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railingsofsorrow · 1 year

Text

Memories

[peter parker x reader]

summary: you find an old photo album. and some other things.

pairing: p.parker x fem!reader; h.osborn x fem!reader

w.c: 3.7K

warnings/content: Angst™; description of headaches/migraines; mention of memory loss; a lot of crying & sadness & anger :)

A/N: heavy chapter this one 🤭. good reading, i recommend tissues. ps: the title of this fic is finally making sense. next week i'll post the last one!

navi

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❝ [...] autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

and I can picture it

after all these days

and I know it's long gone,

and that magic is not here no more and I might be okay, but I'm not fine at all.❞

Footsteps approaching made you blink away to get out of your daydreaming again.

“Found it,” Peter says, pulling a chair to sit beside you. He then sees you pressing your thumbs on your forehead, a crease between your eyebrows. His eyes soften slightly. “Headache?”

You nod slowly, refraining from moving your head too much.

Every time you had one of those... dreams, a migraine followed right after. It seemed to be getting worst day in and day out, you didn't know how to stop it. Although now, you were able to see small differences and you could almost grasp the voice. The boy's face still blurred, but his voice was starting to come alive in your head — like a word on the tip of the tongue that you can't recall for some reason.

He's real.

“Sorry, where were we again?” You straightened your back to promptly begin the assignment.

Peter Parker and you were assigned to do a project together, about a week ago. You are the kind of person that likes to starts things and end them as soon as you can, leaving nothing uncompleted or done half-way. But Peter had a lot of things to commit to this week. And every other week, apparently, because he always leaves classes abruptly. You keep saying it's none of your business. Because it is none of your business. You barely know him and you two aren't exactly friends — university colleagues, maybe — but seeing him arrive occasionally with a busted lip or a purple eye makes you want to go up to him and ask if everything’s okay. If he needs someone to talk. Just talk. Because that can help a lot.

There was another thing as well. His name. Of course there are millions of Peters in the world, the person in your dream with the same name is just a merely coincidence. An unfortunate one at that; you can't help yourself but stare at the warm brown eyes of the boy at your side and find something...

No.

Nothing. There's nothing familiar in a completely stranger because of a stupid dream.

You're seeing him everywhere.

“You're not wearing your scarf today.”

You look up from your scribbling, casting him a confused glance. Peter met your eyes but quickly forced his attention back to his own notes. He was always like this, could never meet your eyes for longer. You wondered if you made him uncomfortable.

“Your scarf. The red one,” he elaborated, clearing his throat. “I never see you without it.”

“Oh.”

Touching your neck subconsciously, you realized you were in fact, without it today. Peter's right, you never go anywhere without that scarf. You're attached to it. One of those things you can't explain, the feelings just has always been there. You couldn't remember who gave it to you, either. You just know it was a gift from a birthday of yours. Not that long ago, maybe. You couldn't be certain.

You find that your memory has been giving you trouble.

You made a mental note to search through those old photo albums your mother insisted you kept with you as you moved out. Nearly all of your life was in there. Maybe there's a hint from where you got your favourite scarf.

“Yeah, I... I forgot to put it on.” You said, giving him a soft smile.

That had been a lie. You never forget to put it on, it was practically another limb to you, but these days... something felt different about it. It was like you were holding onto something. You didn't even know what it was, but there was this longing, this pain, eating away at your chest, chewing every part of you.

It wasn't just the scarf. Of course not. You knew you were projecting on it. The universe knew you were trying to make sense of anything your subconscious was telling you.

“Are you heading out, already?” You ask upon seeing him organizing his stuff. Peter regards you with a quick look before vigorously stuffing something red inside his backpack that had slipped for a second.

“Uh, yes. I am, have to— you know. Stuff.”

You hesitate as he's about to rush out of the library, but you can't help yourself. “Peter,« You call out, attracting unwanted attention. But you don't care because he looks back at you. You ignore the nasty looks caused by your disturbance and steps closer to him, lowering your voice carefully before speaking. “Are you okay?” You question, placing a hand on his arm.

Peter opens and closes his mouth many times. “Why?” He croaks out a softly.

“Your left eye. You got injured, right?” You winde slightly at the invasive insinuation. Fuck it. “I've seen you bruised before. I just wanted to know if— if you were okay.” You carried on despite the uncertainty.

You expected Peter to explicitly judge you and tell you off for meddling into his life but he didn't do that. What you didn't expect him to do was looking at you the way he was looking. Gaze soft, a smile at the corner of his lips as if he had heard this phrase before and the warm touch of his hand on yours. You only realized you were still touching his arm when you retracted it, a burning sensation within your fingers. Peter's features twitched with guilt.

“I'm fine. I-I'm sorry.”

“Why are you...” Your voice died down when he left abruptly. “Apologizing.” You stayed frozen in the middle of the library for a while before realizing your stupidity, then you walked back, grabbed your stuff and left. The tingling sensation on your hand still there, but your headache was gone.

Photo albums were the reason you turned your room upside down. And where the hell were them anyway? You swore you brought them with you in one of your moving boxes, but the enigma was where you were keeping them.

“Why are you tearing our room apart.” You looked up from your mess on the floor to your roommate leaning against the door frame with folded arms. Grimacing, you greeted her.

“Hey, Stella. I'm looking for something, sorry I'll clean everything up after I'm done.”

She crouched down beside you, pushing away some of your things to sit. “What are you looking for?”

You sigh, “A photo album. More than one, actually. But if I find just one, I'd be happy.” You said, frustrated, throwing a few of your clothes at your bed. You had teared up your whole wardrobe. Nothing there.

She hums, grabbing a red sleeveless blouse of yours from the bundle of mess you had thrown at your bed. “If I find it, will you let me wear this to my date tonight?”

“You have a date?” Your face morphed in confusion. Stella had spilled her love life to you the first week you moved in and her main rule that she took very seriously — her words — was I don't do dates. They're so boring. And then she proceeded to tell you all about her favourite kinks. No, you hadn't asked. But you were weirded out that night and you laughed a lot.

She bopped your nose as she got up, “I do.”

“I thought you didn't do dates?”

She pointed at something besides your desk, “Try there. It's that box you brought that you asked me to never touch. Guess you haven't touched yet.” You let out a gasp and hauled your sitting frame towards the box. Memory box. That's what you called it. How couldn't you remember that? It was the only place in which your old stuff could be, you had reserved a little spot just for that. “Oh, and things can change, babe! I fell in love at first sight, how do you expect me to say no when she invites me to dinner? It's corny and it's cliché and I hate the idea but it's her so I don't hate it that much.” Stella yells out from the bathroom, sharing more details of her newest crush.

There it was. You think to yourself, a warm feeling in your chest to have found the old thing.

The dingy and washed-out green cover called out to you more than the colorful bracelets or the old letters. The pages were stained, too. But what makes your heart stops is the little boy present in most of your childhood pictures, someone who wasn't there before because instead of him laid an empty space. That cheeky grin, those dimples and that face full of baby fat. You were beaming by his side, his arm around your shoulders and your hands wrapped around his waist, your cheeks were scrunched together from how tight you were holding onto each other. Best friends — is what's written down behind the polaroid, in a messy childish handwriting. Yours, you recognized. The date was blurred but you didn't need it. The memory was as clear as if you were touching it with your fingers. How could you have looked at those pictures before and not remember every piece of him?

“You can't do it like that,” Peter scolded you, pouting when you tried to stand upside down again. “You'll get hurt.”The eleven year old boy said in annoyance when you tried it again and fell on the grass. Almost scraping yourself.

You giggled, wriggling your feet. “Why don't you do it? Scared, Pete? Such a baby.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “I do it waaay better than you and I don't break an arm because of it."

“That was one time!”

The next page had your parents, too. And his. The four of you were smiling at the camera as a puzzle laid at the center, nearly completed. Your mind pulled you somewhere else; a little further into the timeline of when that picture had been taken.

“Peter,” You knocked again after having no answer. “Peter, it's me.” May watched you with a sad look in her eyes, but you could see the hope dangling from her. ‘You're the only one that can get him out of this room on days like this’ — She'd tell you as soon as you walked into the apartment. That day had been the seventh anniversary of Richard and Mary Parker's death, it made sense that your best friend wanted to isolate himself from the world, but you noticed the light dimming from his eyes for days before. “I brought chocolate and Back To the Future.” No answer. You exhale and share a guilty look with May. “I can come back later, if you—”

The sound of the door being unlocked made your breathing stop. Although the handle didn't budge, you took that as an invite and entered the room quietly. Everything was reflecting his feelings and it was exactly what you expected to see as you surveyed the area in search for his light brown curls. Ignoring the mess of sweaters and t-shirts and smelly socks, you followed in direction of the mound of blankets, peaking below as you perched on the edge of the bed. “Hi, Pete,” You mumbled a softly as you spotted the puffy-eyed and red nosed boy.

“You brought chocolate?” He let out in a hoarse voice, stealing a look at your hands. You smiled.

You frowned when the images started to get stained with droplets of water. Tears. You were crying.

The next page had four pictures. Two taken by you and two taken by him. You remembered when they happened. It wasn't that far long ago. Which made it hurt even more.

“Did you just take a picture of me, Parker?” You gave him a playful glare.

May was traveling with some friends in that weekend and that left their apartment just for the two of you. Cuddles and baking and conversations about the future and teenage doubts. You were about to enter your last high school year. A lot would change, insecurities just gripped at your skin. You couldn't control the future, not matter how much you enjoyed the present. And you'd miss this. You'd miss being around Peter without being concerned about bigger adult problems.

But you didn't have to let that go, right? Not for now. You hoped, not for a far future.

“I haven't even brushed my hair yet,” you snickered, hiding your sleepy face behind your hand. Peter nudged your hand away, capturing another one. You objected loudly, standing up from your comfortable position on the couch to sneak the Polaroid camera out of his reach. Peter chuckled as you put the lense close to his face and said “Smile.” you clicked, giving him a look as you waited for the photo to clear up. “See? How'd you like that?”

“You're beautiful either way, baby. I'm not.” He pointed out as you surveyed both pictures. Your eyes immediately softening at the two of you. “See?” he grabbed yours, lifting for you to see it as if he was proving a point. “Beautiful. Showstopper. Perfect.”

The blush coating your cheeks were the indication he needed to carry on with compliments. Until you protested enough for him to stop.

“I love you.” Peter mumbled in the silence you had created in his apartment. Your back was pressed against his chest as a movie played on the television, one you barely paid attention to anymore because your eyes were almost dropping completely. “I love you more than anything in my life. I'm sorry that I can't keep you safe like I intended to.” He whispered the last part, not meaning for you to hear it, but you did. Shifting your body to meet his eyes, you saw his guilt upon thinking he had woken you up.

“You don't need to keep me safe, Peter,” You promises, touching his cheek softly. His freckles had faded a bit but by bring this close you were still able to see some. “You just have to come back to me every day.”

He frowned, “You're in constant danger because of me.”

“Not because of you. People don't know who Spiderman is,” You counterattack with mischief in your eyes. “That means I can enjoy both...” You peck his lips and feels him trying to supress a grin “... by myself. I love you, too. And you'll never lose me, okay?"

His hair darkened throughout the years, admitting a light shade of brown instead of blonde. The dimples and curls were still the same, that hadn't changed.

That hadn't changed.

In another polaroid, MJ's awkward smile at your side and Ned's excited persona at Peter's side told you this was taken two years ago. All of you were at the airport, just before boarding the plane for a two-week summer field trip to Europe organized by Midtown.

It had been five years after the blip.

“This is a stupid plan.” You told Peter.

He let out a long sigh, “I know, you've said that five times already.”

“And I'm going to say it one more time. We just found out that Quentin cannot be trusted, that he's dangerous. And you think going off on him on your own is going to be a good idea?”

“I'm not on my own.” Peter gritted. He was frustrated. So much had happened and the only thing he needed was for you to be by his side. But you weren't.

“Right,” you scoffed. “Nick Fury is on the phone. Who else. Captain fucking America, Peter?”

“Stop.” He said with an edge to his tone. MJ and Ned had left the room as soon as they felt the tension, they didn't feel like staying to see the bomb drop between the two of you.

“Well, someone has to tell the truth in your face!”

“What truth?!” He yelled, trying to match your tone. That was a new reaction. From both of you. You never screamed at each other, any disagreements were dealt with calm conversations. Your relationship didn't have much room to grow past friendship before Thanos took him away from you. “I'm trying to fix what I messed up. I'm trying to stop Beck and how do you suggest I do that other than going after him?”

“Stop trying to be the hero!” Your face was red, throat burning in rage. But there was something else, too. You were terrified. “Stop trying to prove something to someone that isn't here anymore, Peter. You're putting yourself in danger—”

Peter ran a hand through his face, “Don't.” His stern voice cut you off and the cold gaze he sent your way had you thinking twice about what you had said. “Do not bring Tony into this. This is not what this is about.”

Your whole demeanor softened and your anger dissipated like a melting snow. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“What changed?” He shook his head, staring at you as if he could see your bare soul. His eyes had dark bags from sleepless nights and you wished more than anything that he just rested for a minute. “You're being so difficult and I don't know what to do anymore.”

Your heart clenched — You're being so difficult.

You knew you weren't helping him. However, you grieved Peter Parker for five years. You laid in your bed, day and night, crying to sleep until your tears dried and your body begged for sunlight. Watching him go through the same situations as he did before the blip had your mind going back to that same place. Those empty days. Yes, you were being selfish. But you lost your best friend and your boyfriend at once. You weren't about to lose him twice.

You didn't know what you would do if you lost Peter again.

Upon noticing your silence, he turned his attention back to you again. His irritation melting into concern when he saw you crying silently. He arrived at your side as fast as he could, almost stumbling on his feet. “Hey, hey,” he cupped your cheeks, lifting your gaze to his. “Don't cry, I'm sorry,” he mumbled into your hair as you let out heartbreaking sobs. There was so much pain in your cries that Peter didn't know how to comfort you. Ever since he came back, he failed on making you feel better. What was he doing wrong? “I didn't meant to hurt you, baby.” he whispered, voice cracking because he was also trying to keep his tears at bay.

A lot had changed and the fault didn't belong to any of you.

“You didn't.” you buried your face into his neck, shaking slightly. “I just— Peter, I can't, I can't lose you again. If you go and don't come back I don't know what I'll do—”

“I will come back,” he said seriously, tilting his head to meet your eyes, “I promise you I'll come back, okay?”

“You promised before.”

Peter exhaled shakily. He had promised you this before. Right before he went up to space, stupidest idea he ever had. He kissed you on the bus and said “I'll come back. We have a movie night later, yeah? Wait for me.”

You had waited. Five years. And you had every right to not believe his words anymore.

“I know,” he brushed a strand away from your damp cheek. “But this is not the same from last time. And I-I know I can't ask you to trust me again. It's not fair. It wasn't fair.” his forehead fell onto yours as he shut his eyes at the same time he touched your face afraid that you'd slip away. “But I can promise you that I'll do everything in my power to always come back. Can you trust that?”

You nod, exhaling slowly now that your sobs had stopped. “Mm. I can do that.”

You were so wrong in trusting him. So wrong on believing that he'd kept any of his promises. Peter Parker was a fucking liar. The biggest of them.

And here you were, one more time, suffering because of yet another broken promise.

You let the photo album fall into the floor as you scrambled around for your phone. Opening your photo gallery, you scrolled hazardously through the library until you found those old pictures that made no sense. Previously you were holding the air, kissing the air or laughing at absolutely nothing. But now. Now he was there. The same face you saw today, exchanging ideas for a university project in the library. Warm brown hair and honey colored eyes.

That voice in your head during your dreams — which weren't dreams at all, it was your memories attempting to come back. Something that belonged to you in the first place, that should have never been tampered with— and the reason why it seemed so familiar. So close. He had been there all the time.

The missing piece. Peter Parker.

The tiny scar at your eyebrow only made sense now. Your fingers grazed over it as the feeling off betrayal resurfaced with the memory from that fateful evening. When you lost two things. Peter and a part of yourself.

“Peter,” you said, body closing the space between the two of you in desperation. “Peter, I don't want you to go.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he told you, hands wrapping around your back and squeezing you a bit. You started to sob.

You buried your nose in his neck as if you were scared you would never be able to do that again.

“Please, Peter. I don't want to forget you. There has to be another way, I don't want to be without you.”

The scarf was wrapped tightly around your hand, the photo album clutched on the other. Your pace was fast and certain. But you couldn't be more uncertain of your path. You didn't now where you were going. You just wanted to get out of that room filled with your past. Still, you carried the two things that would make you crawling back to it.

He inhaled sharply, “You won't.” There was certainly in his tone. He would make you remember, he had to. “I'll make you remember me. Hey,” he leaned away to cup your cheeks, smiling sadly with the waterfall in your eyes. “I'll make you remember me, okay? I promise.”

Maybe you should burn both. Pretend you never remembered anything at all and just let it go. Since your history hadn't meant anything to him, why should it meant anything to you? Why should you be the only one destroyed?

You sniffled, clutching his hand that was touching your cheek. “you promise?”

“I promise.” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I promise you.”

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

In your angry stupor, you didn't notice a car driving by as your crossed the avenue. It was only when the incessant beeping reached your ears that you blinked and froze, startled.

It had been too late, your body had already collided with something else.

a/n: the cliffhanger feels a bit like a telenovela but I promise it makes sense on next chapter. (harry comes back next chapter too!!)

#reader insert #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #broken promises #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #peter parker fic

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