MJ needed help with her chemistry paper, and I just lost track of t-“ Peter started his usual rambling of apologies, but you’d heard enough when he brought MJ up.

“That’s why you’re late?” You cut him off as you stood up from the curb, shuffling back and away from his embrace that always came after the apology. You could feel your eyes beginning to burn, but you weren’t going to cry. Not yet.

His face dropped, a quick look of shock flashing across his face before he stepped closer towards you. This was the first time you’d ever reacted like this. “Y/N, look, I know I’ve been late-“

“Yeah, and why is that?” You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to protect yourself from not only the chill running up your arms, but from the impending heartache. You’d never fought before. Not like this.

He couldn’t hide the look of shock anymore. He opened his mouth, like he was searching for something to say but all that came out was a squeaky, “what?”

You felt the tears well up, and you did nothing to stop it. You wanted Peter to see how upset he made you. “On Monday, you were late to our breakfast date. You apologised and you hugged me, and I forgave you,” You gulped down the sob that was threatening to escape, and you knew Peter noticed because he looked away for a few seconds. He didn’t like seeing you like this. “On Thursday, you were late to our movie night. In your own house. May ended up watching half of the movie with me because she felt sorry for me. But you apologised and I forgave you again. And I forgave you the other twenty times before that too.”

You took a second to swat at the tears streaming down your cheeks and Peter lifted his hand towards your face, a look of confliction on his face as he wiped a tear away, but you pushed his hand away, letting out a painful sob.

“Tell me you weren’t with her!” You cried, watching as Peter flinched at the raise in your voice. The look on his face broke your heart even more, but you couldn’t do it anymore. You weren’t going to be second. “Tell me, Peter!”

He was silent for a long moment. Anxiety stricken and running a shaky hand through his messy curls. It made you want to stop. It made you want to apologise and tell him you loved him and didn’t care if he loved MJ more.

“MJ… Sh-she needed help with her paper-“

“God! It’s not that, Peter! I don’t care about you helping her. It’s the fact that you blow me off to spend time with another girl. I’ve always felt second to her and I’m so fucking sick of it.”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N? She’s my best friend. She’s been my best friend for a long time. I can’t just forget about that because I have a girlfriend now!” His irritation was starting to grow as well. He didn’t like feeling like he was put on the spot. He wished he could just make everyone happy.

“I love you, Peter. I love you, so much.” Your voice broke into a whisper at your own confession. You and Peter had never exchanged the three words before, but there you were. A gush of wind blew just as the words left your mouth, making the goosebumps rise on your skin. You could feel how wet and stained your face was from the tears.

“I love you too, Y/N. God, I love you.” He stepped forward to wrap his arms around you, but you held your hand against his chest, stopping him from coming any closer. Any other time, those words falling from his lips would’ve meant the world but now all they did was suffocate you.

You took a deep breath in, skimming your eyes over him. From the corners of his lips turned down into a frown, to the cutest nose that was turning red from the cold, all the way to his brown eyes that had earned your forgiveness so many times. Now they were flooded with emotion.

“Then choose. Who is it, Peter? Me, or her?” You kept your eyes locked on your hand on his racing heart. You didn’t want to see the hesitation in his eyes.

“C’mon, Y/N. I’m not going to choo-“

“Peter, choose. Don’t lie to me, don’t try to protect my feelings. Just tell me, who is it?” You took in another gulp of air, trying to calm your trembling fingers and racing heart. You were so anxious you could feel the bile rising in your gut, and you took another gulp to try and ease the tightness in your throat.

The next words that left his mouth were the ones you’ll never forget. They completely destroyed the ‘I love you’s’ and replaced them with something bitter and hateful. They were the words you expected but never thought you would hear.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t make me choose. Every time I’ll pick her. Every time. I can’t have you hate me for that.” His voice broke off into a heart-breaking sob as he tried to reach for you, to grasp onto you, to drag you into his arms and tell you he loved you repeatedly until it was all he felt. Until he loved you more than he loved MJ. But you were already gone. Your hand that was once on his heart was tightening around your own throat, trying to hold back the sobs and cries and the incoming panic attack.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so fucking sorry.” The tears were rolling down his own cheeks too, but nothing hurt him more than seeing you like this. He wished he could change the way he felt, but he couldn’t, and he hated himself for it.

“Go, Peter. Just go. Please.”

“Y/N, please-“

“Go!” You screamed, finally locking eyes with his. Two broken people. That’s what anybody walking down the street would’ve seen. But no one was out. It was just you two.

He stumbled backwards, almost slipping down the curb, but he quickly caught his step. His vision was cloudy as he staggered away from you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He wanted to remember that moment. The moment he broke your heart, so that if he ever wanted to crawl back to you, he’d remember just how badly he fucked you up and he’d think twice.

He watched from a distance as you dropped to the curb, sobbing into your hands.

That was how Peter lost one of the only real things he had ever known.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A/N:

this was my first time writing angst and I hope you guys enjoyed it. if you have any constructive feedback, please don't hesitate to contact me, I'd really appreciate it. also, any recommendations and prompts are welcome too.

Swinging By | Peter Parker

Word Count: 2.5K Pairing: Peter Parker [Earth 199999] x Female!Reader Requested: Yes [@spideysbaby: "Maybe a spiderman (tom) sneaking in your room thinking it's his sense your his neighbor"] A/N: Hope I did the request justice... even if I did post it really late 😬😬 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffeeTikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Swinging By | Peter Parker One Shot

Being Spiderman was hard work.

Being Spiderman as a teenager that was still in high school was even harder.

And Peter Parker was tired. More like exhausted.

Of course, he enjoyed the role of superhero and getting to save people —he’d never take for granted having been bit by that radioactive spider. Still, he couldn’t help the fatigue that ransacked his body after every long day that passed.

He wished it was easier. That he had an endless supply of energy he could distribute whichever way he saw fit. He would have enough for his friends, for Aunt May, the city of New York… maybe even for (Y/N), his downstairs neighbor, and the girl that filled his mind every hour of the day.

He had seen her around the building. The very first time, she quickly caught his eye. It was the day her family had moved in. Peter had been too shy to say hi. He watched as the three of them walked in and out of the building with boxes in their hands, following the movers up and down the stairs.

Peter had wanted to help them. But for some reason, his limbs had gone numb and he couldn’t bring himself to approach them. Any of them. He simply watched as they moved back and forth in the building until they disappeared into their new home. It was clear that he had missed his chance to introduce himself to the girl that was wearing a sweater from the New York Hall of Science.

But May was always one step ahead and she had seen the longing stares her nephew would give to the girl every time she walked by. The boy had everything going for him. All he needed was a little push. And who better than his aunt to give it to him?

May had made a batch of “homemade” cookies –which meant she had bought premade dough and followed the instructions– for the new neighbors. Conveniently, she had to run out to the office on a saturday morning and couldn’t drop them off, leaving Peter to take care of the task.

“But, can’t you just leave it at their door with a note?” Peter whined as he felt anxiety bubbling in his body. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it regardless.”

“Oh, come on, Peter,” she chuckled as she struggled to put on her heels. “You swing from building to building and face aliens and magicians and criminals every day. I don’t think handing your neighbors a plate of cookies could compare.”

“But…”

“Peter, I just need you to do this one thing for me, please,” she smiled sweetly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Alright, fine,” the boy finally resigned. “See you tonight.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” May called as she left through the door. “See you tonight.”

Peter had stared intently at the seran-wrapped plate in his hands, hoping he had developed teleportation powers in his sleep. He could already feel the knot of anxiety pushing against the walls of his throat, constricting sounds and air back. He couldn’t face her, not without making a fool of himself —something he could be sure of without his spidey senses.

He had decided to take the stairs, walking slower than humanly possible. But he wanted the time to build his confidence. He had been the Spider-Man for a little over eight months but he had met his match in the form of a girl his own age.

Before he had known, he had reached apartment 2F. The door was mocking him, teasing his cowardice and nervousness. All he had to do was raise his fist and knock on the door.

“Get it together, Parker,” he spoke to himself in a hushed tone. “Just knock. All you have to do is knock on the door, leave the cookies, and go, nothing more. Just get it together. She might not even be there. It could just be her parents. Why are you so scared? It could just be her…”

“Can I help you?” A honey-laced voice broke him out of his trance as the door in front of him swung open. Her smile was as sweet as her voice and seeing her in passing did not compare to perusing her face at that moment. “You’re our upstairs neighbor; right?”

“Uh, uh,” he stammered as his train of thought broke. “Yes. Neighbor. Me.”

“Yes. Neighbor. You,” she chuckled. “I’ve seen you around. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself. I’m (Y/N).”

“Pretty,” he sighed contentedly. But as soon as he noticed the words that had left his mouth, his whole face had gone red. “I mean, your name is pretty. Not that you’re not pretty, but I was talking about your name.”

“I figured,” she smiled warmly. “And yours is?”

“Oh, it’s Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

“Well, Peter Parker, may I ask why you were rambling in our Ring camera for a minute or two?” (Y/N) questions kindly. “Not that I’d mind seeing a cute guy talking to himself at my front door.”

If it had been possible for his face to grow redder, it had. He was sure he had turned the same shade as a tomato. “Yes, cookies,” he scrambled for his answer. His hand extended quickly, showing her that he wasn’t some creep at her door. He had brought a treat. “My aunt baked them to welcome you and your family to the building.”

“That’s so nice of you,” she beamed. “And normally I’d invite you in and share them with you, but we’re actually on our way out.”

“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t want to impose either way/”

“You could never, Peter Parker,” she had smiled brightly at him. “But you should definitely come over soon. Might be some cookies left. Or I could make some brownies and send them your way.”

“I love brownies!” Peter answered enthusiastically. “And I might just take you up on your offer someday soon.”

“You better,” she had responded teasingly. “I’ll see you around the building then, Peter.”

“See you around, (Y/N).”

Seeing her around had turned into almost every other afternoon. And the building had turned into seeing her almost everywhere, including Midtown School of Science and Technology. Any free time he could find all he wanted was to spend it with (Y/N) – even if everything in his life was against it. The more he wanted to see her, the more the universe seemed to throw obstacles his way. A spike in criminality, another school project, Tony Stark calling him to the Avengers tower, everything that kept him from spending more time with her.

And everything had made him more and more tired.

For almost a month straight of coming home late at night, almost blind from exhaustion. His body had gone into auto-pilot. He would sneak into his room through his window, slip off his mask, and crash onto his bed to get at least three to four hours of sleep before he had to be up once more to do it all again. Peter could have made it into his bedroom with his eyes closed.

Something he shouldn’t have attempted to do even if he could.

It had been a rather debilitating night. He could feel the warmth of blood pooling on his forehead, his muscles were tight and sore, his leg was throbbing, and all he wanted to do was sink into his bed and pass out for a week.

Peter climbed the fire escape slowly, his eyes closed as he counted in his head the three flights of stairs that would lead him to his bedroom. His window gave him more trouble than normal, getting stuck halfway, something it had never done before. And when he slipped into his bedroom, he found it was darker than usual. But, all he wanted to do was sleep. Just sleep.

He slipped off his mask, wincing as the fabric stuck slightly to the cut on his face. Once the cover-up was off, he finally took in the room he was in. Quickly enough, he noted it was not his. Where his bunk beds would be, rested a full bed with black and gold bedding. The desk that would normally be covered with figurines and papers was replaced by a neatly organized surface. And he definitely would have remembered hanging vines and string lights on his wall.

“Uh, Peter?” His eyes went as big as saucers as he figured whose room he was actually standing in. “What the hell?”

The boy turned around quickly, feeling a sense of deja vu from when his aunt had found out his secret identity. He did his best to shield his suit, putting his brain into overdrive to come up with a plausible excuse for standing in the middle of her room dressed like New York’s one and only Spiderman.

“I, uh,” he stammered. “I can explain.”

“Peter, you’re hurt,” she gasped as she turned on the lights in her room. “Sit. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Peter was dumbfounded. He was expecting her to freak out like Ned, or curse at him like aunt May. Instead, (Y/N) seemed far more worried about the cuts on his face than the fact that he was a secret superhero.

He took a seat on her desk chair, placing a discarded towel he’d found in her laundry basket, too afraid of staining her furniture. As he waited for her to come back, his eyes studied her room. His gaze fell upon a bundle of pined pictures on her wall, specifically on a picture from the month before.

They had spontaneously decided one afternoon to go to Central Park with Ned and MJ. They had walked, they had laughed, they had eaten ice cream, and, unbeknownst to him, MJ had snapped a picture of them as (Y/N) cleaned a drip of strawberry ice cream from his chin. But what stood out to him was the way her eyes shined as she looked at him. It was a gaze he had never noticed before on her.

“Got it,” she breathed as she came back into the room. “I just hope it’s enough. It doesn’t look that deep.”

(Y/N) settled before him, quickly going to work on cleaning his face. She poured alcohol onto a cotton pad, using the softest touch to not hurt him more than he already was. Her concentration zoned in on every cut, making sure not a single one was left behind.

Peter couldn’t help but memorize her face. The way her tongue peaked out slightly from her lips, the small furrow of her brows, and the little scrunch of her nose. He could have stared at her for the rest of time and he would have been okay with that.

“Alright,” she sighed. “All done. Is there any other wound concealed in this onesie?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think so,” he chuckled. “My body might just be insanely bruised.”

“Do you need some ice?” (Y/N) worriedly asked. “Might not have enough for your whole body but I have enough for the most important areas.”

“I’m okay,” he smiled. Peter stared curiously at her. They had spent over twenty minutes together and she had yet to mention the biggest elephant in the room –she didn’t give any indication that she would do so. “(Y/N), why, uh, why aren't you freaking out?”

“I did. There was visible blood on your face but it’s gone now.”

“No, (Y/N). I’m talking about the whole Spiderman thing,” he pointed. “You’ve barely reacted to the fact that I’m standing before you, dressed as Spiderman, with wounds on my face.”

(Y/N) did something that he had not expected. She laughed. “I’ve known for a while now, Peter,” she said. “You might be quiet and sneaky when you’re out catching bad guys and saving the world, but you leave all your stealthiness in the street. Once you’re home, you tend to make a lot of noise. I saw you one time when I couldn’t sleep. I had been staring out my window trying to find anything to tire my eyes when I saw a flash of red and blue land on the fire escape. Don’t think Spiderman would have too much business with you, so I just assumed.”

“So you saw me… as Spiderman?” Peter confirmed. “And you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn't feel like it was my place,” she shrugged. “I wanted to wait until you trusted me enough to tell me.”

“I do trust you,” he whispered, afraid that she would take his secrecy incorrectly. “I just… I just wanted to keep you separate from all of this. I don’t know what I would do if I put you in danger. I care about you, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” she smiled before she noted the underlying sentiment behind Peter’s brown eyes. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he chuckled. Peter then tested the waters, standing from the chair and getting closer to her. “I’ve wanted to get closer to you whilst keeping you at arm’s length in order to protect you because I know just how dangerous it is to even be associated with me. All I’ve wanted is to keep you safe.”

“Is it corny to say I can keep myself safe?” (Y/N) chuckled, taking his hands in hers. “I know it’s crazy but anything is worth it if I can… get closer to you.”

“I would never let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “Even if I had to sleep outside your window every night.”

(Y/N) chuckled softly, releasing one of his hands to place a comforting palm on his cheek. “I don’t need your protection, Peter,” she said, her fingers tracing his features. “I need you safe. And well-rested. You look tired.”

“I am,” he confessed with a sigh, closing his eyes at the warmth of her hand. “But, for you, I would never sleep again.”

“I would rather you sleep, Peter,” the girl responded. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit? I’ll get you a shirt and some sweatpants. Wouldn’t want you stumbling around in a Spiderman suit and all exhausted like that.”

“Honestly, I cannot deny that request,” Peter chuckled. “I don’t think I could make it up the fire escape tonight. But, I do want to do something before.”

“What is it?”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked meekly.

“Please,” she breathed.

With a smile, he closed all distance between them and placed his lips onto hers. He reveled in the warmth of her lips, enjoying the softness and plumpness of them. It was everything he had daydreamed of for months on end… except the suit… and the wounds… and the sluggishness. Other than for those things, it was perfect.

“Want me to get those clothes now?” (Y/N) chuckled as they broke the kiss. “I think you should rest for a bit.”

“Only if we can kiss some more after.”

“We can kiss any time you swing by,” she grinned. “I might just keep leaving my window unlocked for you.”

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imbackhome

2 years ago

This was so amazing!!! 💖💖

Interviews with Spider-Man (Peter Parker x Reader)

Author's Note: Hey guys! This is my first fic in a while but I thought I'd write for Peter Parker because he's one of my all-time favs from the very beginning. I hope y'all enjoy this and feel free to start requesting things again! I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things. Also, if anyone wants to become mutuals, my dm's are totally open :)

Requested?: Nope!

Summary: (Y/n), in an effort to save the school newspaper club, scores an interview with Spider-Man.

Interviews with Spider-Man

Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: None! Just fluff for this one!

“If you don’t get interest sparked in the newspaper by the student body soon, and I mean very soon, then I’m afraid I’ll have to shut down the club,” Principal Morita says as he frowns at you.

You’re sitting across from him at his desk, jaw dropped at the sudden news.

“Principal Morita, that’s not fair! The newspaper is important to a lot of people!” You protest, forcefully putting your hands on the ends of his desk as you stand up. He gives you a stern look, causing you to sheepishly sit back down.

“Is it important to a lot of people, or is it just important to you, (Y/n)?” He asks, his words coming out with a sigh. You grimace. Yes, the newspaper was mostly important to you, but that didn’t mean that everyone else hated it. You had a good team of four people by your side that worked hard for the newspaper, too, including Michelle Jones and Betty Brant.

“It’s more than just me, I can assure you.” You set your mouth into a firm line, eyebrows creasing together as you give him a hard stare.

“Great. If it’s so important to that many people, then you won’t have any trouble getting the student body’s interest, will you?” He smiles dauntingly at you. Your eyes widen.

“Well, I--”

“You’re dismissed, Miss (Y/l/n). We’ll have another meeting in two weeks to discuss this. If newspaper readings haven’t picked up by then, I’m afraid there won’t be good news for you.”

You pick up your bag with a huff and turn on your heel, heading for the door. If Principal Morita didn’t believe in you, then you’d just have to find someone who does.

~+~

“He seriously said that to you?” Betty asks incredulously, placing a hand on her hip.

“Yup. So we gotta figure this out quickly,” You say.

“I mean, we could spice things up by having a photo on the front? That catches attention,” MJ pipes in with her idea.

“That’s a great idea MJ, but who’s gonna take the picture? None of us are exactly…” You glance over to the two other guys in the newspaper club, typing furiously on their computers, “artistic in that way.”

“We may not be, but I’m sure we could find someone.” Betty shrugs, looking at you and MJ.

“Peter Parker is good with photography.” MJ points out. Your eyes light up.

“Yes! I have my next class with him, he’s my lab partner. I’ll ask him if he’s up for being on the newspaper team,” You say, grinning ear to ear at the prospect of the club being saved. As newspaper club president, you feel very strongly about this going well. After all, it’s your senior year and this is one of the most important things to you. You can’t just give up on it.

“Well, the bell’s about to ring, so you better get headed that direction.” Betty pats you on the back. You grab your backpack and start heading for your chemistry class, working up the courage to ask Peter to join the newspaper club. You have talked to him before, but only really for class purposes. He’s not exactly a friend, per se, so you’re a little nervous to ask a favor from him. But you’d do anything to save your club.

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Peter greets you as he sets his backpack down and sits next to you.

“Hey, Parker.” You smile at him, turning back to your work nervously as you mull over what you want to say to him.

“You okay?” He asks, face contorting slightly in concern as he sees your in-thought expression.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I just…the newspaper club is getting shut down soon if we don’t get more of the student body to read it, so…I’m a bit bummed about that.” A bit bummed is an understatement, but he doesn’t need to know that at this point.

“Seriously? I love reading the school newspaper every week. Is there anything I can do to help?” He asks. You turn to face him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“Actually, there is…”

“How?”

“Would you be able to take photos for the school paper? Just one a week, so we can put it on the cover and catch more people’s attention with it.” You plead, giving him small puppy dog eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah! I’d definitely be willing to do that for yo-- uh, the newspaper club.” He laughs, a light shade of red dusting his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. The blush escapes you as the only thing you can think about is the fact that he agreed to do it.

“Thank you!” You gasp, hugging him tightly. You let go quickly and grab your phone, immediately texting the newspaper group chat and missing the dazed look that Peter has on his face.

~~~

You: PETER SAID YES!!

MJ: fr? Awesome

Betts: YES! NEWSPAPER SAvED!

MJ: don’t get too excited, it has to actually work first

You: MJ, pls, stop being negative and let us bask in the win

MJ: whatever you say

~~~

“When do you need the first photo by?” Peter asks. You think about it. The newspaper usually publishes on Monday of every week, and it’s currently Friday, so tomorrow or Sunday should probably do. That way, you have time to format it before you send it to get printed.

“Tomorrow, if that’s okay,” You say.

“Tomorrow? What’s the subject that I’m even photographing?” Peter looks at you quizically. You deadpan. Crap, that’s kind of important to know. But if the next meeting with the principal is in two weeks, you can’t wait until the second week to put your plan into action.

“Well, I was thinking of writing a column on Spider-Man, but…I don’t know, that’ll be hard to capture a photo of him…” You trail off, brainstorming any way to make this happen and save your newspaper. Truth is, you had no intention on creating a Spider-Man column this week, but the idea came to you since your previous column, “Budget Cuts to Midtown,” seems a tad bitter now that the newspaper team is part of the cuts.

“Well…I’ll see what I can come up with, and we can meet up tomorrow to talk about it?” He asks, getting out a piece of paper. You nod furiously, internally sighing about your lack of a plan otherwise.

Peter grabs a pen and slides the piece of paper and pen over to you.

“If you’ll write down your number, I’ll text you tomorrow about the photo and we can talk about it. Sound good?” He asks. Your eyes drop to the paper and you start to write your number out, missing his small exhale as you do so.

“Sounds great. I’m sorry for the short notice, I promise it won’t be like this every week. Just do what you can and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” You grimace, sliding the paper over to him.

“Of course. It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” He gives you a reassuring smile, taking the paper and slipping it into his pocket.

“Alright, class! Stop chatting, it’s time for learning…” Your teacher gets up and starts droning on about chemical compounds.

All you can think about is your Spider-Man column and what you’re going to write for it. Sure, the masked hero is constantly in the news, but what could you write about him that the kids wouldn’t be able to get on the internet literally anywhere else? It had to be special, something worth reading, something that would spark interest.

But what?

~+~

Peter: Hey (Y/n), it’s Peter. I have an idea for the school newspaper. Can we meet up?

You: Yeah, of course! Where do you want to meet?

Peter: Would Delmar’s deli on the corner work? I know we live relatively close to each other.

You: Yeah, that works great for me. Meet you there in like ten?

Peter: Perfect. See you soon!

~~~

You grab your laptop and head out the door almost immediately, arriving at Delmar’s about ten minutes later. Peter is already sitting at a table outside, his hand shooting up to wave at you as soon as he sees you. You grin at him and walk slightly faster, arriving at the table and sitting down across from him.

“So, whatcha got?” You hum, bringing out your computer and opening it up.

“Well, I’ve got good news and a new idea.” He gets out his own laptop and starts typing furiously. You cock your head to the side.

“A new idea?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. You’re all for new ideas when it comes to the newspaper nowadays.

“Yeah. So, first off, I got this photo.” Peter spins his computer around and shows you an incredible shot of Spider-man swinging from a building.

“Holy crap, Parker, that’s incredible! How did you get that?” You gasp, practically grabbing the computer out of his hands as you stare at the incredible detail and precision of it. It looks entirely professional and way too good to be true.

“You could say I…called in a favor. Anyway, onto my idea. Have you figured out your Spider-man column yet?”

No. You have not. Honestly, you had been trying all night to come up with an idea, but nothing was inspiring you, and you had no clue what to write about. Nothing was original at this point when it came to the infamous superhero.

“...No.” You sigh, planting your face in your hands.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry! I was just asking because I had an idea for it, but I didn’t want to ruin any ideas that you potentially had!” He reassures you, reaching out and innocently touching your forearm. You look up at him.

“What’s your idea?” You ask.

“Well, you could interview Spider-man. That could be the column, an interview with Spider-man.”

You look at him with the blankest face you can muster. How in the world were you, a mere student at Midtown High, going to score an interview with a literal superhero? He must be literally insane.

“Peter, I hate to shut down a good idea, but that’s impossible.” You deadpan.

“(Y/n), no it’s not--”

“How would I get an interview with a literal superhero? It’s not like I can just stop him in the street and say ‘Hey, Mr. Spider-man, would you mind if I asked you a couple questions’--”

“That’s not what you would--”

“Like, how insane would that be! Parker, seriously, if you’re going to get my hopes up, at least--”

“Would you listen to--”

“An interview with Spider-man! Ha! it actually sounds absurd--”

“I know Spider-man!” Peter blurts out, causing you to stop in your tracks and go silent.

“You what?” You whisper, eyes widening.

“I have a Stark internship, (Y/n). I see him all the time, I can ask him for a favor and set up a meeting with you. When would you want to meet?” He asks, his eyes boring into yours. Your breath hitches in your throat under the intensity of his gaze.

“Could you secure an interview for tomorrow?” Your words barely come out, shock still overcoming pretty much all of your brain functions.

“I can try. I’ll talk to him later today at the compound and I’ll text you what he says before tonight. Sound good?” He asks, a small smile making its way to his face.

“Sound good? This is the best thing I think that has ever happened to me.” You blink rapidly at him, finally settling back into a normal state. An interview with Spider-Man? You’re on cloud nine, in all honesty. If this is truly happening, then the newspaper would be saved without question.

“Great. I’ll talk to you later, then. I gotta get going.” He stands up and turns to leave, hesitating for a moment.

Peter turns back to you, a small smile on his face.

“Hey, don’t worry, we’ll save the newspaper, alright?” He reassures you. You stare up at him with a small smile creeping onto your lips.

“I know we will,” You say.

Peter gives you one last nod before hurrying off to what you assume is his internship duties. You stand up from the table, closing your laptop and shoving it into your bag.

An interview with Spider-Man.

What could get better than that?

~+~

You can barely contain your excitement as your eyes keep drifting to the alarm clock on your bedside table. You get to meet Spider-Man any minute now. The clock flashes “2:17 AM” at you but you could honestly care less about the early hour that he chose to meet you, claiming he had to do it after his patrol was over.

Three taps on your window bring you abruptly out of your thoughts as you hop up and frantically scurry over to the window. You slide it up and come face-to-face with the masked hero you had heard so much about.

“Holy crap you’re actually here- Spider-Man,” You say breathlessly, shock overwhelming you.

“Uh, yeah, Peter said you wanted an interview with me?” He asks, the voice under the mask obviously being distorted for identity reasons.

“Absolutely- uh, do you want to come in or for me to come out?” You ask, grabbing your phone.

“Maybe it’d be best if you come out. Don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” He chuckles, and you think about the many implications of that statement. Nevertheless, you aren’t able to dwell on it for long because you’re stepping outside onto the fire escape right next to the Spider-Man of New York City.

“Wow, I’m-- I never actually introduced myself properly. I’m (Y/n) (Y/l/n), it’s nice to meet you Spider-Man.” You force out nervously, holding your hand out for him to shake. He laughs and shakes it.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/n).”

“Uh, before we get started, I have to ask: is it okay if I record this conversation? If you say anything you don’t want to go on record or in the newspaper you can just tell me after the fact or say ‘strike that’ and I’ll pretend it never happened.” You go over the formalities quickly.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” He agrees. You sigh in relief and turn the voice memos on in your phone.

“So, what made you want to become a superhero?” You ask, staring into the white eyes of his mask.

“Well, uh…I suppose, I was gifted with powers one day and decided to use them for the better. As someone once told me, ‘great power comes with great responsibility’ and he was right. Mr. Stark approached me and offered me a spot on the team, and I accepted.” He explains, his mask’s eyes moving in sync with how you expect his facial expressions to read.

“Gifted?” You prod, writing down sketches of notes that you want to remember from the interview that the voice notes won’t catch. Mainly, the moving of his mask eyes.

“Sorry?” He asks, a hand scratching the back of his neck. You wonder if he can feel the scratch of his hand through his suit.

“Oh, sorry, I was asking if you think that your powers are a gift. I know some might consider them a curse rather than a blessing,” You state simply as you continue to look down at your notepad.

“I-” Spider-Man seems at a momentary loss, “Man you really don’t hold back on your interviews, do you?”

This causes your head to snap up and look at him, realizing the bluntness of your question to him.

“I’m- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to--”

“No, no, it’s alright. I’ll answer it. It was just funny to me, don’t worry,” He laughs, a joyous noise to your ears, “yeah, I uh… I would consider it a gift. I get to help others, and that’s honestly all I could ever ask for. It is to the detriment of myself sometimes, sure, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s helped me become the person I am today.”

“That’s very inspiring, Spider-Man, thank you.” You smile at him, getting a warm feeling in your body. Spider-Man seems like a very likeable, down-to-earth individual and you feel very lucky to get to know him like this.

“So, what is it like being on a team with the Avengers?” You ask.

“Well, the team is great. Mr. Stark--”

As Spider-Man continues to talk about the Avengers and how incredible of a team it is, you take to your notepad. Mr. Stark, you think, so he’s young. A teenager perhaps? You ponder. If he’s a teenager, then that means he’s most likely your age. And if he’s your age, then…

No. Nope. No way. Do not get a crush on Spider-Man.

“--and Captain America is very funny. Kind of oblivious to modern technology sometimes, but a great guy and I really like working with him. I like working with all of them, honestly, it’s a dream come true.” Spider-Man ends his listing. You look up at him and smile softly.

“They seem like a great group of people to work with. I’m honestly jealous.” You laugh, and you see the eyes of his suit perk up at your laugh. This intrigues you.

“Well, I’m sure you’re also awesome to work with. I’m kinda jealous of Peter for getting to work with both the Avengers and you!” He chuckles. Is he…flirting?

“Well, technically, you get to work with me now, too. Unless this is like a one-time thing in which case--” You stammer out, embarrassed that you assumed he’d be coming back.

“No, of course I’m coming back. Talking with an incredibly witty, beautiful girl like you for hours on end into the night? I can’t complain.” He tells you. Definitely flirting.

“Well, thank you. I suppose I could say the same, but I don’t know what you look like under the mask,” You tease.

“We both know I can’t show you that.” He shakes his head lightly but you can tell the smile is still on his face.

“Oh, I know. And I’m not asking, let’s be clear about that. We’ll keep your anonymity for now, Spider-Man.” You grin at him.

“For now?” He asks, the amusement evident in his voice.

“What, I can’t say I won’t get curious one day.” You taunt him. He puts his hands up.

“Alright, alright. I suppose I can’t blame you for that.”

“Now, to continue with a few more questions…”

~+~

You had been meeting with Spider-Man every Sunday night for about two months at this point. The newspaper was met with huge success after the Spider-Man interview column was introduced, and the principal was forced to keep the newspaper going. In fact, you had kind of become a celebrity at school for knowing Spider-Man. Peter Parker had basically become your best friend during this time, and you couldn’t thank him enough for scoring that first interview with Spider-Man. All of the success you’re experiencing now is all because of him, and you don’t let him forget that. Besides, you’ve kind of been growing a crush on Spider-Man, so you have to thank Peter for introducing you to him in that capacity as well.

“Hey, Parker.” You slide up to Peter in the hallway, walking to chemistry class with him.

“Hey, (Y/n/n).” Peter smiles at you.

“TGIF, am I right?” You chuckle. He gives you a weird face.

“How old are you again?” He asks, eliciting a laugh from you. His eyes light up at your laugh, unbeknownst to you. You look back at him and he tries to hide his face of delight at making you laugh.

“Oh come on, you have to be a little happy that it’s Friday. We have movie night tomorrow night!” You remind him. You, Peter, Ned, and MJ had all created ‘Saturday move marathon night’ and it had been successful so far. Tonight’s movie is Revenge of the Sith, courtesy of Peter and Ned. Not that you’re complaining, though.

“Of course I’m happy it’s Friday. I wouldn’t miss movie night for the world. Come on, let’s get to class. We can’t be late again.”

~+~

That night, you’re putting away some clean clothes and listening to music when you hear a distinct three taps on your window. Your eyes dart to the clock next to you that reads “2:43 AM” in bright red lettering. You turn around and see Spider-Man’s iconic suit standing at the window.

Rushing over, you slide the window up and stare at him confused.

“You’re two days early, you’re not supposed to be here until Sunday night.” You remark, brows furrowed. He doesn’t respond, instead tumbling through your window right past you. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from yelping. He had never come into your room before, so you are beyond confused as to what is happening.

“Help.” You hear his strained voice manage to get out, without the voice modulator covering it.

Oh crap. He’s hurt.

“Oh my god, Spider-Man, what’s wrong? What happened?” You frantically ask, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around your shoulders to support him as you walk over to your bed and lay him down on it. You see scrapes and blood covering his body as his suit is torn up in places.

“Fight…went wrong.” He forces out, and you can see how labored his breathing is as his chest heaves up and down.

“Okay, uh, give me one second-” You run to your medical cabinet in your house and grab everything you think might be helpful.

You run back to your room as quietly as possible and get out what you found: a clean warm wet wash towel, sterile gauze, antibacterial ointment, and a small sewing kit. Luckily, your mom is a nurse and taught you a few things on stitching people up in case you ever needed it, which you never thought you would but here you are.

“Stay still. This is going to hurt a little bit, but please don’t move as that will just make it worse.” You instruct, getting to work. You stop the bleeding, clean the wounds, apply the ointment, and start to stitch him up. He winces every so often, but does as you told him and keeps pretty still the whole time.

“Thank you.” He murmurs once you’re done. You can tell he’s exhausted, and you feel bad for him.

“I’m only glad I could help. You worried me there for a second, Spidey.” You admit, laying a hand on his shoulder. You didn’t notice while you were working since you were so worried about him, but dang does he have some abs on him.

You notice your staring and look away, clearing your throat and hoping that he didn’t notice.

“No need to worry, I’m tough,” He says, and you can tell he’s trying to smile under his mask. You sigh and look at him with a tense look, obviously still worried about his condition. He tries to sit up next to you, but you sternly push him back down onto the bed by his shoulders.

“Stay there for a little bit. I don’t want your wounds opening back up.” You explain to him.

“How long?” He asks. You think you recognize his unmodulated voice for a moment, but you brush it off as a coincidence.

“Until morning at least--”

“Technically it is morning.”

“You know what I mean. My parents are usually out Saturday mornings and they don’t check on me before they leave, so you’ll be safe here for now.” You tell him, studying his masked face. He seems to return your gaze, committing your features to memory.

Your hands that rested on his shoulders start to inch toward his neck, laying there for a moment but not daring to lift up his mask.

“Is today the day you’re curious?” He whispers. A smile quirks up on your face.

“Maybe…” You respond, finding the line where his mask meets his suit. You trace your fingers along the line. You decide to play it bold and creep the mask up slightly. You see the tan skin of his neck and can’t help but pull the mask over his jaw all the way up to his nose. You see his lips and your breath hitches.

He hasn’t stopped you, but you fear pushing the boundary any further than this since he didn’t technically tell you it was okay. Instead, you opt to let go of the mask and run your hand along his jaw and down his neck. Finally, you reach up and rub a thumb over his lips in the ghost of a motion, the singular move sending a shiver down your spine. A long silence envelops the two of you as you both stare intently at each other.

The silence is broken by Spider-Man who mutters a small ‘screw it’ before his lips are on yours. You’re surprised at first, a small noise of surprise leaving your lips, but you quickly melt into his touch. You rest one hand on his chest and the other on his neck as his gloved hands come to your waist and face. You could stay like this forever.

The two of you break apart and stare at each other with what you assume to be shock. That’s what it is for you, at least. Spider-Man just kissed you.

“I-I don’t even know who you are.” You breathe out, reality hitting you. You may know Spider-Man, but you don’t know him.

“You do.” Spider-Man reaches up to the edge of the mask.

“Wait! I- I don’t… If you can’t…” You stumble for the words, not wanting him to jeopardize his identity for you.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long, (Y/n/n). Trust me.” He lifts the edge of the mask until it’s entirely off and fallen to the bed. You gape at the man before you.

“Pete?” You whisper, a hand slowly coming to cover your open mouth.

“Hey, (Y/n/n).” He chuckles nervously.

“I’ve been crushing on my best friend this entire time.” You murmur to yourself.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You quickly clear your throat and look him up and down.

“So, the Stark internship--”

“Is just a cover for you being Spider-Man? Yeah, I think I figured that one out, genius.” You finish the sentence for him, setting your hand back down on his shoulder.

“Are you mad?” He asks, and you can tell he’s apprehensive for your answer.

“No. Shocked? Yes. But mad? No. You’re saving people’s lives, I can’t be mad at you for that.” You admit.

“But I lied to you.” He frowns.

“I mean, yeah, technically. But I’d do the same, so I’m not going to exactly blame you for that. Thank you for telling me now, though.”

“So does that mean I can kiss you again?” He asks, a small smile gracing his features. A light blush rises to your cheeks.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t hesitate. In a moment, he’s pulling you back down to him and his lips are on yours. You kiss him feverishly, wishing the moment would last forever again. Who would have known that Peter Parker could have been Spider-Man. All this time, you thought Peter had introduced you to the love of your life when in reality he’s been sitting right in front of your face.

“Movie night tomorrow night will be interesting.” Peter chuckles, running his thumb over your cheek.

“More than,” You agree, leaning down to peck his forehead, “now get some rest tonight, Spider-Man.”

“Lay with me?” He asks, getting into a more comfortable position on the bed so you can lay down with him.

“Gladly.” You smile and get into bed next to him.

This was certainly quite the interesting couple of months, but you’re not complaining. After all, the newspaper got saved, and you figured out that your crush and best friend are the same person and that he likes you back. Overall, you’d say that the interviews with Spider-Man proved to be a leaping success.

~+~

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!! Again, requests are open and so are my dm's! Have a great day!

166 notes View Post

imbackhome

2 years ago

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

695K notes View Post

imbackhome

2 years ago

Everyone was being so protective of me. I loved this lmao 😭🖐️

Webs of Opacity

Summary: On the eve of the annual Stark Halloween party, you’ve managed to gulp down too much alcohol and tangled yourself into intricate webs of trouble. Even glittering fairies can’t escape the drama, and handsome 80’s film characters can’t always save them from sleazy boyfriends and hangovers.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Rogers!reader (adopted, of course), Steve Rogers x sister!reader, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff

Word count: 6k

Warnings: underage drinking, reader being very drunk, unconsented kissing, mild violence

A/N: This is a mess, I’m sorry. Started this last fall and rushed to get it done in time for this year. Also happy Halloween and over a week of Midnights being out. Couldn’t help myself from referencing it every other paragraph lol

Also if anyone has any scenarios or requests for my college series please please send them to me! Love your enthusiasm for my Stark U babies and want to keep writing for them

Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Your shiny, entirely fake wings keep bumping into the ridiculous amount of people crammed into this room, and you're sure you have never apologized more times in your life than tonight. Wanda has assured you many times that, no, you should not take off your wings because you look, in her words, adorable. It was her idea, after all, to dress you up like a little flowery fairy for the Halloween party Tony has thrown tonight. She made your wings all fluttery and glittery, and the flowers in your hair sparkle every now and then. It feels like a childhood dream coming true.

"Spider-boy!" you call out over the loud music, jumping as you stretch your hand up in the air to alert the young man twenty feet away.

For a "quiet gathering" there sure are a lot of loud, drunk people here. Then again, it was your mistake to trust the promise of Stark when it came to a party.

Your jumping up and down is entirely unnecessary when you're trying to gain the attention of someone with a creepy sixth sense that allows them to just know everything happening around them. Peter already knew exactly where you were the moment you opened your mouth. It doesn't help that you're just a tiny, little bit of tipsy either.

He smiles a toothy grin as he pushes past the crowd towards you, showing glimpses of his Indiana Jones costume that's honestly a slightly surprising choice. He looks handsome though.

"Hi, Y/n!" he nearly shouts over the music, embracing you in a side hug as he takes a look at your outfit. "You're a fairy! It fits you so great, it's like you were meant to be one,” Peter exclaims happily while you chuckle lightheartedly.

"Thank you, it was Wanda's idea. Indiana Jones, huh?" you ask, raising an eyebrow in question. It's quite uncharacteristic. Last year he went as Nikola Tesla and nobody knew who he was supposed to be.

"Yeah, Tony said I had to go as something cooler this year. He'd disown me otherwise." Peter cringes while your head is thrown back in laughter.

"He told me I looked like a moth earlier," you answer with a grin on your lips, the remnants of your chuckles fading out.

"You look great, Y/n. Very sweet. Think Bucky's gonna get here any second and tell me to keep any 'punks' away from you," Peter tells you. You roll your eyes, though fondly.

"Hm, I bet he will," you hum. "Gotta send him back soon if he keeps that up. Both of them, for that sake."

You nod your head towards the blonde head sticking up in the bar crowd. Your brother is an overbearing mess that you would much rather let you be, instead of hovering protectively around your presence constantly. He seems to have eased up on his duties tonight, though, in honor of the holiday.

"I think it's good that—you know—they look out for you. There are a lot of bad guys out there," Peter says, scratching his head nervously like it would somehow offend you.

"Yeah, that's understandable. Though Steve and Bucky seem to think I'm still a kid." You scrunch your nose fondly.

"Well, you are. Kind of," Peter says. Your mouth hangs agape jokingly, with a silent scoff in answer.

"Oh, that's where we're going! You're only two years older, asshole," you say with a glare, taking a sip from the drink in your hand.

"Those two years make a world of difference." He smiles with a glint in his eyes. "Head off to college and then they'll see you as an adult, maybe."

"I'm going in January—stop looking at me like that!" you yell when he smirks, holding back a laugh. "I'm serious! Alright, okay, we're not playing nice tonight, are we?" You raise an eyebrow in question.

"Sure," he smiles. It falters just as quickly when you snatch the red solo cup out of his hand, gulping down the sweet and bitter liquid before crumpling the cup in your hands. "Hey!" Peter shouts. "You're not 21!"

"Neither are you." A victorious smile adorns your lips. You try not to show the distaste from the bitter liquid burning in your throat.

"In a few months!" Peter blushes and you fight the urge to coo at him because he gets shy over the most peculiar things.

"You're so cute, Parker," you tell him with a bop to his nose.

"Oh, piss off," he says and shakes his head.

"Learnt a new swear word? Impressive. College has really changed you."

"You're really annoying right know, you know that?"

You shake your head frantically, scrunching your nose simultaneously, and there's something different about you that Peter just noticed now.

"You're already drunk, aren't you?" he asks with realization dawning upon him. You gaze up at him with a mischievous glint and a gasp escapes him. "Y/n, Steve's gonna freak out on you!"

"He's never gonna find out. And I'm not drunk. I had three drinks earlier, 's fine," you say with a dismissive wave.

"Three drinks?" he breathes out in disbelief. "That's not little—hey! Hands off, asshole!" Peter interrupts the beginning of his speech to scare away the twenty-something with his hands on your hips.

"Dickhead," the guy mutters under his breath as he backs away. You turn around to meet Peter's eyes with a pout as the guy saunters off, a disappointed frown in between your brows.

"That guy was hot. You scared him away. You ruined my only chance," you pout.

You turn around again before Peter has the chance to answer, roaming your eyes around for the guy. With only a few seconds he's managed to land himself over by the bar, drink raised to his lips as he eyes you hungrily despite Peter's warnings. You smile, biting your lip with a newfound confidence you've never experienced. Yeah, definitely tipsy. Sober you would be hiding away in the cleaning closet by now.

"Well, yeah, he was—Y/n, hello?" Peter lays his hand on your shoulder, turning you around to meet his eyes again. "You know what? We're gonna go for a walk." He lays an arm around your shoulders, gently steering you away from the guy and into the crowd.

"Oh, where?" you ask, already forgotten the source of your previous pout. "Careful of my wings, Parker."

"It's a surprise," Peter says as he loosens his hold around your wings, glancing to see if they're alright. You stop talking almost instantly and for once he's happy to know some silence from you, because right now you can't seem to shut up and he's not used to spending time with your chipper-talkative version.

Peter pushes the two of you through the thick, sweaty crowd filled with lazy costumes and masterpieces alike, ranging from several layers thick to barely covering anything at all. He recognizes some of the people from the compound, some from his college that he doesn't even know how they got here, but most of them are complete strangers.

You send flirty glances and hellos over your shoulder to every guy you gain eye contact with. It's scary how fast the alcohol went to your brain, from being completely unnoticeable to half-drunk in a minute. Peter does not like the drunk you. Or he does, maybe, but not in a room filled with guys who just can't wait to get under your ridiculously cute dress. It's offensive really, how you can manage to look so excruciatingly innocent and hot at the same time. He'll curse out Wanda tomorrow.

The party is so packed with people that it takes ten minutes before he finds the ones he's looking for. Wanda and Natasha sip on their martinis in a ridiculously large couch, gossiping like a bunch of school girls as they shout encouragements at Sam and Tony on the dance floor. Peter sighs, nearly pushing you down on the couch next to Natasha before he slouches down himself.

"What do we have here, huh?" Natasha smirks and takes a small sip of her drink.

"She's drunk. I'm exhausted. Please take her off my hands," Peter says as he throws his head back on the couch. You let out a giggle, leaning against Natasha's shoulder.

"He's exaggerating," you say with your voice muffled by her shoulder.

"Okay, young lady. Drunk, huh?" Wanda asks, raising an eyebrow in question. Her perfectly red lips curl into a smile that shows she's not really upset about it.

"No," you mumble, scratching your nose with your manicured finger for the occasion. "Hiya, Auntie," you coo while curling up besides Natasha.

"Stop calling me Auntie," she mutters and gently pushes you off her shoulder.

"How's your boyfriend? Jake? No, John. Wait! Jack!" you fumble over your words. It might as well be any of the three names, because Natasha has been showing up with a new person on her arm every other month this year. You don't know what it is, really, but you guess you should be glad she's exploring her options.

"Jason," Natasha says through a roll of her eyes. The slightest hint of amusement can be found on her lips, but it's nothing that she shows to someone else. "And he's very much good, now stop asking. He's just getting drinks," she says and nods towards the bar.

"I like that guy," you exclaim excitedly. There's no doubt about your drunken state in this moment, because in no shape or form have you been as wounded up about any of Natasha's past partners.

"Hey, honey," Wanda catches your attention with a gentle hand on your arm, reaching across the sofa. "Where's your brother hiding? I can't imagine he would be very happy with you being drunk, no?" she asks.

"He can't know!" you exclaim with a whispered shout. "He's gonna kill me, please, Wanda."

Your eyes are blown wide open in fear. It's not that Steve would be mad—the disappointment is what you desperately want to evade. He gets that frown in between his eyebrows, puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head while looking down to the ground. Being on the receiving side of that is humiliating, on the verge of heartbreaking. You can't handle that tonight.

"I don't know, sweetheart..."

"Please, Wanda." There's tears gathering in your eyes, more so for dramatic effect than actual upset. You've slid down onto your knees in front of her, begging with your hands on her thighs.

"Oh god," Natasha mutters under her breath, setting down her drink on the table while indifferently glancing over to the bar where her boyfriend of the month resides.

She can't really handle this theatric version of you. There's a reason you're usually one of her favorites, despite your young age—your ability to be fucking quiet. Whoever gave you all that alcohol is on her damn hit list.

While she tunes out the conversation behind her, some kind of settlement is agreed upon where you, of course, get your way. No more alcohol, and Wanda won't tell your brother or Bucky what you have been up to.

When she stands up to leave, you're on your feet again. Now your attention has wandered over to Peter's costume, talking of how 'incredibly accurate to detail' it is despite being thrown together last minute by the college student. The only thing telling what he's dressed as is the hat paired with the old leather jacket.

A wet kiss is pressed to Natasha's cheek as soon as she joins Jason by the bar. His hand instantly finds her waist, pressing her into him tightly. His touch almost repulses her. He's too straightforward with his affection, so obvious in his quest to show her off.

"You look so goddamn sexy," he whispers into her ear. "Been thinking about what we talked about the other day."

Nat hums absentmindedly in answer, raising a finger swiftly to wave over the bartender.

"You know, having another p—"

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about," she interrupts him.

He brought it up about a week ago, and she only entertained the idea because she was bored. Jason is only a temporary occupation for her constant need to destress—there's no way in hell she's gonna adhere to his fantasy of having two girls sucking him off at the same time.

"She's not your real niece, no?" Jason asks suddenly, setting his gaze on your soft curves in that angelic dress framing your figure on the other side of the room.

Natasha's attention snaps from her drink to where his eyes are set. "You know she's not," she mutters as she takes a sip on her martini, suspiciously eyeing her boyfriend.

"I'm up for it," he says, nodding your way.

"Excuse me?" Natasha raises an eyebrow, gracefully setting down her glass on the counter.

"She's our girl, I have a feeling she is. You can ask her, can't you?" Jason smirks as he shamelessly keeps his stare on you. "Pretty little thing like that would be up for anything, wouldn't she?"

It takes exactly two seconds for Natasha to have a sharp fork pressed against Jason's side, just above one of his major arteries and restricting his breathing. A choked gurgle escapes his lips as Natasha's mouth lingers next to his ear.

"I know 72 different ways to break every bone in your body, and I can make 65 of them seem like an accident." Her smooth voice fills his ear. "Keep her name out of your mouth."

She keeps the fork pressed into his skin for a few seconds, just for extra measure, before she lets it go and Jason coughs violently as his hand flies up to his throat. Natasha takes another sip of her drink, glancing over the unsuspecting crowd with a roll of her eyes.

"I suggest you leave. Go clean up in the bathroom, you have a stain on your shirt," Natasha says before taking her drink and walking away.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

You squeeze yourself through the thick bathroom line, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while trying to avoid bumping into as many people as possible. You gave up on preserving your wings two drinks ago, because quite frankly you have forgotten them by now.

You might also have ignored your fellow elders' warnings of laying off the alcohol, choosing to indulge in whatever drink you could get your hands on for one evening only. It's a risky move, but it's something you can afford. You rarely stir up any trouble, if any at all. What fun is it if you remain predictable all the time?

The music blares through the floor, thumping along with the people jumping up and down against it. You're out of it in the most wonderful way, rid of your constant presence in your own mind, if even for just a short while. The consequences do not exist and neither does your conscience.

When a guy in his late twenties, or thirties, maybe even your age, grasps a hold of your hand and asks if you want to dance, you answer yes without any hesitation. Sweaty bodies spread their heat around, pushing up against you and the mysterious guy as you move against each other.

You barely know what you're doing. You're only following along, letting him control your movements close to his body. If you were more sober you would have seen how it could be more likened to grinding than dancing, but the weight of his hands on your hips feels grounding instead of unnerving.

"You look so fucking pretty," he says into your ear, muffled by the alcohol buzzing in your head and the music blaring over the speakers.

You throw your arms around his neck, looking up at him with what you think is a smile. You're trying, at least. "Thank—" Hiccup. "Thank you. You're pretty too," you say, even though you can barely make out his features in the darkness.

But you think he looks pretty. A hypothesis based on the way his hands feel on your skin. Hot may be a better word for it, but in your state of mind adjectives do not differ especially much from each other. That's why you let him drag you away from the crowd, pushing through drunk people until you find a relatively secluded corner of the floor.

The wall is cold against your heated skin, your back against it while the man's arms cage you in. The feeling of his lips trailing across your neck barely registers. It just feels nice, you think. Your eyes are fluttered close, back arching while you mumble indetectable words you can't even decipher yourself. You're so fucking drunk you won't even remember this moment in the morning.

That's the problem with you drinking tonight—your alcohol consumption has been so limited that you have no conception of whatever is much or not. You have no idea if it takes three or six drinks to get you affected. You have no idea what you are like on tequila or vodka, on Prosecco or red wine. So now, eight drinks later of so many different types you can't even remember which was which, you're out of it enough to barely remember your own name.

His wet lips against yours are a suffocating presence you would much rather be without. It's sloppy and rushed, not at all what you imagined kissing would be. You wince to yourself, pushing him away just an inch to run the back of your hand against your mouth.

And then he's suddenly gone. You could have sworn he stood right in front of you. It takes a good ten seconds before you find him on the floor, clutching his nose with an angry frown in between his eyebrows.

"What the fuck, man?!" he shouts, looking up at the guy who has a funny hat on his head and a heaving chest.

"Stay away from her," the guy seethes, suddenly taking a gentle hold of your arm.

You don't have it in you to protest. Maybe it's dangerous to follow whoever when they tell you to, but your moral compass is non-existent in this state.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" the guy asks you. You blink, staring at his face while trying to piece together his features. No words come out of your mouth. "Damnit," he sighs, shaking his head.

A woman comes up to him with rushed steps, agitated look on her face. "Is she alright, Peter?" She runs her eyes over your disheveled figure.

"She's completely out of it. Must have snuck in quite a lot of more drinks," he answers. "Your dickhead of a boyfriend is taken care of, by the way. Probably won't stir up anymore trouble now."

"I should have checked so he actually left. It was reckless to think he would leave her alone," she says with a stern face, cold gaze watching the exit.

"Wasn't your fault, Nat," Peter assures her. You sway in your stance, stumbling into his hold while he steadies his grip around you.

"She needs to lay down before she passes out. Get her a glass of water for me, will you?" Natasha commands.

Peter nods, giving you a concerned glance before reluctantly heading towards the bar. Your head comes to lean on Natasha's shoulder with a whine, letting her lead you wherever she's going. You're starting to feel dizzy and slightly nauseous, and you do not like it. If you had the energy to speak you would launch a heavy string of complaints.

"Come on now, darling. A few more steps," she says, taking on more of your weight.

Your face is buried into her shoulder. The only thing detectable from your blubbering is the whines, wordlessly pleading to take you away from wherever you are and rid you of the nausea.

Heavy glances are exchanged between Peter and Natasha as he pushes through the crowd, fingers clinging tightly onto the large glass in his hand.

"Here," he breathes out, reaching the glass towards her.

She takes it from his hands, tilting your chin up with her manicured fingers. "There you go, Y/n," she mumbles as you gulp down small sips of the liquid.

The music blares loudly throughout the large room, sweaty bodies packed tightly together. What you found exhilarating and exciting twenty minutes ago is now suffocating. It's the only thing you know as you barely stand on two feet amongst the crowd. If it weren't for Nat, you would be in a heap on the floor.

"Let's go." Natasha nods towards the exit, glancing over her shoulder as Peter trails shortly after.

You're barely awake, burrowing your face into the crook of her neck. Peter can smell the stale alcohol on your breath from where he walks just beside the two of you—fruity drinks and vodka and tequila and wine. It unnerves him to think that you might have ingested enough of the poison to make it dangerous.

The bitter night air is refreshing for anyone who's senses are at least partly alert. It's a blessing really, that tonight you only have the short walk from the party to your homes located just on the other side of the compound grounds.

The dewy grass is partially lit up by strobe lights placed along the lines of the premises, soaking Natasha's heels and Peter's loafers. Your bare arms prickle with the low temperature.

It feels like an awfully long journey for Peter as he walks along Natasha, halfway waking up enough from the haze to take on some of your weight as well. There's a thought or two of swinging you back home in just a few seconds, but there's not much for his web to hold onto out here. The anxiety creates shudders in his limbs and forces him to glance over to your figure every other second.

"She'll be fine, Peter," Natasha says without so much as sparing him a glance. "She's just drunk. It'll be over tomorrow."

But his anxiety doesn't ease, rightfully so, when your palm suddenly pushes against her chest with all the force you can muster in your state. You whine, sprawling your legs until they have no option but to release you.

"Wha—"

On your knees, bent over the small bushes meticulously trimmed by the nice gardeners, you throw your guts out with shudders wracking the whole of your body. Awful.

Natasha could have said 'I told you so', but people make dumb decisions while drunk and she already feels bad for you over what Jason did. "Oh, honey," she whispers to herself instead, taking a step forward to reach you.

But Peter's faster. Of course he is. The young man is kneeling down beside you, hand gently wrapping around your hair to pull it aside while the other rubs against your back.

Any other time, when alcohol isn't poisoning your blood, and you would have felt ashamed. You probably will be tomorrow. You would have reacted to Peter being the one to take care of you, especially after showing such irritation about your state earlier.

The grass is cold and wet against your knees, but it is a welcome relief from the heat plaguing your skin. You are almost certain there are tears making their way out of your eyes and you would positively murder someone for another glass of water.

Instead of gulping down another glass, like you want to, you close your eyes while breathing out deeply. The nausea slowly fades away with each second, the heat being replaced by dewy goosebumps on your skin, all the while clarity pushes itself past the alcohol-induced blur.

A raspy cough. A thick gulp, swallowing too much air at the same time but you force yourself to hold it in. "Did I just kiss someone?" you speak for the first time in an hour.

And Natasha nearly laughs, until she remembers the state you were in. You didn't kiss someone.

"No, Y/n," she says softly, glancing up at Peter with a hardened gaze that tells him to keep his mouth shut. "No, you didn't."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It's dark, empty of anyone who usually resides in the living room. The lights flickered on one by one, lighting up the space too much for your liking when you stepped inside. A whine was all it took for Peter to turn them off again.

You've been discarded on the couch, legs stretched out over Nat’s thighs with a cold, wet towel laying on your face. Peter sits fiddling with his fingers just beside your head. It's quiet—thankfully—even though you feel much better than before.

"What time is it?" you ask after what must have been ten minutes of complete silence.

"It's, uh, ten past one," Peter stutters out, like he's surprised by the sound of your voice. In reality he just reacts this way each time you speak, but the circumstances have chipped on his resolve. He can't hide his shivers behind a cool facade anymore.

"Happy Halloween," you croak out, earning a quiet chuckle from him. He checks his phone to see the date on top of the screen. 31st October, indeed.

Honestly, Peter has been some kind of obsessed with you since he was sixteen and visited the compound for the first time. You and Steve were walking on the trail slinging around the grounds, deep into solemn conversation.

Peter should have been listening to the endless list of security policy Happy was lining up for him, but he just couldn't tear his eyes off of you. Not because you were beautiful—you are, but he couldn't really see your face in detail from that far away—but because there was someone else his age in the same situation as him. Then he found out you were just Steve's adopted little sister and was a bit disappointed over your lack of involvement with the Avengers.

For weeks he tried to understand why you were in this century too and if Captain America had kept you secret for a reason. Peter was too nervous to actually talk to you until Tony shut him out of some team meeting and you were the only other one in the living room. He saw you everyday after that.

But now he's living hours away at university and he hates that it feels like you're drifting apart and everything is happening without him knowing. You drinking and being interested in men and men being interested in you. He tries to keep the contact up—texts you everyday and calls you and sends messages to Steve or Bucky if you don't answer. For the things you won't tell him, the things he can't see.

He was so excited for tonight. Chose the Indiana Jones costume because Harrison Ford is cool and sexy in those movies and surely you must think that too? And damn it, when he saw you sparkle and shimmer as you walked into the room with your wings fluttering he almost fell to the ground. It was fun as long as you were sober enough to actually talk to him.

Peter's spent the last hour and a half so goddamn mad at Natasha's boyfriend. And of course he is jealous, it should have been him you were dancing with like that, but that man took advantage of your vulnerable state. You could barely stand up, let alone actually protest or give your consent. Peter doesn't know if that was your first kiss or not, but regardless he's mighty glad he knocked the guy out.

You've gone quiet again, and he almost thinks you have fallen asleep, but you peek out from under the towel when the door you all came in through is thrown open. Heavy boots clank against the floor and a frown adorns Steve Rogers', or Fred from Scooby Doo for the night, face when he and his best friend barges inside. It doesn't take long for them to catch sight of the couch occupied by a wide-eyed Peter, stoic Natasha and still kind of drunk Y/n.

"You're going to be the death of me, young lady," Steve speaks up, letting out a deep sigh once he's close enough to tower over your figure.

He got a run-through of the events by a slightly dramatic Asgardian god and an infinitely more concerned Wanda a few minutes ago. You had gotten black-out drunk and found yourself grinding against some punk in the crowd. That was forgivable, even though Steve would much rather you didn’t at this age. Then that fucking jerk shoved his tongue down your throat despite you barely being able to form words. Yeah, Jackson or Jacob or whatever his name was had a talk with Bucky before the two of them rushed over here.

With his hands on his hips and a shake of his head, Steve stands there for a second before kneeling down. Bucky has his arms crossed a few feet away like he still hasn't really decided wether he's pissed or just feels sorry for you.

"You okay, Y/n?" Steve asks you, a little softer. His palm has come to feel your forehead, even though you doubt fever is a common symptom of being hungover.

Peter is paralyzed beside him. He’s quite sure Steve knows how completely infatuated he is with you. Mostly because Peter accidentally, somehow, sent a voice message meant for Ned to Bucky. He must have shared that by now. What should I wear? Y/n is going to be there. Han Solo? Does she even like brunettes? Is she into blondes? Oh god, I’m helpless.

"No," you mutter in answer to your brother’s question. "This sucks. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Bucky snorts. "What did you even drink? Vodka?"

"No. I don't know. In the beginning it was just some screw-top rosé Peter's roommate brought," you tell him, scrunching your nose with the memory of the taste of it. "It tasted cheap."

"Oh, because you know things like that now, do you?" Bucky says, raising his eyebrows at you. "Can tell expensive wine from cheap-ass rosé?"

"Buck," Steve says before you even have the chance to answer. Chastises, maybe. "You're not 21 yet. Who gave all that alcohol to you?"

You turn your head away, pressing it into the pillow. Steve turns you back to him with a hand to your shoulder, giving you a pointed look that holds some level of amusement. He acts like God's righteous man, but he was a troublemaker in his youth. Tony would have a field day if he knew all the times Steve came home drunk at sixteen after drinking some musty home-made brandy.

"Peter?" Steve looks up at him when you choose not to answer, using alternative, dirty methods to get answers. Cheater. Your mouth falls open, looking over at both your brother and Peter with an offended glare.

The young man stutters, eyes glancing frantically between the two of you while trying to figure out who scares him the most. "I—uh, don't know. My roommate. Apparently. Natasha's boyf—ex?"

The playful tone dims into stern faces and clenched jaws as the villain of the evening is mentioned out loud. You're caught up deciphering the sudden switch in attitude for longer than you should have before solving the riddle. Natasha told you nothing happened, but unfortunately you have vague pictures of a man, her man, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Oh god.

You sink even further into the couch, if that's possible, shielding yourself from the undoubtably judgemental gazes shared in the room. Natasha's boyfriend cheated with you and you didn't even say anything.

"Don't hide from us, sweetheart," Steve says, brushing hair away from your face. "Hey, it's not your fault. That punk took advantage of you. You weren't in your right mind."

Your dickhead of a brother knows you too well. Can tell with just a glance when you're overthinking and analyzing and blaming yourself for problems that have nothing to do with you from the beginning.

"Calm down, birdie,” Nat says softly, earning your attention even though you want to crawl out of your skin. “That's not a conscious decision, when you're drunk like that. It wasn't your fault in the least. Fourty minutes ago you couldn't even stand straight.”

"I'm really sorry, Nat," you say, eyes flickering down to your legs draped over her lap.

"Stop it. That fucking dickhead thought it would be a good idea to tell me he wanted to have a threesome with you. I told him to stay away from you and leave, but he obviously didn't. Probably just to spite me."

"Threesome?" Steve chokes on his breath and the word comes out as more of a cough. He tightens his hold on your hand until you let out a wince, drawing a whispered ‘sorry’ from his lips.

“Me?” you breathe out, sitting up a little higher.

Peter pushes you down onto the pillow again not even a second later. He doesn’t want you to strain yourself. He’s also fucking pissed now because that man not only assaulted you, he also asked Natasha to have a threesome with you. A 19-year old.

“I’m sorry that he took advantage of you, Y/n. Not going to bring anymore of these assholes I keep dating.” Natasha sighs tiredly, letting her head fall back against the couch.

“That’s not your fault either, you know,” Bucky mutters, earning a pointed look from her that says more than her words can. A ‘thank you’ and ‘I know, dickhead’ simultaneously.

A comfortable silence spanning a dozen of seconds is shared between the five of you. It’s late and everyone is tired and what needed to be said has already been said. You’re fine after all and Natasha will be okay, if she isn’t already.

Peter shifts uncomfortably beside you, brushing against your hair and alerting you even more of his presence. He’s been so sweet to you tonight. He always has been. It guilts you now that you have taken his kindness for granted with time, but Peter cared for you the entire evening despite his teasing words.

You don’t know if it means something. Peter is good to everyone. And he has—MJ and him seem so close. They most likely spend all their time together now when they go the same college. Both geniuses. You don’t really have much to contribute except being the younger sister of America’s favorite hero and embarrassing yourself in a fairy costume on Halloween.

So you push the thought aside. Bury it deep and take in the rest of your surroundings. A quiet snort rests on your lips as you assess the brooding man who has finally seated himself down on an uncomfortable chair from the kitchen.

"Your costume is horrible, Bucky. You're not even dressed up,” you speak up, breaking the silence with a playful smile.

"Yes. I am," he mutters. "I have a mask."

"That does not count. You're wearing your normal clothes." You giggle while he rolls his eyes, earning a chuckle from you brother too. He’s glad to see you cheering up.

“What is considered a real costume then, sweets?” Bucky asks you, raising his eyebrows while pinpointing you with his ingenuine glare.

“I don’t know.” You look around, glancing over your brother’s attempt at a classic Fred, Natasha’s Dorothy, before landing on Indiana Jones. “Peter’s is good,” you mumble, heat spreading to your cheeks from nowhere. Why are you reacting this way?

“Yeah, sure lucky ‘bout that since he planned it all for you,” he mumbles under his breath. “Punk is head over heels.”

The breath escapes the two of you—you and Peter. Because Peter knows Bucky is right and you can’t believe what you just heard.

“What?” both you and Steve say simultaneously. Your brother has turned his entire body towards Peter.

You raise yourself up to a seat, glancing between Bucky and Peter. The latter’s eyes are wide open, lips parted. Guilty.

“Peter?” you ask him, so quietly he almost has to rely on the shape of your lips to hear what you said.

A clearing of his throat. Scratch on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, about that…”

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imbackhome

3 years ago

Same her bestie!!!!!!!! I also get so jealous 😔😔

i hate when i search “_____ x reader” and OC fics come up :((

im a scorpio moon, i get jealous guys. i cannot be reading about my fictional crushes with other people😭

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imbackhome

2 years ago

"I would kill for you." 😩😩

Do you remember? teaser

Posting a new fic Wednesday the 5th. Here's a little teaser to get you hyped, i am very excited for this one!

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

Peter has always been caring and would stop at nothing to keep you safe but after tonight the feeling deepened. It went from keeping you safe to a sense of protection, he felt like it was his personal duty to harm whatever came in your path.

He moved a piece of hair from your face as it dawned on him, he told himself “I would kill for her.” He felt his heart get loud in his chest and ears and felt his feet clam up, he hadn’t felt like this before.

It’s never been so black and white, he knew at that moment had everyone ever tried to hurt you he would do anything in his power possible to keep you safe and protected.

And suddenly he had to leave. He didn’t like that feeling. He's a good guy, he’s the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, he keeps the city safe. So the idea of him being so okay with hurting anyone who ever tries to touch you scares him.

He was thinking like a villain; heros will protect the many at the cost of one but villains protect one at the cost of many, and he would destroy New York for you.

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