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cunaeparker · 4 years

Text

bedheads & flowers | tom holland x reader

i saw this pic and HAD to make hcs - it’s so simple yet so cute :’)

hes such boyfriend material aweh

warnings: there’s a little bit of sex kinda but its not smut more like the morning after

as cliche as it sounds, tom always knew he would have a soft spot for you the moment his eyes met yours

you were dancing happily to the music in the university bar, hands swinging up above your head as your hips swayed sensually, lips tugged upwards into a cunning yet genuine smile that had him weak at the knees

he had heard of you through multiple friends he had met during filming, hence why he was at the stuffy bar - to meet up with them

and miraculously, he didn’t get completely plastered

which opened up new opportunities to talk to you

( without slurring his words embarrassingly )

(( which seemed to happen too often ))

“so, you come here often?” tom had asked, giving you a dazzling smile as he scooted into the booth that you were now situated at, taking a sip of his beer and gazing at you curiously through his lashes

you hesitated for a moment and you’re sure you looked a little blacked out because god this random uni kid that just sidled up beside you was attractive

his unruly chocolate brown curls that had obviously been raked through messily by his fingers were ... captivating

so was his defined jawline and lovely cheekbones

but you regained your composure as soon as you lost it

you subconsciously sat up a little straighter, raising an eyebrow

“am i supposed to say the pick-up line, or...?” you joked, lips twitching into an amused smirk as you tilted your head to the side and scrunched your nose a little

tom’s mouth nearly fell agape and his eyes regarded you with awe

he rarely had anyone reply to him in a way that wasn’t an irritating giggle or a painfully obvious beg to be taken home

he chuckled and took a sip of his rum and coke, eyes scanning you subtly

he noticed that you looked even more gorgeous up close

your sheer white top and natural yet dramatic looking makeup accentuated your defined features perfectly

“there is no pick-up line,” said tom ruefully, a laugh rasping lowly in the back of his throat

you inferred that his laugh was perfect

“at least you’re being honest,” you admitted

and at your quip tom looked positively radiant

after the night you met, tom had bravely asked you out on a date and you complied happily tom thought it was the alcohol in both of your veins giving you liquid confidence because usually he would never ask anyone out the first initial meeting in fears of being rejected or only used for his fame

but, you were the exception - and surprisingly turned up to his local pub a week and a half later wearing a casual rugby t-shirt and jeans

a big change from your night-out attire

but, it was so simple and effortless it made tom fall for you harder, if possible

“you look really nice,” he had said kindly, pulling out your chair for you

and he swore it, as soon you sat down, your face began to glow

“thank you,” you smiled, heart swelling with appreciation “It’s a big change from the last time i saw you, yeah?” you continued with a small laugh, “i don’t look like a whore.” tom scoffed and shook his head

“you never looked like a whore.”

you beamed

you were really surprised at how genuine tom was, and it was a nice change from all of the disrespectful men that seemed to gravitate towards you, unfortunately

“thanks,” you said, peering at him admirably from over the rim of your water glass. “you’re more genuine than emma’s lips.”

tom’s eyes widened and his lips quirked up into an awe-filled smile, brows furrowing slightly at the bluntness of your statement, but only before choking out a laugh

emma was one of your closest friends and she was the one that had dragged you out to the bar that night, but, she was notoriously known for her addiction to lip fillers and botox

it was awful

but you unashamedly admitted it

and from that moment on

tom knew he would be absolutely infatuated with you

and he was

in literally

every

possible

way.

“hey, my girlfriend loves that band.”

“you know, y/n is really good at playing that instrument - she can play, like all of these songs.”

*proceeds to list about fifty songs*

“we watched that show; it’s kind of fucked but my girlfriend liked it so i recommend.”

CUE TIGER KING

“my girlfriend makes these sick cookies, mate, i’ll give you the recipe -”

tom’s friends were all aware

all aware

of the fact that he was completely smitten

but it was simple and unadulterated

pure

almost like puppy love in its late stages

because his friends all saw how much you loved each other, that was obvious - it was just a matter of admitting it

it was infuriating to them

especially to harrison

because after living with tom, he heard enough of his rants and speeches about you in the first place

he loved you like a little sister

you were witty and snarky and brilliant, and if that wasn’t perfect for his best friend he wouldn’t know what was

which is what made it worse

tom was painfully oblivious yet too analytical and it was gruelling

he knew he loved you - and he was pretty sure that you loved him too - but he just didn’t know how to admit

in typical tom fashion, like the tooth-rotting romantic he was, he had to set the whole ordeal up perfectly

nothing but the best for his girl

so, on a saturday at about 4pm, when he was thankfully back home in london, he was struck with an idea

“harrison, i’m going to take her out on a date and do all of her favourite stuff, and then hopefully she’ll feel the same.”

“mate, i’ve heard you shag more than a few times. i’m positive she feels the same.”

tom paused and felt a small influx of embarrassment, but shrugged it off

“yeah, but that’s different.”

“okay. do whatever then,” harrison said absentmindedly, shoving a piece of apple into his mouth

he went back to playing his mariokart

leaving a love-struck tom to sit alone on the old beanbag with a small, excited smile on his face

“perfect.”

but then

of course

filming.

luckily, he was able to bring you with him in his travels, and he hated pulling you away from your friends and family for him, but when he brought it up nervously, stutter and all and clammy palms, you had only smiled softly, brows furrowing into a sympathetic line

you took his hand in yours and squeezed gently

“i’ll go wherever you go,” you whispered

and that was all the confirmation he needed

so now, he found himself lying in bed on a lazy sunday morning, bare legs tangled with yours

it was a day off from filming and he had the option to go to a cast & crew party, but he decided against it because a) saying he was exhausted would be an understatement and b) he’d much rather spend the time with you, alone in his trailer

the sun streamed down onto your face as you slept and you looked so content

your eyes were closed and fluttering, probably in a stage of r.e.m sleep, breaths even and deep

occasionally your lips would turn down into a pout and you would smack them together, frowning slightly as you adjusted, but your position would stay the same - arms latched around tom’s bare waist and radiating delicious warmth

your legs were tangled with his too and he took the time to notice how hot you seemed to run

like his own little space heater

tom regarded you silently with a small smile, propped up on his elbow as his fingers gently weaved through your tangled hair, trying his best to avoid your marked up neck courtesy of last night

little snores were escaping your lips and your body shook slightly

you were the definition of serenity and peace

which was damn ironic because rarely, you were any of those things

but now as tom’s fingers raked gingerly thought your hair he felt such an overwhelming amount of love for you it stuffed his ribcage so full he thought it would it would burst

it was like a rapidly growing flower; branching out and blossoming with every new realization

he felt it surge through him in copious amounts and realized that in all the time you’ve known each other one thing remained constant:

you were his everything and he was yours

suddenly with a small inhale of breath, your eyes opened

they flit upwards to look at tom with confusion, eyes heavily-lidded and riddled with drowsiness as you frowned sleepily, but only for a moment

a small smile twitched up the corners of your mouth and you yawned

“good morning, bedhead,” you hummed, voice raspy and laced with levity as you reached up a hand to run a hand through his knotted curls, poking good fun at the state of his hair thanks to your tenacious tugging from last night

tom rolled his eyes and rolled over on top of you, elbows planted beside your head and legs resting in between yours

he was fully aware of what you said and couldn’t help the closed-mouth smile that managed to poke through his lips

“you’re a dick,” he snorted, flicking your forehead

“but your dick is amazing.”

he paused

“you can’t respond with a compliment,” tom frowned, “that defeats the whole purpose.”

“what purpose?”

“the purpose of arguing.”

“we’re arguing?”

another silence

“you’re so difficult.”

“i know,” you smiled. “that’s why you love me.”

you reached up to press a kiss to tom’s forehead that was hovering over yours, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching up with unadulterated happiness

tom beamed and he could barely wait any longer

it took all of his self control to just

hold

for

minute

he had told you that he loved you so many times since the start of your relationship but its never held the proper amount of genuinity he would’ve liked it to hold

which is why he’s going to do it

... now

like, right now

wait

his heart pounded and hammered inside his chest and his pupils dilated

he really hoped you couldn’t feel the erratic beating of his heart

and tom frowned because that’s absolutely absurd, he can’t be this nervous around a girl he’s been dating for months

...right?

maybe?

yeah, probably

yeah

he unconsciously bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows

and refrained from noticing how analytical you were being of his mannerisms

you frowned and reached out a hand to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind his ear

“you okay, tom?” you asked, concerned, leaning forward to connect your forehead to his

you closed your eyes and breathed steadily but tom wasn’t feeling the same contentedness as you

he instead felt a surge of warmth come from your body at the simple touch and couldn’t believe how flustered he was getting from something so simple

hell, you two literally just had sex not even twenty-four hours ago and he didn’t know why he was being so weird

so, he instead opted for a shaky laugh

“no, no - i’m fine,” he assured, smiling tightly, but at the way his voice cracked as soon as it passed his lips he grimaced

god that’s painful

but, you knew he was acting off

you frowned

“tom,” you said, “what’s up?”

it was simple, but there was a threatening edge to your voice

you raised an eyebrow an awaited his reply

and jesus - he looked conflicted

his eyes looked as if they were telling two completely different stories and you could see them flicker back and forth in some unsolicited squabble

you cupped his face with your hands and frowned again

“tom,” you repeated, more sternly this time, “are you okay?”

“nothingjustiloveyouandireallywanttomeanitandidontwanttoruinit.”

a small stunned silence passed

but, seconds later, a genuine smile broke out onto your face

you laughed

“you’re my perfect little peter parker,” you beamed. “act just like him.”

tom flushed and a speckling of colour rose onto his freckled cheeks

“i know i act like an awkward teenager, no need to tell me,” he grumbled, though his words were lighthearted because he had finally just gotten it off his chest

his admission

he didn’t know if you understood or not - his words were spoken inhumanly fast - but he did do it in the first place, which did help

“but - tom?” you spoke, gaze softening as you began rubbing small circles with your thumb onto his cheekbone

“yes?”

“i love you too.”

tags: just taggin’ a bunch of mutuals :)

@quackeroos @chaoticpete @parkersbliss @holedflaws @eridanuswave @lost-space-ranger @andromedaaaaaaaaa

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cunaeparker · 4 years

Text

sunset | peter parker x reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Things are better at sunset.

Word Count: Short

Warnings: Implied sex

Mini Playlist: Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop by Landon Pigg // Why We Ever by Hayley Williams // She’s the Prettiest Girl at the Party and she can Prove it With a Solid Right Hook by frnkiero and the cellabration

this is short asf and did i enter my own writing contest bc i was bored ? yes i did. i used prompt 13: “that’s inappropriate” and i hope yall like this even tho its cheesyyyy its more like a blurb than anything else bc i have VERY BAD WRITERS BLOCK and writing dialogue is NOT my thing. fr i need help dialogue is really fucking hard for me it takes double the time to write it on god 😡

masterlist

The small window of time that followed mid-afternoon and came before dusk was a time that Peter Parker cherished.

He found it comfortable and warm and relished in the way the late-afternoon glow of the sun would heat up his freckled cheeks, tinting them to a darker rose. He would look up into the sky and close his eyes, feeling the way the cool breeze would grace across his face like a lover's tender kiss, lips twitching up into a small, contented smile - feeling nothing other than pure adoration for his city.

That certain affinity is why he found himself sitting on top of the tallest apartment building complex in Queens alongside his fiancé, holding a classic Delmar's sub in his right hand and a ring on the other, wearing a smile large enough to put the tallest tower in the world to shame.

"God, Pete, that never gets old," she laughed breathlessly, leaning on his broad shoulder and shaking her head slightly in disbelief. "I can't believe you do this every day."

"I can't believe you don't like doing this everyday," Peter said, narrowing his eyes playfully and nudging her side. "It's fun!"

She scoffed.

"'Fun' my ass," she said, glancing at him through the corner of her gleaming eyes and taking a bite of her sub (that was now cold thanks to the rapid wind they had endured). "Not going to lie, I have come close to shitting myself more times than I would like to admit."

"And that's my problem?"

"Okay, first of all, shut up," she snorted, punching his side, "You have an enhanced body for fuck's sake. You have abs. I don't. And second of all -" she flicked her forefinger against his forehead as he pouted, "Your ass isn't as fucked up as mine considering the amount of times we've done anal."

"Y/N!" Peter's face turned a bright red. "Not the time! That's inappropriate!"

"It's true though," she raised an eyebrow, "You're a weird man, Parker. But it's okay. Your abs are positively lickable."

She leaned back and sighed, closing her eyes as her lips turned up into a smirk (admittedly thinking about their intimate time and getting crazy butterflies). She gestured to his toned stomach that was hidden by his tight suit and moaned.

"I thought you wanted to come here to watch the sunset and eat dinner, not talk about sex," Peter mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich as he looked up at her through his eyelashes, "I'm losing my appetite."

"Oh honey, this isn't dinner. What we're in for when we get home is dinner."

Peter frowned, "I thought the whole reason we got subs was because he have no food at home."

Y/N's mouth fell open and she looked at him incredulously for a moment, before her lips turned up into an amused smile and a small chuckle fell from them.

"You're cute." She tilted her head to the side and smiled sweetly, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. "You've been like this for ages."

"Been like what?" His lips turned down into an even deeper frown.

Y/N offered him a closed-mouth smile and leaned her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck as she intertwined their hands.

"You've been nothing bad," she shrugged, "Just really oblivious."

Peter scoffed. "You just can't come for my brand like that, babe!"

Y/N remained silent though he felt her lips move against the fabric of his suit, trying to refrain from laughing.

"You're probably the most observant person on the planet, so that's not really fair coming from you, Y/L/N."

"Nothing in life is fair," she replied, bringing up their hands and swinging them back and forth, regarding how well they fit together. A small smile painted her lips. "Not everything is fair."

"I feel like out of everyone you know I'm the one who knows that the best."

Y/N bit her lip and turned to look up at him.

She knew what he had been through and hated how unfairly life had treated him. He had lost everyone important in his life and she hated having to see him grieve so deeply, because more often than not, he would put on a mask and smile just for her - though she knew underneath it all he was struggling.

And as Y/N's thoughts went off on a spiral Peter suddenly felt her heart rate spike.

"Are you okay?" He frowned, smile fading as he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a small kiss to the pad of her thumb, "Your heart rate just went crazy."

Y/N scoffed and waved her hands in the air, "I'm fine, Pete. I really am."

She offered him a weak smile and pecked his cheek, patting his shoulder in reassurance.

But, as the wind blew through her unruly curls, she had something lingering on her mind. Peter could sense it and opened his mouth to ask, but he contemplated for a moment and decided not to. Though he had known Y/N for years, she was still as silent and observant and as closed-off as she was when they first met. And now that they were 21, a good five years later and engaged, she still didn't tell him everything.

But , after all - Peter was content with that. It was just how she was and he wouldn't change it for the world.

"Okay," he said reluctantly, frown still etched on his face as he leaned over to press his lips to her temple. "Just... don't hide what you're thinking from me. I love you and won't judge anything you think or say. You know that. Okay?"

Y/N's lips turned upwards into a soft smile, eyes glittering with something he couldn't quite place.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

She leaned forward slowly, eyes darting back and forth between Peter's lips as she licked her own, bringing up a hand to gently hold onto the back of his neck and twirl her fingers around the unruly brown ringlets of curl that hung just below the nape of his neck.

Her heart picked up again and Peter couldn't help but to smile contentedly. After all these years, she still got as flustered with him as he was with her.

"I love you, Peter," Y/N said quietly, the words barely gracing her soft lips.

An airplane sounded off in the distance but still didn't cover the beating of her heart.

"I love you too, Y/N." Peter smiled softly and closed his eyes, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together as his hand snaked around to gently grip her hip. "I love you so, so much."

"I know," she mumbled, closing her eyes too, before surging forward to connect their lips in a kiss that made all of their heated love-making sessions pale in comparison.

And all Peter could think as she moved her lips lazily against his was how much he loved moments like these.

When the sun was barely scraping the top of the horizon with tones of pink and yellow. When his love was sitting in his arms, coy smile and unruly curls and all. When his tongue moved perfectly against hers, against the one he had become so accustomed to over the years.

Peter's life felt complete.

Content.

***

taggin’ some mutuals :)

@quackeroos @chaoticpete @eridanuswave @parkersbliss @angelic-holland @lowkey-holland @andromedaaaaaaaaa @lost-space-ranger

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cunaeparker · 4 years

Text

burning sand | peter parker x reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fire and compound fractures are something he never thought he would have to experience.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Angst

Mini Playlist: i love you by billie eilish // My Body is a Cage by Arcade Fire // Ms by alt-J

A/N: I’m aging him up in this oneshot, think that he’s eighteen or something around there !

Flames

Her eyes are blown wide open and her body lays spread-eagled and bloody upon the sand.

There's a ring of fire blazing around her head and the pungent stench of burning flesh and hair invades his nostrils, legs splayed at an awkward angle and arms limp at her sides and legs curving inwards like —

There's a bone sticking out. Her femur is completely exposed.

Peter's stomach lurches and bile rises in his throat.

He's too dazed to run.

"Y/N..." he mumbles, eyes heavily-lidded and drooping as he pulls himself closer, hand squeezing a handful of sand and squeezing it out the sides. His muscles convulse and scream in protest though he drags himself further through the sand. "Y/N... wake up..."

"I don't think she's going to wake up, Pedro."

Peter turns. He squints his eyes in attempts to pinpoint what the flying thing is beside him, levitating and emitting a loud whirring from mechanics, but he can't tell what it is... there's a ringing in his ears and he feels a trickle of something hot on his cheeks, eyes bloodshot and limbs aching... a physical pain unlike anything he's ever felt...

Something grips onto his back and lifts him into the air and with a terrified yelp he is brought back down from his reverie.

"You awake, Pete?" The voice chides with the ghost of a mirthless laugh, mechanical and cruel as his eyes narrow from underneath the green mask. "You seemed a bit out of it, Spider-Man."

Peter wriggles around in its iron grasp with panicked breaths. "Let me down!"

The Vulture snickers. "I wish I could, Pete, but I don't want to."

The flaming sand gets farther and farther away and with every agonizing breath and painful pound of his head terror courses courses through his veins. His breaths are quick and struggled as his scorched throat rips and tears, arms flying around in fear —

He suddenly feels his stomach drop and the fiery ground is back in sight.

Peter cries out and braces for impact. The wind whistles in his ears and his limbs flail haphazardly, gasps and panicked breaths leaving his throat as he hears the crackle of the fire until — he feels the ground again.

The ringing in his ears is more pronounced, and he can't even moan in pain; his body is giving up on him and he can't move and he pleads to some higher power that he can coil into a ball and just fall asleep —

The iron grip is on his back again and Peter's bloodshot eyes widen with fear.

He grunts and tries to shoot a web at a nearby flaming piece of debris, but Vulture only laughs at his futile attempt and drags him higher.

"Oh, Spider-Man... when will you learn?" he snarls maliciously, "I told you to stop, to leave me and my company be — but look at what you've done."

Halting their ascent into the clouds, Vulture wraps a hand around the back of Peter's head and forces it to look down.

"Look at that..." he says quietly, "Look at what your girlfriend has become. Nothing but another body; dead as they come... look at her, get a good look..."

"No — stop!" Peter cries, breaths rapid and shallow as he tries to escape his grip, but Vulture doesn't even flinch. He holds onto Peter's head tighter and forces his neck down again, ignoring Peter's yelp of pain.

There's a crack in his neck, and his vision suddenly becomes blurry and his eyes roll up into his head... everything is tinged black and his stomach lurches but the one constant is the mechanical whirring of wings...

Vulture pushes his neck down further with an irritated shriek and Peter stops resisting.

"Look at your girlfriend, Peter! Look at her! You did this to her!"

Vulture shakes his body vigorously and Peter can feel himself getting faint, because his tight hold on his suit slackens and he feels his body giving up. He doesn't look. He doesn't let his eyes focus. The unmoving lump in the sand is blurry and unfocused, because he doesn't permit himself to see it —

Vulture suddenly tugs on Peter's hair.

"Look at her!"

His eyes water but his mouth won't let any more shrieks of pain escape it. Peter doesn't want to look, he desperately doesn't want to, he knows she's hurt but he doesn't really have any other option; he can't muster up the strength to close his eyes or look away, they're already focused on the spot, now...

She's there, lying in the sand and unmoving, compound fracture obvious and bone exposed to the outside air, that of which is floating with ash, and he wouldn't be surprised at the nasty infection that could follow... if she survived, of course... her eyes stare up at him, blown wide, unblinking and lacking their excited gleam they would so frequently hold — the eyes he would gaze into when he was watching her throw her head back in laughter, the eyes that would glint with mischievousness when they were patrolling after school and Flash was walking home alone, easy to take advantage of and mess around with, the eyes that would crinkle and widen and speak wordlessly when she was feeling immense pleasure... pleasure that he would give to her, gladly... but maybe never again, now...

Peter's heart lurches and he is brought back to the present with a start.

Rage suddenly fills up his body and his face blanches, eyes narrowing with anger, blood pumping obnoxiously loud in his ears. He's not in pain anymore. All he feels is an upsurge of anger he's never felt before.

"You killed her," whispers Peter. His voice shakes and his body trembles and lurches with the sudden flow of adrenaline and wrath but he doesn't care. "You killed her."

Vulture barks out a laugh and tightens his grip on Peter's shoulders. "Of course I did, I told you to stop interfering, and look what the outcome is — "

"You killed her." Peter shakes with fury. "You killed my girlfriend."

Red tinges his vision and all his pain vanishes with that one thought; all he wants to do is turn around and wrap his hands around Vulture's throat and squeeze until the life is gone from his eyes. The quiet crackle of the flames below doesn't quite reach his ears at this height but the rage he feels is enough to block anyone out.

Vulture holds onto his shoulder tighter and Peter feels something sting — he broke the skin beneath his homemade suit with his wings and now blood trickles down his back.

"I did what I was supposed to do," Vulture spits, spittle hitting the green mask surrounding his face. "My life's work would be jeopardized if I let you continue, Pedro. All my hard work and hard-earned money? Down the drain. It would be worthless. And you, you, Spider-Man, would be the cause. I can't let that happen. My family would hate me."

He grips him tighter and Peter has to bite his lip, drawing blood, in attempts to not cry out.

"I didn't want to kill you, necessarily, but it seems that your good ol' girlfriend down there wouldn't've been a threat — she can't even survive the plane crash. We both know that you are the superior one, Pete. That's why I can't have you alive. And I'm sorry, but for what it's worth — my family trumps everything. They're my life. I hate for it to end this way, but it's necessary. Good-bye, Spider-Man."

Suddenly, Vulture darts into the sky, going higher and higher until he reaches a height that's hundreds of feet higher than before; a fall from this height would surely kill him. Peter writhes in his grip but he can't escape, panicked grunts and shouts leaving his hurt throat, and he swears he hears Vulture snigger cruelly only before a dart of crimson and gold jets from nowhere out of the sky.

There's no time to react from the both of them before Iron Man plows into Vulture at full speed and knocks Peter from his grip.

The world seems as if it's going in slow motion as he falls, falling from a height uncomparable to the one he was at when he landed in a lake, wind howling in his face and searing it, freezing cold and painful; limbs flailing aimlessly as alarmed yelps echo from his bloodied lips. It's a tangle of red and blue legs and arms and a momentary speck of flame and sand, and Peter nearly embraces death, closing his eyes and plummeting to the ground, welcoming it —

Something hard and metallic grabs by the underarms milliseconds before he hits the ground. Saving him. Peter whips his head around and feels the cold wind sear against his face, fearing it's Vulture again, but only before hearing the stern yet comforting voice of his mentor emit from the suit.

"Kid, what on earth did you get yourself into..."

Peter doesn't respond.

Tony sets him down a few metres away from the crash.

Tony sighs agitatedly and his mask retracts away from his face, showing a worn and bloodied nose illuminated by the firelight. Tony looks angry, and his face is scratched up; by the lack of mechanical whirring Peter guesses that Tony promptly got rid of Vulture — he must've put up a fight.

"Parker, I told you not to go chasing after this guy!" Tony yells angrily. "The whole reason I took your suit away is to avoid shit like this, yet you still disobey me and go off on a wild goose chase trying to help something you just can't! I thought I could trust you! You could've gotten hurt, or killed, and I can't have that on my conscience." Tony threw his hands in the air and pursed his lips. "I can't have that happen, kid. Especially when you bring your little girlfriend into your shit. What would you do if anyone died tonight? Huh? You don't want that on your mind, do you —"

Peter's eyes widen and realization and fury and pain surges through him. How could he be so idiotic? So stupid?

"— The paperwork would be outrageous —"

Peter spins around with a ragged breath and runs.

He ignores Tony's irritated shout of protest and the pounding in his ears, he ignores the unspeakable pain in the pit of his stomach and the urge to vomit, he ignores everything — until he finally reaches it. Her sprawled out, unmoving body. Eyes staring into his soul, teasing him, mocking him, a sick reminder of killing... his fault, his fault, his fault...

Peter's stomach lurches and he can't suppress the urge much longer. He whips his head to the side and vomits, acid scorching his throat and making his eyes water from the pain, hand clutching at his stomach. He empties his stomach contents as fast as he can with pained coughs, begging the sick to be over with, before clumsily stumbling over to her body.

His vision is wavering and it is hard to see. Black taints all corners and there's a sickening pounding in his head.

He falls to his knees right beside her limp figure, collecting her bloodied and matted hair in his lap, gasping shakily. A tear rolls down his bloodied cheek and his trembling hands levitate over her body nervously, as if scared to touch her, thinking she's going to pop up with a mischievous smile and shout 'April Fools' even though he knows the chances of that are not likely.

"Y/N? Y-Y/N?" says Peter quietly, more bile bubbling up in his throat. He knows she's not going to answer. He knows for a fact. He has to try. "Babe? Y/N? W-Wake up. Please."

His words are soft as if rousing a sleeping child but her blank staring persists and the gentle crackle of the flames stays the same. Moonlight etches her worn features and everything stays the same. Why isn't it changing? Why isn't she waking up?

Hot tears start to fall quickly down his cheeks. He chokes out a sob and gathers her hair, pulling her head into his lap and pressing his forehead to hers.

"Y-Y/N, baby, answer me... you gotta get up, I know you can," he whimpers, pressing his shaky lips to her forehead as he squeezes his eyes shut and chokes out another sob, begging for this to be a dream though he knows the chances of that are nonexistent. "C'mon, angel, get up, you still have your life ahead of you, college starts in a few months and we're both going to NYU, you have to be there with me, you have to, please..."

No response. Only the crackle of the fire and the sudden whirr of jets.

Someone calls out his name, but he doesn't hear it, only the sound of his wrecked sobs and the sirens echoing through the downtown streets, most likely coming for them, though her attempts of being revived of slim to none... none...

Peter tries again but this time it's more desperate.

He tugs gently on her hair and shakes her shoulders slightly, wiping away the snot dribbling down his face with the back of his hand and a sniffle. He coughs harshly and tears swim in his vision and the flood of emotion make his body quiver as is seizing.

"Baby..." he tries, voice soft and cracking, "wake up, please, wake up... you need to live your life, you can't die here... you need to have kids and a family, not this, not this ending, you have so much to do with me... no..."

The tears fall quicker at the mention of a family and he whimpers again, tangling his fingers in her hair.

"Y/N," he whispers, voice desperate, cracking, begging; a last resort. No reply.

No reply.

Not even a slight intake of breath or a quiver of her chest.

Nothing.

She's gone; she's staring blankly at the star-strewn sky without any recollection of their time together, without any last thought or last words, multiple bones exposed to the chilled night air.

Bile rises in Peter's throat again and he doesn't even suppress the urge to vomit.

With a cry of pain and a sob, he collapses onto the sand and empties his remaining stomach contents.

He doesn't know how long he's lying there for, scooting up beside her and weaving his bloody fingers through her matted hair as his body trembles with grief, shouts and howls of pain leaving his aching throat. His fault.

Black swims in his eyes and the last thing he sees before giving a shuddering breath, limbs going numb and head pounding, is the beautiful night sky shrouded in stars and galaxies... like him and her... everlasting and mysterious.

He falls back against the sand though a small smile twitches up his cracked lips at the thought of them together. Galaxies. He reaches out a quivering hand and intertwines hers with his. Perfectly bruised and worn.

And with a shrill shriek of a siren nearing their bodies, one sleeping and one dead — he hears no more.

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cunaeparker · 4 years

Text

between the bars | peter parker x reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Peter follows a different path after Tony’s death and she stages an intervention.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drug use

Mini Playlist: Between the Bars by Elliott Smith // Autumn Tree by Milo Greene // Where’s my Love by SYML

Author Note: this is based on the song “between the bars” by elliott smith and i really really recommend listening to it while reading. it’s one of my all time favourites and super soothing. try listening to the whole mini playlist, i think it adds to the piece :) also i aged him up to college age for the sake of shit not being illegal

masterlist

drink up, baby stay up all night

His hands are weathered and unkempt; there's a layer of dirt underneath his fingernails that are bitten and rugged and his breath smells faintly of the whisky he nicked from his roommate's liquor cabinet.

with the things you can do you won't but you might

What he's doing is wrong and knows that for a fact. There's an ever-present sense of guilt that follows him everywhere he goes like a parasite, worming its way into his head and twisting his mind to warp to its will. It's not right and he knows that but he still finds himself taking long sip after grudging sip, alone in his room at an hour that's ungodly to the other people wandering the nighttime streets, numb and feeling nothing other than the bitter tang of whisky that clouds his eyes and makes the room spin on a top.

the potential you see that you'll never be

He doesn't care anymore. His brain is tired and overworking, steaming and on lockdown... the very thought of escaping his gaping black hole of a life isn't satisfactory. The mere thought of being anywhere but his room, laying on his bed and listening to Red Hot Chilli Peppers on repeat as his hand slowly guides the top of the drink to his chapped lips is close to nonexistent. He doesn't find anything interesting. His ambition to pursue a career in the science field along his deceased mentor isn't even an inkling of thought anymore. Lying alone on the floor in his room and ignoring every 'ping' of his phone - signaling a text message from his friend that he does not want to respond to - is where he sees himself for the remaining future, given he doesn't do anything reckless to ruin it.

the promises you'll only make

He's distanced himself from everyone he holds dear and not even his closest friends can get a rise out of him - he's stoic and numb and the only emotion he feels is pain, guilt, and a sense of loneliness... his broken promises are weaved tightly with purpose, with the intention of fulfilling them, though he can't. Holding up his end of the bargain has never been so difficult... he turns away.

drink up with me now and forget all about

He's in a loophole of blacked out. He's been on a month long bender and his head is always spinning. He's always irritable and unkempt, hair untidy and clothing smelling faintly of alcohol.

the pressure of days do as i say

There's a pressure on his chest. It eats away at him and digs into his vulnerable being with malicious intent, like a sinister speaking parasite implanting its eggs in his heads and leaving seeds for new negative thoughts... they grow like weeds. He can't live with it; he turns towards a numbing substance.

and i'll make you okay

He's convinced it's right.

and drive them away

It's left him alone and seething in his own guilt.

the images stuck in your head

Memories of an ash-stricken sky plague his dreams. Eerie, ghostly hues of purple indicate that the moments replaying in his head are a dream, but it doesn't stop his steps from being agonizingly slow, trying to run away from the hoards of aliens running after him with sinister intent... legs jelly as if underwater... tensile thread in his web-shooters absent; the scent of something rotten and decayed invade his nostrils as he runs, dream-like, legs aching and burning... but the stench isn't dirt, it smells organic... like a human... he reaches a burnt, shrivelled being, and everything stops - silence envelopes the wasteland like a thick fog and the beings chasing him vanish, turn into dust and blow away, eerily calm.... it's a human. A burn victim. There's a bloodied, gnarled hand, pointed to the sky as if reaching for something, and the stink makes Peter's stomach lurch.

There's a faint blue glow where the heart should be, but it confuses him - shouldn't the thing be dead? Isn't that a signal of activity? Peter slowly reaches forward, heart in his throat, but only before the thing sits up at an inhuman speed. It shrieks, a shrill, haunting, echoing sound, and Peter cries out and falls onto his tailbone, scampering away with a terrified grunt as he clamps his dirtied hands over his ears. It sounds like a siren, haunting and petrifying, though holding notes of despair -

Peter jolts up in bed in a cold sweat. He throws off his thick comforter with an angered grunt, feeling overwhelmingly hot and sweltering. It was a dream, he knows that, but it felt so real and now he can't help the involuntary heaving of his chest and the fear that bubbles inside of him, crawling up his throat and prohibiting him from breathing because now tears are falling down his freckled cheeks and he's scared because he can't breathe and desperate gasping noises are echoing deep in his throat but he can't get them out and May's working the nightshift so he's alone and he's going to suffocate on his own breaths - is that even possible? - and die, and she's going to find him dead in his bed, foaming at the mouth and blue and bloated -

He blindly reaches for his phone on his bedside table and fumbles through his contacts, searching for the only person he knows to call - he hopes he chooses the right person because his eyes are swimming in tears and his vision is going black at the edges - bringing the phone up to his ear and hearing the obnoxious ring of the connection, signaling that the call's going through though she's probably not going to answer at this time of night -

"Peter?" There's a muffled rustling and her voice is raspy and hoarse with sleep. "A-Are you alright? Why are you calling me?"

Peter's vision is still wavering and he doesn't know if he's in another dream because everything's dark and he doesn't have a grip on reality but he responds in the only way he knows how to.

"I-I can't breathe," he says, weeping softly with fear, trying to keep his composure for the sake of her mental wellbeing because he knows she has gone through as much as him but he can't keep himself together - his body is wracked with a sudden onslaught shakes and he nearly drops his phone. "I need you, I-I'm not okay, please come over."

There's another sound of rustling on the receiving end and it sounds like she just jumped out of her bed. Her voice loses its dreamy quality as she speaks into her phone, and Peter can tell she's picking apart her room in search for her old MIT sweater she wears religiously, and he doesn't really make out any words in his panicked state other than the three words that leave her mouth and mean more than what the world could ever offer: a simple, "I'm coming."

the people you've been before

A firm knock rings out through the apartment an approximate twenty minutes later.

Of course, she's wearing that MIT sweater, and it swallows her whole. Her eyes are lined with purple and are slightly bloodshot, looking pained, following Peter's line of sight. Her hair is thrown up into a messy bun and the flyaway strands that frame her face are most likely a result of her fevered running through the downtown streets and through the Metro.

Peter's sure he doesn't look too much of a looker either: he's donning a stupid oversized tie-dye t-shirt he got on Spring Break with his college friends and he's positive it smells reminiscent of weed and beer, but the exhausted girl standing in his doorway doesn't look like she cares.

She looks like she's in pain.

Her eyebrows are knotted together in worry and behind her eyes are signs of suffering, but, she doesn't leave any time for Peter to speak before surging forward and wrapping her arms around his waist. She squeezes her eyes shut and nudges her head in the crook of his neck, trapping him in her warm embrace, not allowing him to back away. It's ironic, because Peter used to be the one to hold her and wipe away her tears, but now, it's the opposite... things have changed so much and it makes Peter's heart sting.

He's not the same person he used to be. He pushed her away.

The last time he's willingly made contact with her was months ago, but now she's looking out for him like she's always had, and it makes the sticky guilt inside of him pile up layer upon layer.

"Hey, Pete," she says quietly, resting her head on her shoulder and pulling him from his reverie with her voice. "Let's go to your room to talk, you sounded pretty shaken up on the phone."

"Okay," he finds himself saying, nodding against her skin and sinking into her touch, though he doesn't know if it's a dream or not because he still feels faint and drowsy... he digs his face into the crook of her neck and lets her hand guide him towards his door.

that you don't want around anymore

Not many words are exchanged. There's a peaceful silence and the occasional whirr of cars speeding by on watered roads. It's raining heavily and Peter can't help but to find his chapped lips twisting up into a sardonic smile at the situation he finds himself in, because of course the universe is mocking him with its weather. It's offering them a storm; a symbol of his damaged psyche.

She's sitting on the edge of his bed and he's sitting on the opposite end, staring at the floor with an intense gaze that doesn't do a very good job of hiding his wild inner monologue. If she wants to glance at him, she would know immediately what he was thinking based on his body language: furrowed eyebrows, fingers picking at his cuticles, a leg bouncing restlessly.

His facade is crumbling and he feels foolish for calling her because now he's in his purest form... pitiful and sensitive and vulnerable... but he doesn't care to bring up the elephant in the room.

He called her for a reason, and a reason that was very clearly shown through his scared words and tone, but now there's a thick silence wary with tension and he hasn't said a word. She's been silent too, but he thinks she's waiting for the perfect time to interject. Strategy and planning - it's so overwhelmingly her that he feels a pang of something unknown in his stomach.

He pretends to gaze at the floor, and he knows that her insistent gaze is on his back. He can just see what she looks like through his mind's eye: disappointed and saddened.

The empty whisky bottle rolling aimlessly on the ground is a reminder of that.

that push and shove and won't bend to your will

"Peter," she finally says, puncturing the silence with a stern edge.

He slowly looks up, dreading what expression he would see on her pretty features... sadness? Anguish? Rage? He expects the worst, but as his eyes meet her with bated breath, he is instead met with something much more stony.

She looks conflicted and behind her eyes are battlefields.

"Peter," she repeats, and her gaze doesn't waver. It's insistent and soul-crushing and he feels like she can look into his eyes and figure him out right then and there. She reaches out a hand and leaves her palm open, inviting him to take it though leaving a reminder that she's trying not to intrude. "We need to talk," she finishes.

"About what?" he asks dumbly.

"Things," she answers. "There's some things we need to address, Pete."

She shrugs deeper into her sweater and waits patiently for his reply.

A small silence passes and a muscle jumps in Peter's jaw, peering deeply into her eyes and trying to identify the war she's waging, but she's stoic. He can't get a read on her.

He sighs and kicks an old beer can at his feet.

"There's nothing to talk about," he says baldly. "I called you because I needed help."

"You had a panic attack." Her words are said evenly though she furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head to the side. "That's not normal."

"It's normal for me."

"That's my point."

Silence.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Pete." She slides over towards him so that her leg is touching his. She peers at him with conflicted eyes and cups his cheekbone gently, tilting his head down to meet her line of sight that is considerably shorter than his. "You..." she bites her lip and tears well in her eyes and her words are laced with grief. "You aren't the person you were before. We... we need to talk. Please."

There's a pang of despair in Peter's stomach and he feels it crawl up his insides and taunt him.

"I'm still the same Peter," he tries, offering her a small smile, though he can't ignore how his eyes are starting to water... his hand comes up on top of hers though he can't properly hold her because it's shaking so severely. "I haven't changed."

Her eyes soften. Her lips twist up into a pained smile, though they start to tremble... Peter frowns and reaches out a hand... but now, tears are pouring silently down her rosy cheeks.

"You've changed, Peter," she confirms quietly, slowly shaking her head. "You're not the same person anymore. I can't watch you drive yourself deeper into the ground."

"I'm the same, Y/N," he pleads, moving closer and resting a hand on her thigh. It's clad in grey sweatpants, the pair that he reminds buying her for her birthday all those years ago... he's surprised they still fit. Tears stream down his freckled cheeks and he has to suppress a hiccough. "I haven't changed, I swear."

She shakes her head and smiles sadly. "You have."

Peter's struck with silence and his mouth goes dry. Words can't meet his lips and a surge of hurt washes over him like the pounding rain outside.

"You're not the same LEGO loving boy anymore," she whispers, looking down at the grey comforter. "You... you drink, you do drugs, you surround yourself with the wrong people, and you dropped out of school... you're the brightest guy I've ever met, yet you still managed to completely jeopardize your future. What happened to Spider-Man? What happened to talking to your real friends? They don't care for you, Pete. We do. We miss you so much. And actually, MJ can't stand to bring up your name anymore. She'll either start yelling or burst into tears." Y/N laughs bitterly and looks up at him, and the wars that she's waging behind her eyes are obvious... she's been waiting to defeat them and she's been waiting for the perfect time to bring them up. She's addressing them. Peter realizes what that means.

He lets go of her hand and backs away, wiping at his red-rimmed eyes with a trembling hand.

"No... d-don't do this. Y/N, please don't."

She regards him for a moment, but only before her lips begin to quiver, slowly, slowly... like a teapot being brought to a boil, and before Peter can even comprehend it, she breaks out into a sob.

"I can't have you calling me when you need something, Peter," she says with a cry, words slurred. "I know you only care about me when you need reassurance, and I want to help you, but why else would I be here? For no other reason, surely. You only need me when you want something. You've never talked to me or invited me over in months!"

She gazes at him with pain, agony, and Peter can't even respond. His walls haven't had time to respond and be put up yet. He just never would've thought it would be her to cut ties.

"I care for you, Pete, that's why I came." She cups his face and now her tears are streaming quicker than ever. "But, I can't put your needs over mine. I hate doing this, and I feel so fucking selfish, but I love you so much, I really do, please know that. I'll never stop loving you. You're my best friend, and I've never felt this way towards anyone before, but you're not the same Peter I met in seventh grade history class." She hiccoughs and her eyes are lined with red. "You've changed. And now, I..." she sucks in a breath and sits up straighter, retracting her hand from his. "I have to go now, Peter."

Choking out a sob, she stands up and stumbles to the door, tripping over her feet.

"W-Where are you going?" Peter asks, moving to stop her, though he decides against it because he doesn't want to end up with another broken wrist on his watch. "You're leaving?"

She doesn't answer.

She wraps her hand around the knob with a cough. She stares at the door for a moment. Suddenly, her hands begin to blindly reach for the bottom of her threadbare sweater, and he pulls it slowly over her head, sniffling as her eyes stare blankly at the door.

She throws her MIT sweater onto his bed and opens the door, staring into the hall.

Peter's heart stops.

No, no, no...

"You can have it, Peter."

She leaves.

i'll keep them still

Peter's stuck on his bed again, tears leaking down his cheeks.

Again, his life is a loop - of course, the universe likes to mock him.

He's on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and finding a bottle of vodka being drawn to his lips.

Red Hot Chilli Peppers is playing in the background.

His eyes are blank and unwavering.

His hands are weathered and dirty, and his breath smells faintly of alcohol.

A cycle.

***

as per usual, taggin’ some mutuals :) @quackeroos @chaoticpete @eridanuswave @parkersbliss @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @thirzaholland @andromedaaaaaaaaa @lost-space-ranger @peachyparkerr

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cunaeparker · 4 years

Text

reunited | peter parker x reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: The aftermath of decimation.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: None, some mentions of anxiety

Mini Playlist: Where’s My Love by SYML // Little Black Submarines by The Black Keys // Sunrise by Coldplay

Actions hold more meaning than words.

His heart pounded in his chest and his eyes darted nervously around the hall.

His feet tapped the ground and his legs bounced as he bit his lip, crossing his arms tightly over his chest in predisposed defence, and whether or not it was from the battle that came earlier or the lingering trauma that followed he did not know because all he could feel and think was an awful burning sensation of anxiety.

A type of anxious that was dreadful and made him calculate his every move as if something unspeakable was going to happen. As if something was going to bounce up behind him and crawl into his throat and prohibit him from speaking.

Still standing completely still, rigid as a board, tears welled in his eyes. He didn't know why, but he felt scared and frightened and felt as if the erratic beating of his heart was going to make him pop out a rib. He was traumatized and knew that standing in the doorway of his beloved school shouldn't make him terrified, but he was, and was aware of it; yet, he couldn't break out of the shell. He had been living in it for the past few weeks.

His tired brown eyes darted the hallways and he bit his lip as he bounced on the balls of his feet again, awaiting her arrival. He didn't know if she had been decimated like him and he secretly hoped she had — if she wasn't, what age would she be now — twenty? Twenty-one? It scared him. He already lost all he had... he couldn't bare losing another. Especially one as important as her.

May had prohibited him from contacting anyone he knew ever since his return, saying that the overload of information would overwhelm him, and he did agree, but honestly, most of it was voluntarily anyway. He stayed in his room alone most of the time and stared at the ceiling with blank, tear-filled eyes and a scorching feeling in his gut, thick woolen blanket burning his legs though he felt too unmotivated to stretch and slide it off.

He didn't want to see her, yet he also longed for her to see him; it had been too long without any affection and he wasn't sure how much longer he could go —

A headful of tangled hair suddenly bobbed up between the hordes of students crowding the halls and Peter's heart began to double its speed. His eyes widening and his head longed to perk up, though he was too scared to make eye contact with her for the first time in... God, five years... oh, now her step is increasing and Peter can hear her let out a choked sob, eyes brimming with tears and grimy hands clamping over her mouth as if stunned to see him, as if seeing a ghost...

Peter's eyes widened and his mouth became dry. His legs suddenly began to surge forward, to move without his own accord, and his head pounded because she wasn't dusted, she was here, crying, running towards him wearing that stupid MIT sweater Peter had offered her on one of their study dates when she said she was cold.

With a start, Peter realized he had never actually given it to her. She had just decided to keep it and was wearing it as a reminder of him in case he wasn't there. She was wearing his hoodie. It warmed Peter's dormant heart.

He could hear her desperate shouts of his name, and he pushed past the crowd of emotional students with force, though they didn't seem to waver because they were caught up in their own reunions and he got that — suddenly the crowd cleared.

She was standing in the middle of it all, wearing his stupid hoodie and a pair of baggy sweatpants, hair left down and knotted. Her eyes were lined with a deep-set purple and she looked exhausted, but, the moment Peter's tired eyes met hers, they widened. She clamped a hand over her mouth and started walking forward, dream-like.

"Peter?" she asked, voice raspy and tired, "Is that you?"

Peter would've laughed and teased her, poking fun at her for not knowing if it was him or not, but that was in normal times. Things weren't normal anymore.

He nodded vigorously, tears falling fast down his freckled cheeks.

"It's me, Y/N," he confirmed quietly.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and choked out a destroyed sob, piercing the moment with her cry. "Peter!"

She suddenly burst into a run, and though they weren't far apart it felt like ages before she jumped into his arms, making the both of them stumble backwards before throwing their arms around each other in a tight embrace.

"Oh, God, Pete," she cried, fingers reaching blindlessly for the unruly chocolate curls she knew hung at the nape of his neck. "I — you — we were gone..." She dug her face into his warm neck and her hot tears made Peter's skin sizzle, "I can't — we — "

Peter rubbed his hands up and down her back and fisted the soft material that was so overwhelmingly her as her fingers tugged on his curls and brought his body closer.

"It's okay," he tried, though his voice cracked because he knew everything was not okay. "It's okay, we're here together now..."

His voice cracked again and he suppressed a sob, because not everyone was there.

She looked up at him teraily, and then suddenly everything was a blur of emotion.

She was sobbing into the crook of his neck and Peter latched tighter onto her with squeezed shut eyes, feeling the heat of her teary face radiate onto his neck. She was a mess and so was he, because now her fingers were climbing up his shirt and fisting the material with every cry and he was gripping onto her tangled hair and letting his hot tears fall.

It wasn't something two high school seniors were supposed to encounter.

Hell, it wasn't even something that should've happened — but, now, swaying back in forth in each others arms as they calmed and let out the occasional hiccup and shaky sigh, standing in the place that held so much bittersweet familiarity, their warmth and comfort was all that they needed.

***

Tagging some mutuals :)

Also excuse the God awful moodboard

@quackeroos @parkersbliss @chaoticpete @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @spideygirl2003 @eridanuswave @peachyparkerr @lost-space-ranger @andromedaaaaaaaaa

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cunaeparker · 4 years

Text

12:34 | P. Parker

A/N: this is an OC named pepper and she is tony’s daughter. ngl i kind of forgot ab pepper potts writing this so i fucked it up lmao but they are both. the. same. age. pepper stark is not a middle-aged woman ahaha

anyways lego

When the alarms started to blare inside of the Avengers Compound, Pepper Stark's heart began to pound erratically inside her chest in a mix of extreme excitement and fright.

Her father hardly allowed her to go on missions with the rest of the team, and since she had trained particularly hard for the past couple of weeks, her hopes were high that he would let her go; and she assumed he would, though a small lingering bit of doubt stayed in her mind.

It reminded her of Tony.

He has always been protective of his family. Ever since terrorists captured his fiancée Pepper (who ironically had the same name as his kid, though she was born from another mother), it tore him apart to see chemicals hurt and cling to the one thing he held dear. He's always been scared of the possibility that some monster of a villain would capture his only source of happiness and take it away.

It nearly happened with his wife, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let it happen with his daughter.

He knew his answer, and inevitably, Pepper refrained from asking because she was pretty sure she knew the answer too.

The alarms continued to screech as Tony Stark walked briskly down the hallway towards the Compound hangar. He tried his best to remain calm as yet another threat loomed over the city, attempting to refrain from running and making it even more real, putting his stress on a higher level - until he saw some peculiar looking mix of red and blue stalk behind a corner.

It was moving hastily and in the same direction as Tony.

He immediately knew who it was and if this damn kid didn't stop being so goddamn obvious he didn't know what he was going to do. Tony halted his speed-walking with a small groan.

"Peter!" He yelled as he cupped his hands over his mouth, eyes narrowing. Agitation coursed through his veins and it took nearly all of his willpower not to say something rude or off-putting to the poorly disguised teen. "Get over here!"

The coloured spandex hiding not-so-subtly behind a large piece of machinery sucked in a loud, sharp breath.

"Uhm - nothing to see here, Mr. Stark!" the voice quivered in response, sounding extremely high-pitched, as if just caught in the middle of an unspeakable crime. "Just... uh..."

Peter Parker slinked out of his hiding spot and into Tony's line of vision, taking off his mask and playing with it in his hands, brown curls a mess, smiling nervously and bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"I'm - I'm uh, I was just planning on going to the jet to help you guys out."

Peter threw his hands in the air as if the remark was a grand gesture, still smiling nervously - but Tony's stern glare shut that act right down.

"Kid," Tony sighed, rubbing at his temple, "Do you not hear these alarms going? This is urgent stuff, use your... your brain, or something."

Peter's heart began to pound.

"I - I do hear them Mr. Stark," Peter assured quickly, brown eyes widening, "That's why I wanted to help—"

"Well, you're not," Tony interrupted, walking towards him and gripping him firmly on the shoulder. "The team has to go. Like, right now."

He stood in front of the boy with a raised eyebrow and an authoritative look, waiting patiently for his statement of defeat.

Anyone related to Tony, or anyone close to him, knew his assertiveness was not to be taken under advisement - it was to be taken seriously; in the moment; right now. And if you didn't comply or agree, there would be hell to pay after.

Everyone knew this. Both Stark girls knew this.

Peter knew this.

Which is why he ended up sighing and hanging his head, biting his lip as he shifted on the soles of his feet, regretting his attempts because they ended up being so terribly short lived.

"Okay, okay. You guys go," he mumbled dejectedly. "I'll stay here."

He paused a moment before adding: "Alone."

"C'mon kid, don't be so dramatic," Tony said with the ghost of a smile, finding Peter's behaviour awfully amusing. He began to pick up the brisk walking pace that he started off with. "Anyways," he said loudly as he rounded a corner, "You won't be alone because Pepper is staying too."

There was the hint of a smirk on his face before he disappeared from sight - leaving Peter stock-still on the third floor and looking like a mix of confused and stricken all at the same time.

He just shook his head, as taking note of the ear-splitting alarms that shrieked in his ears as he walked back to his room, he figured it was some small joke on Tony's side.

But maybe, he thought as he bit his lip, clenching his hands together in nervousness as he opened the door to his room, He knows.

A few hours passed and the Avengers were yet to come back.

Neither of the teenagers residing in the Compound were particularly worried though, because they were definitely used to it.

Pepper was hitting bags into next week in the training centre, her favourite past-time; punching and kicking and slamming into the sand-filled sacks with all of her might.

Peter was cooped up in his bedroom doing chemistry homework as Bon Iver played softly through his speakers, accompanied by the soft sound of jagged graphite writing against rough lined paper.

There was quite a difference between the two, in terms of personality.

Pepper Stark was a girl who narrowly avoided arrogance - if not perfection.

She was extremely intelligent, an avid seventies and nineties music listener, a gifted fighter, and just about as charming and charismatic and witty as it gets; exactly like her father. Her assertiveness and quick wits made her desirable by nearly everyone if her good looks hadn't locked them in yet.

Her high cheekbones and narrow jawline, stunning hazel eyes and small splatter of freckles, defined nose and full lips, fit physique and dark brown hair... it was bewitching.

She looked like her father when he was younger though it was more in a frightening resemblance.

As for Peter, wild eyebrow and naturally curly hair and all, he preferred to study instead of train. Because hell - he got enough of a core workout by swinging around the city every day - he didn't want to work out when he didn't have to, because frankly, he didn't exactly like it.

His six-pack is the only thing he's gotten for free in his life, and he definitely accepts that lucky counterpart to his spiderbite.

Around others Peter is seen as awkward and twitchy, but around Pepper, he's seen as sarcastic and witty and funny. He feels a sense of security around her and he loves the prescence she brings. She doesn't care when he stutters or says something accidentally offensive, she's just there for him to talk to and be. She's his rock.

Nevertheless, Peter guesses opposites really do attract, because the pair cancel each other out in more ways than one.

He was wrapped up in his thoughts instead of doing his chemistry homework, just writing down blank words in ignorant bliss, and Pepper was just finishing up her rigorous training session.

Her limbs were tired and her hands quivered as she grabbed a white towel off of a nearby stand. With a shaky breath and adrenaline spiking through her small body (causing her to shake a little), she wiped the sweat and stray hairs away from her flushed freckled face.

She let out a relieved sigh as she finished up, taking a quick sip from her water bottle and tossing her damp towel into a basket before leaving the training room.

Her tight-fitting shorts she kept from her junior year of volleyball seemed tighter than ever around her legs, and because of the fair amount of sweat she shed, all her workout clothes felt tight and the only thing on her mind was the need for a shower.

Feeling slightly gross but also relaxed and light, she was in the mood for a small nap, until her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of somebody humming.

It echoed through the hallway, and she stopped and listened for a moment. Her well-shaped brows furrowed in confusion, until she realized it was coming from the room on the far left of the fourth floor - Peter's guestroom for when he stayed at the Compound - and she couldn't help it when her upper lip twitched into a half-smile.

Pepper smirked before jogging up towards the door, deciding she would pay her friend a little visit. She knocked on the door.

"Hey, can I come in?" She asked, pushing the door open a bit and poking her head through.

Pepper could see Peter's head whirl around at the sound of her voice, and he looked like he was about to run at her, not knowing the intruder - senses on full alert.

He accidentally flung his homework onto the floor in his certain-there's-an-intruder-like stupor, but his eyes softened and his face erupted into a sheepish grin as soon as he saw Pepper's snickering form in the doorway.

"You scared me, Pep," Peter mumbled, lip twitching into an embarrassed smile as a pink tint crawled up his cheeks, causing her to laugh.

He chuckled feebly, his words sounding as if his heart had just recovered pounding at an inhuman rate. They were breathy.

Peter beckoned her in with a little nod of his head as he awkwardly picked up his notebook. He put it beside him as he laid down on his side.

"Well, that was eventful."

Pepper hummed, green eyes gleaming, covering her grinning mouth with the back of her hand as she tried not snort any louder than it allowed.

"Who knew you were so jumpy, Parker?" She teased lowly, raising an eyebrow and leaning up against the doorframe, "You're full of surprises, huh."

Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed, reaching for his mechanical pencil that rolled under the bed.

"I think you'd know all my 'surprises' by now," he snorted, voice strained as he reached his arm further under the bed, arm stretching for his pencil. "You're so -" he grabbed onto it with a grunt and sat up on his bed, smiling goofily. "-Damn clingy."

"You know it." She returned the smile with one of her own, one that made Peter weak at the knees and make him feel as if his arms were numb. He didn't realize he was staring at her hair that was stringy with sweat and her slim figure until she coughed.

She raised an eyebrow and felt her lips involuntarily twitch into a half-smirk. "You good?"

"What? Wh- yes."

Peter recovered easily thanks to the many habits he caught on from Pepper. If this was him talking two years ago, god... painful.

"Anyways, what's up?" He asked curiously.

"Eh, nothing really," Pepper said casually as she shrugged her slim shoulders, turning their playful banter into actual conversation. She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her chest. "I just wanted to say hi."

Peter's lips quirked into a small smile before he pulled himself up the bed and rested his head against the headboard.

"Oh, okay," he said. "Nice."

He grimaced a little at his awkwardness, though secretly, his heart did a backflip with relief because he knew that Pepper didn't care nor notice.

"Yeah," Pepper smiled, swaying back and forth absentmindedly. "I mean, I just finished up with training and figured I'd catch up. Y'know."

"Yeah, definitely," Peter said with a vigorous nod of his head. "S'good to hear what's going on in that crazy Stark head of yours."

The ghost of a smirk painted Peter's lips as he propped up his hands behind his head.

Pepper smiled and sauntered over to his bed, sitting down on the side and bouncing up and down slightly at the springs. She brought her legs up underneath her and curled up into a little ball, leaning her head onto Peter's shoulder.

"There's really nothing new," she explained, "It's just annoying that... God I sound thirteen," she added with a small smirk, "My dad won't let me do anything fun the team and it feels... weird. You know?"

Peter nodded.

"I feel you, Pep. He's that way with me too."

"Yeah?" Pepper asked inquisitively, genuinely curious about her dad's behaviour towards her friend. She quirked her head to the side. "Is he protective... with you?"

Peter shrugged, taking his hands out from behind his head and adjusting his position to sit up beside Pepper. He gave her a small closed-mouth smile.

"Er - kind of," he said, glancing down at his thumbs as he picked at the skin around his nails. "It's a little..." he paused as he pondered the thought. "Overbearing," he said finally. "Sometimes."

"Yeah," Pepper agreed, giving Peter an understanding side glance as she sighed, moving a little and resting her head more comfortably, feeling as if she was sinking into a nice warm bath, drowning in his naturally blazing skin, falling deeper into Peter and his warmth.

She nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck and intertwined their hands, letting out a content sigh. She rubbed her thumbs gently over his bruised and healing knuckles.

"Overbearing is like, the perfect word for it," she said quietly.

"I'm sure he doesn't mean anything bad, Pep," Peter said softly, smiling down at their hands on his lap. "He just... he just doesn't want to see you get hurt, s'all."

"I know, Peter."

Pepper furrowed her eyebrows and absentmindedly swung their hands back and forth, biting her lip.

"I... I feel like I have no capability around him."

Peter frowned.

"What do you mean?" He asked as his eyebrows furrowed, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at her. "You're probably the most capable person I have ever met."

He said it so definitively, as if it was the only thing that rang true in the world, and Pepper couldn't help the small blush that rose up on her freckled cheeks.

"Thanks," she smiled, laughing a little awkwardly as she felt the rising colour on her face. She brushed a stray piece of dark blonde hair behind her ear and gave Peter a smile. "It means a lot, Pete."

She looked at him appreciatively, and Peter could see the golden flakes in her hazel eyes glow when the orange sun shone through the window and skylight just right. It illuminated all of her defined features and made her look older, yet wiser, and more.... experienced.

He gave her a small smile and turned his head to press a small kiss to the side of her temple.

"No problem, Salt," Peter chuckled, leaning his head against hers. "Only the best flattery for my favourite person."

"Oh shut up," Pepper laughed, "Everyone knows you like MJ the best. And not gonna lie," she leaned closer towards him, lips brushing against the shell of his ear and causing goosebumps to erupt on his skin. "We all have a bet on who's gonna ask who out first."

Peter's heart began to pound in his chest and the sound of Pepper's laughter seemed to fade away in a hazy fog.

Embarrassment and guilt suddenly flooded his veins because really, really, he didn't like MJ like that. He might've been hanging out with her a bit more than usual to divert his attention away from the beautiful girl sitting right in front of him.

He felt bad, but MJ knew what Peter was doing. She even got him to admit it. But no one else knew that MJ was a scapegoat for Peter's lingering emotions, except for her, of course.

Peter laughed, though Pepper noticed a bright red blush creep up onto his cheeks.

"You guys do not," he said, mouth gaping and eyes widening at the incredulity, though at the same time he scoffed, corners of his lips twitching up into an amused smile. "I can't believe you."

"I mean, I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet...?" She trailed off, looking at the blushing boy curiously, before noticing the certain way his eyes crinkled and how his face turned that specific shade of pink. His eyes looked glassy and distant, and underneath that mask of a smile, Pepper could see all of the characteristics that made up Peter - the ones that indicated his truthfulness - and though she throughly believed her best friend was telling the truth, he was just a very gifted liar.

She gasped.

"Awe, look who's getting all bashful!" Pepper remarked, giggling at Peter's pink face as amused snorts left her lips. "You like MJ, I called it!"

"Do not!"

"Uh, yes you do, Spidey."

"I don't, Pepper. I really don't—"

"Be quiet and just admit it," she giggled, pressing her hands to Peter's cheeks and squeezing them. "We all know you like Michelle—"

"Okay, Pep. I like Michelle."

Peter rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air, attempting to make his false statement more believable. But the smile still stayed on his face at Pepper's insistence, and at how happy she looked while urging.

"See? It wasn't that hard," she said calmly, smiling, "I know you, Pete. Not that big of a deal."

Clearly you really don't—

"I know, I know."

A small pressure in his chest seemed present as soon as the words left his mouth.

He offered Pepper a small closed-mouth smile, hoping it didn't look to forced, as the realization of the lie suddenly dawned on him.

He did lie, after all - and now his feelings for the Stark girl might now go completely undisclosed - how could he be so stupid? He really was a smart kid in the science and math department, but social skills and confessions? Definitely needed some work.

"You okay?" Peter suddenly heard, tearing him away from his thoughts. "You looked like you zoned out there for a minute."

He shot up quickly and shook his head, looking at Pepper with wide eyes, knowing that his eyes probably looked vacant or glossy.

"N-no, I'm fine," he said quickly, "I'm just... just thinking."

Pepper's green eyes glittered. "About MJ?"

Peter gaped at her for a moment before sighing and resting his head in his hands, turning his head to face her as he let out a bleary laugh.

"You're never gonna let me live that one down, aren't you Pep."

"Nope," she said, popping the "p." She pat his arm in fair-game as a small smirk twisted her lips. "I know you've liked her for awhile now."

"S-shut up-"

She suddenly furrowed her eyebrows, and at the look that came over her face, it immediately stopped Peter from his pitiful stuttering. It was a look Peter knew all too well by now. Her intense gaze and far away eyes, thinking with all of her brain power as the cogs behind her brain twisted and turned, nearly giving out, smoking and fuming - Peter knew that face. Pepper's (embarrassingly) signature analyzing and thinking face.

Peter unconsciously mirrored the Stark girl's body language by furrowing his eyebrows too, and he opened his mouth to say something before Pepper's sweet and toned and plausibly nutty voice (if that even made sense) tore through his statement with a smooth cut.

"But... but now I'm not so sure."

She still didn't look at him, and her gaze was a confused and glassy gaze. She was still thinking.... though with a small bleary chuckle her eyes were torn from her reverie. They came back to where she was, beside Peter, still leaning against his shoulder. She glanced at him and sighed, raising an unceremonious brow, rubbing her green eyes as she let out another tired chuckle.

"You don't like MJ, don't you, Pete."

Peter's heart stuttered in his chest. He was sure he felt it stop, at least for a second. His mouth fell open in surreal-ness of it all, smooth brown eyes formed into the very definition of confusion... though he still nodded slowly for the softly gazing girl to go on.

"Well, for one, Pete," she began slowly, sucking in a breath. "You... you never stutter. At least not around me."

Pepper didn't want Peter to see her as sad or upset about their current situation, she just couldn't help the random emotion-vomit that poured like a thrashing river from her pores. She guessed that she didn't want to startle Peter with her oddly accurate guesses of one of the most closely-guarded things in his life.

Peter's mouth gaped open again, in awe and in adoration at the brilliant girl sitting beside him. He considered asking her if she ever wanted to pursue a career in psychology but found it unnecessary.

"Damn..." he trailed off, corner of his mouth twitching into an awe-filled smile. "Your people skills are impeccable, Pep." Peter said it quietly, almost embarrassingly, rubbing his face as a blush crawled up his freckled cheeks. "You notice... everything."

"The family trait," Pepper sighed, planting her elbow onto the top of her thigh and holding her head in her palm. "I thought you would know that by now."

She turned her head to face Peter, and instead of the melancholy facial expression he expected due to the lack of energy in her voice, he was instead met by a beaming girl who looked like she was just given a million dollars.

"So that means... you've actually been productive instead of pining over the same girl for three months!" Pepper squealed, suddenly jumping up onto the bed and wrapping her arms around Peter's waist.

He recoiled a little at the sudden touch, in surprise, but not even a second later, his lips erupted into a large grin. Laughs spilled out of his mouth like a smoothly flowing river that had the perfect amount of wave; like a sink with the perfectly flowing amount of water pressure.

"What's up with you?" He laughed, throwing his hands up in the air and patting Pepper's wild hair down as she hugged him tighter, continuing on her happy mumbling and profusely smiling cheeks. "You're being weird."

Pepper just laughed, pulling away from him though keeping her arms still wrapped around his middle, not even paying attention or realizing how close their faces were. Their noses were barely brushing. She didn't mean to, but she moved closer and accidentally nudged Peter's nose with her own - sending a beeline of goosebumps down her freckled arms at the small touch.

She knew it was minuscule, and she might've even scolded herself in her head for getting a reaction as large as that over something so small... but in that moment, she had the opportunity to look at Peter for a fleeting second. She did not realize how his erratic breaths had slowed down, too, and how his heart was pounding loudly in his chest.

The close proximity did things.

And in that fleeting gaze she managed to grasp, she never knew just how much she loved him (in the most platonic-way possible, so to speak... though she knew something... lingered).

Sweet brown eyes and lopsided smile, messy brown curls and toned biceps, endearing hugs and snorts and quick witty comebacks, defined nose and jawline and all - he was her Peter, her best friend.

Pepper's.

And in that moment, teeth biting lips and nerves flooding through her veins, she felt an uncanny sense of happiness she was sure she would never feel again. It was more powerful than the hardest drug, cancelling out the high of marijuana or acid or even the most dangerous, like ketamine - how she had experienced these aforementioned poisons is a tale she'll never tell - but she was convinced, absolutely and wholeheartedly and no-doubtedly convinced, that this feeling she was administering in her small, strong body was only the beginning of a spark.

One she would happily ignite.

And in that devouring flame she could see herself sharing soft and loving gazes with a pair of brown eyes. Green eyes. A sense of love that could never be altered. Toned muscles tensing with every fleeting touch, eyes crinkling and mouths gaping, hair messy and torn-about with only the most gentle of touches... sleepy presses of lips to hot skin and lustful quivers of swollen lips against creamy necks.

Pepper smiled and swore she could see tears swimming in her vision. The crinkles that met her eyes, only appearing in the happiest of times, managed to squeeze over her waterline with the next laugh she let out.

"W-what?" Peter spluttered from in front of her, mouth gaping open in confusion though his smile still stayed on, extending his arms to hold onto her sides to keep her steady. "What just happened?"

Pepper's lips only quivered, eyes swimming in salty tears, though she refused to let them fall. Her jaw was trembling and she should've felt at least a small twinge of embarrassment; but she didn't. She didn't.

"Nothing happened," she whispered with a breathy chuckle, reaching her trembling hands around Peter's back, pulling him close, leaning forward and putting her forehead on his. "Just had an epiphany, s'all."

"Alright, I'm not going to question... that," he said, only the mere echo of a chuckle, before realizing the seriousness of the situation at hand; and then quietly, words barely meeting his lips due to the close proximity, he knew if he spoke too loud, he would drown out the moment - hell, even the background music was perfect - and he didn't want that. His many slip-ups have resulted in many things going to shit, but he wasn't going to fuck up this one. No way.

"What is this 'epiphany?'" Peter asked softly, closing his eyes and leaning against the small girl in front of him. "If you mind me asking, at least —"

"You."

"What—?"

"You," Pepper responded quietly, simply, willingly; biting her lip so harshly she wasn't surprised when her tongue was met with the taste of blood. She sucked in a shaky breath. "You."

Though Pepper's green eyes were closed and her breathing was short, she could tell that Peter furrowed his eyebrows, because he just had to... in typical fashion.

"What do you mean?"

Pepper's eyes fluttered open, and she was met with the sight of Peter looking like absolute serenity, nervousness, and unease rolled into one gigantic headspace of unsure. She couldn't help the chuckle that left her lips.

She gently placed her fingertips on Peter's eyelids, drawing them open. In the moonlight seeping through the window, the golden-orange glow of the sunset now retired into another dark night, Peter's brown eyes looked even more ethereal. Planets offering beautiful things... shades of silver and dirt. A comforting mud after a rainstorm.

Pepper smiled.

Her soft green eyes, dull and filled with flecks of hazel and brown, a new forest - a near oxymoron compared to Peter's rugged warm ones - met with a burst of colour in each their own names.

Pepper brought up a hand to hold the side of Peter's jaw.

The moment was sleepy. A warm lavender bath filled with splashes of vanilla, notes of redwood. Sinking deeper... deeper... deeper into the milky cleanse, hazy yet sweet, dreary and exhausting yet loved.

"I don't know what I mean," Pepper whispered, gaze softening as Peter sunk his head into the palm of her hand, looking at her as if she was the only thing in the world, eyes focused on her and only her. He grabbed the hand holding his head and placed a small kiss to the pad of her thumb, wordlessly urging her to continue.

"I... Peter," she said quietly, a near whine, feeling her stomach house a million butterflies when he leaned away from her hand, now having his own cup her cheek. "I need... don't..."

"Please, for once, be quiet Pep," Peter whispered, leaning closer, biting his lip, scoping out for her reaction or her institence to say no. Her face was calm with an undertone of nerves, but Peter knew, if she didn't like what he was doing, she wouldn't put a stop to it a while ago; a very abrupt stop.

He moved closer and Pepper could feel his lips ghosting over her own, his breath, how it smelled like mint and chocolate, courtesy of his favourite gum... she wondered guiltily what it would feel like to taste it. He smelled like his shampoo, the one that Pepper would use when he wasn't around at the Compound, because she missed him and the sweet smell of cedar wood and pine and peppermint made her think of him... home.

She sucked in a shaky breath and gripped tightly onto his shirt, a loose-fitting Queen tee that held an ungodly amount of muscle underneath. She looked unsure and Peter could tell, but she still managed to look like his Pepper.

The moon illuminated her and as Peter moved closer, he felt her breath against his lips, her eyelashes; the warmth permeating from her cheeks. Everything.

And with a swift close to the remaining feelings, that were previously left out in the open, unreciprocated, were now filled, and not just by the lust building up between two teenagers, young adults, but by the bodies quivering and shaking and trembling and panting, tongues meeting and tasting in the most primal form of love, declaration.

It was happening and it was accepted.

And as their hearts pounded like racehorses, a day off to the races, pleasured moans and arched backs and fullness, a new feeling settled over them.

The feeling of them singing to their own song, administered by the smoothest and softest of touches, horses whinnying away as they fell into brilliant natural routine.

It was no one else's, but theirs.

Beautifully and blissfully theirs.

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