#tobeypeter parker x reader
perfect timing doesn’t exist
pairing: peter parker x f!reader
warnings: some angst, not much else!
summary: Christmas Eve is a mixture of things for reader this year, and Peter preps for her to meet Aunt May.
notes: oof this took longer than i intended TT_TT sorry! some weird dream stuff and some magic stuff and some little tidbits about reader here. i also just love cameos u wu take the greek with a grain of salt, if you would ; ;
taglist:@goyimphobic
moth & spider masterlist
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Christmas Eve came, and found Peter and [Y/N] meeting at her apartment in the afternoon. She was feeling better—after three days of Aunt May’s soup, her grandmother’s recipes, and a firm regimen of cold/flu combo meds, she was sniffle-free and out and about again (if bundled up a little more, since their plan was to go walking and look at the Christmas lights). She met Peter at the door, wrapped in a number of dark layers, a thick beanie and bulky knit scarf, boots, and gloves warmly in place, and Peter in his layers and his parka and pom-pom hat grinned at her from the steps as she emerged and locked up, smiling.
“Well you look much better!”
“It’s the lipstick,” she joked, “makes me look like myself again.” He leaned in to give her a quick kiss while she was right at eye-level on the steps with him.
“You looked like yourself without the makeup,” he replied earnestly, smiling at her affectionately, “just, y’know, a very sniffly and sneezy version of yourself.” She snorted, rolling her eyes, but took his arm when he offered and trotted down the sidewalk with him.
“Well, you look a little like a marshmallow right now, so I guess I’ll let that slide.” He laughed, and as she leaned against his side, Peter thought nothing had felt so normal or so comfortable for so long now, part of him wasn’t even sure how to react. But [Y/N] was warm against him and the air was cold and crisp, and the day was gray but otherwise nice, and he was happy.
They made their way down Bleecker and [Y/N] filled him in on a few of her neighbors, and the neighborhood stories she knew. That building had burned down some years ago, this apartment was supposed to be haunted, that shop’s owner was secretly with the mob…they window shopped, passing a few boutiques and she took a picture of him next to a weirdly youthful-looking Santa painted on a shop window that she said looked like him.
“I used to walk with Nona to get groceries and run errands,” she explained as they walked, now hand-in-hand, under a few trees strung with white lights. “She knew everybody. I—oh,” she spotted the doctor heading up his stoop up as they passed, and he cast a glance at her, smiling a bit wryly to himself.
“Good to see you out and about again,” he remarked, and she grinned.
“I should send you the bill for my cold meds,” she joked, and he got his door open, heading in.
“And I wouldn’t pay it. Enjoy your walk.”
“Peter, this is Doctor Stephen Strange, and if you ever need any help with your health he’s apparently no use.” Peter blinked, raising an eyebrow a little but gamely playing along.
“Oh, uh, it’s nice to meet you then Doct—”
“Not yet,” the man cut him off, and promptly shut his door on the two of them. [Y/N] blinked a few times, but shrugged it off and led Peter along again.
“What was that about?”
“Oh I have no idea,” she replied, “I’m pretty sure he’s psychic or something, but I also know if I ask him, he’s just going to say ‘no’ whether it’s the truth or not, so I don’t bother. But I’m still sure he’s psychic.” Peter’s brow knit a little as they walked, digesting this, and he decided it was better to just accept it at face value.
“Wait, his name is actually Doctor Strange?”
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The park was busy as usual, but mostly with people traveling through on their way shopping or to parties—they spotted more than one group of people in formalwear or approximations of it taking pictures together. They themselves got some warm coffees to hold onto and sip while they peoplewatched, and took a few of their own photos. Night fell, the lights glowed bright around them, and they walked on through the park together, rosy-faced and grinning as snow tried its best to fall.
“So you’ll be at May’s tomorrow?” Peter asked as they strolled down a lane of lit-up trees, walking backwards to face her. [Y/N] smiled, nodding.
“I will be at May’s tomorrow. I even got her a present.” He skidded to a stop, eyes wide.
“What! I thought we agreed to no gifts!” She breezed past him, smiling smugly to herself.
“We did agree no gifts. Aunt May did not.”
“That is not—“ he still smiled, catching up to her quickly. “You didn’t have to get her anything,” his voice was softer now, and more sincere. She shrugged, smiling.
“First impressions are important, and I’m looking forward to meeting her, and she sent that soup to me when she didn’t have to. Besides, it’s small anyways, it’s not like I really knew what to get her in the first place.” Peter stopped, and this time she stopped too, looking up at him as the few scattered people still out walking went around them. He looked almost disbelieving, smiling at her like it was the only thing he knew how to do. He moved close, taking her face in his hands, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “What did I say?”
“Nothing,” he breathed out, voice full of laughter, “everything. I think I love you, [Y/N//Y/L/N].”
[Y/N]’s eyes went wide and she felt herself go still, hearing this, and for a moment Peter looked terrified, realizing what he’d said, but [Y/N]’s eyes softened, her cheeks went just a little more pink, and she smiled, reaching her hands up to rest on top of his.
“I think I love you too, Peter Parker.” And maybe she meant it. Maybe it was okay, just then, even if neither one of them meant it out loud, because it was, for that minute, in the freezing park under the Christmas lights, snowflakes not quite clinging to their clothes and hair, what they both felt—and that was enough. Still, as he leaned in and kissed her, Peter hoped it was real, and lasting. After all the mistakes he’d made and the things he’d lost and done wrong, a small part of him felt like he didn’t deserve that, knew that he was hiding things from her, knew that maybe he couldn’t ever let her in on all of his secrets, and maybe that would be too much. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to accept that, maybe she would end up wanting more than he could give, maybe this would go horribly wrong. Her lips curled up into a smile against his, and he forgot about everything worrying him.
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Peter walked [Y/N] to her brownstone again, hand-in-hand and smiling ear to ear all the way there. Her antique porch lamp was on, but otherwise her apartment seemed dark inside; on the stoop, they stopped, and stood together outside her door.
“So.” She smiled a little, took a quick breath, and for the first time she looked nervous to him. “Christmas with Aunt May tomorrow.” Peter nodded, squeezing her gloved hands.
“You really want to come?”
“I-I really do,” she nodded, chewing her lips a little, and glancing down. Peter’s smile faltered some.
“…But, there’s something bothering you.” He leaned in, trying to catch her eyes and get her to look at him. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” [Y/N] exhaled quietly, looking up at him.
“Peter, are you sure she’s going to be okay with me?”
There was a pause, and Peter took in what she’d said, his eyes briefly looking her over. In her thick black coat and her chunky black knit beanie and scarf, her torn black lace stockings over the dark purple ones, the knee-high black boots he called her pirate boots (which always got a giggle), her black gloves…and her dramatic dark eye makeup, her numerous earrings, and her black lipstick. She was no MJ, no Gwen Stacy, nothing like anybody he’d ever brought around Aunt May, and he definitely knew she understood that.
“I can…I can tone it down tomorrow, I mean I know it’s an important day to her, I don’t want—“
“—You don’t need to change anything,” he said firmly, meeting her eyes without hesitation, and rested a soft, mitten-covered hand on her cheek, smiling affectionately. “You’re beautiful. And you’re my girlfriend, and that’s what matters.” She smiled a little, but raised an eyebrow at him.
“Just that?” Peter seemed to realize his misstep and backtracked a little, smiling when he saw her smile and knew she was teasing anyways.
“No! No, of course not—you’re also—also very nice. And smart! And funny!” [Y/N] laughed at this, swinging their arms a little.
“I’mfunny??”
“You’re funny!”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before—“
“You are! I’m laughing right now!”
“Oh my god…” She laughed, shaking her head, “Peter you’re such a dork…” but he leaned in, taking advantage of the uplift in her mood, and kissed her forehead.
“I’m a dork and I managed to get a girl as cool as you to like me. And my Aunt May is gonna think the same thing.”
“That you’re a big dork and I’m cool?” he laughed again.
“Yes!”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but okay.” She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his waist, tilting her head back a little to look up at him. “You wanna give that another go?” He took her chin and kissed her, smiling against her lips, and when she leaned back again, her smile sobered. “I can at least wear normal makeup tomorrow,” she said softly, and he gave her another quick peck on the lips, leaning his forehead against hers.
“I like your makeup, no matter what you do. Just be yourself.”
“Okay.” She breathed out a soft little laugh, and nodded against his head, bumping foreheads a little before turning to unlock her door. “Go home before you freeze out here, my big darling dork.” Peter took a step or two down and turned to watch her get inside safely.
“You sure you’re okay? I’m gonna wait until your lights are on.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, clicking on her front room lights for good measure and smiling. “See?” He gave her a lopsided grin.
“I just worry,” he admitted, “Big empty house, you all alone in there…”
“I’m okay,” she smiled at him affectionately, “Promise. I have a phone, and a taser, and a baseball bat, and a bunch of nosy neighbors,” she grinned. He smiled.
“Not even afraid of ghosts?” [Y/N], instead of laughing like he’d imagined, just smiled.
“There are no ghosts here,” she said gently, “They’ve all moved on by now.” And that caught him off-guard enough for her to swoop down and kiss him one more time before hopping back up the steps, smiling. “Now go home, my dear. Your aunt is gonna hate me if you get sick too!”
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[Y/N] showered and put on a load of laundry before deciding to head to bed at last; making sure the place was locked up and her lights were all off took a minute, and as she headed up her staircase, she thought about what Peter had said.
Upstairs, the hallway to her bedroom passed a storage closet, her upstairs study, and the doors to her grandmother’s old room, and the room that had been her mother’s, years and years ago. Her own bedroom was technically an attic, but to reach those stairs, you had to first traverse the hallway, and [Y/N] sighed softly to herself at the closed doors. She hadn’t been able to go into her mother’s old room. That door remained shut, and she could feel the emptiness there even from outside. Her mother hadn’t used that room in years—since before she herself was born—but her grandmother had left it alone even after she’d moved in, too. [Y/N] knew that even her strong nona hadn’t been able to really face that wound on such a regular basis, and she couldn’t blame her. Tonight, she thought of ghosts, and for the briefest moment standing there in her empty brownstone in front of a room that had been empty longer than she could remember, she felt inescapably sad.
“No, you didn’t stay.” she said quietly, to no one at all.
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It was 3:13 on the dot when [Y/N] woke up in a wild bubble of clarity.
She hadn’t had a dream like this in years. Rushing with startling precision, she slipped out of bed in her nightgown, didn’t bother with slippers or robe, and barefoot, she first tossed an old journal and pen onto her bed, and then went for her shelves. She grabbed her little old cauldron and quickly lit a charcoal tab, rummaging for the herbs she wanted, whispering to herself all the while to keep track of the dream. The adrenaline rush from waking so suddenly and so completely would likely wear off soon enough, and chill would settle into her bare skin, but right now she was determined to take care of this. Shorthand would do for now. A few rosemary leaves, a few rose petals. A ground juniper berry, a drop of dragon’s blood. Sage. The dry herbs and oil caught and began to smolder, and as the tendrils of smoke wafted up out of the little cauldron’s pot, she breathed deep and shut her eyes, recalling the dream. Her hands went blindly for one chest of stones that she knew, even sightless, and she let herself be drawn to what she would be, holding the stone in her palm and steadying her breathing.
Her grandmother. She’d seen her grandmother—she was standing on a high, grassy hill, in the moonlight, overlooking some ancient temple, and before she could tread down the hill to investigate, her grandmother had been there, beside her.
“Do you think you’re ready for that?” she’d asked, her aged face lined with concern. Nona had always encouraged her to follow her intuition, to believe in her own power, in her own ability, but now, she looked quietly worried. [Y/N] had paused, torn for a moment between the temple, and wanting to embrace her grandmother. She felt tears in her eyes, and turned back to the strange stone building, watching the light from strange fires inside of it.
“I can always come back,” she’d said, but when she looked back, her grandmother was no longer there, and she was standing on the hill facing her mother. Her throat constricted and her chest felt tight; her mother smiled at her, dark hair and dark eyes, just like she could remember her, but somehow different too.
“No,” she said gently, “You can’t. But I think you’ll be all right, [Y/N/N].”
“M-mom…” she’d breathed it out, feeling the tears falling down her cheeks, but still rooted to her spot.
“You’re gonna be okay,” her mother said, and just smiled. “Σκώρος. καθρέπτης. Δύο φλόγες. ἰχώρ.” [Y/N] felt something strange come over herself, watched as her mother swept close and took her face in her hands, felt wind come rushing up the hill around them, billowing her mother’s dark hair like a flag. “Hecate, Hecate, Hecate,” her mother chanted softly, “Final of three. You’ll be okay. Remember. The mirror is a door.” [Y/N] shook her head, holding onto her mother’s hands on either side of her face as if to keep her there, tears still falling.
“Mom—I don’t understand,” she got out, sniffling some, “I miss you.” Her mother’s smile was kind as she stroked her daughter’s cheek.
“I’m always with you, honey. You know that.” She let out a soft, sweet laugh, and leaned in to kiss [Y/N]’s forehead. “You can trust the spider, little moth.”
In [Y/N]’s hand was a palm stone, soft purple and mottled with a lacy white, lepidolite. She had to wipe at her face with her free hand, sniffing quietly and wetting her lips.
“You finally show up when I call you out about it, huh mom?” She whispered, swiping at her damp cheeks. “And I have no idea what you’re even talking about.” She swallowed, taking a deep breath and letting her eyes find her statuette of Hecate in the low light. That detail she did understand. Her eyes met the eyes of the little statue, and she turned the lepidolite over in her hand a few times. “Hecate, Hecate, Hecate,” she murmured, recalling how her mother had said it in the dream, “‘The mirror is a door’? Mom, what the hell…”
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Christmas morning was cheery and warm at Aunt May’s; Peter was over early every year with presents and a kiss on the cheek, and already May’s apartment smelled like baked goods and Christmas dinner.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” She gasped, seeing Peter by himself, and he looked a little sheepish.
“She’s coming in a little bit! She said she’d be here around noon, I just always come early and I thought—”
“Peter! You should have come along with her!” Peter let Aunt May toddle into the kitchen with him, settling at her little table and setting his gifts down.
“Well, I also…I wanted to talk about her before she’s here,” he admitted, and May gave him a curious look from her place back at the stove.
“And why is that?”
“Well she’s…she’s just nervous about meeting you,” he got out, rubbing the back of his neck, “And I mean, I understand, she’s not—she’s just—“ May put a hand on her hip and waved a wooden spoon at Peter.
“Now Peter, did you make this girl think I’m that scary?”
“No! No, what—no, you’re not scary, May, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
“[Y/N] is…she’s not like anybody else I’ve had around. She’s definitely no Mary Jane.”
“Well, the way you’ve talked about her, I’m sure she’s a nice girl.”
“She is! She just doesn’t look—”
“Peter Parker, I know I raised you better than that. I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely. Tell me something important about her.” Peter smiled a little lopsided smile at this, gazing out at nothing and thinking of [Y/N].
“She’ssmart. She’s in an internship with a scientist that was in the paper, and she’s just…she’s so smart. And she likes taking pictures—she might be better than me at it! She’s nice, too. She always tips when we get anything to eat. The baristas at the coffee shop we like all know her. The little old lady in the park that feeds the birds, the one with the little dog? She knows her by name! Her name is Florence, and her dog’s name is Tippy, and [Y/N] brings Tippy dog treats and has birdseed for Florence.” He smiled to himself, thinking about all of this. “She knows her neighbors, and talks to them. She’s funny, but she doesn’t mean to be sometimes, I think. She lives by herself in this big brownstone in Greenwich and she likes to read and I think she believes in ghosts, and she makes her own tea…” Aunt May was looking at him fondly when he looked up again, smiling broadly.
“Peter, I don’t think it matters what this young lady looks like.” She came up in her apron and patted his cheek affectionately, “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you look this way. How could I not like someone who makes you this happy, hmm?” And Peter ducked his head a little, laughing softly as May headed back to her pots and pans.
“I really like her, Aunt May.”
“I can tell,” May replied sagely, smiling to herself.
“I think I’m in love with her.”
“Then I’d better make sure all of this food tastes good!”
food for thought
pairing: peter parker x f!reader
warnings: tw for food, illness, brief discussion of death / death mention
summary: reader catches a very unfortunate cold at an inopportune time–peter takes the day to come play nurse.
notes: a shorter installment–i’m sick right now myself might have another one up soon, possibly tomorrow if i can get it finished! fingers crossed, haha
taglist:@goyimphobic [just ask to be added!]
moth & spider masterlist
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It was the week of Christmas, and [Y/N] was sick.
The morning after her run-in with Spider-Man and her amazing date with Peter, she’d woken up sniffly—and the next two days she’d toughed it out with some over-the-counter cold meds, but by that Saturday, there was no more denying it: she was definitely sick. Fever-ridden and a little hazy from how congested her sinuses were, [Y/N] couldn’t help but think, if briefly, that this was somehow her neighbor’s fault. ‘You’ll mind being sick later’—but she knew that was nonsense. Dr. S had a strange name, but he was just a guy who lived a few blocks over on Bleecker Street, not a psychic, after all.
Peter had that Saturday free, as it happened, and had been planning on spending it with [Y/N]; they’d agreed they would forego Christmas presents (since she didn’t really celebrate and Peter was looking to get himself a new motorbike) but he was determined to figure out something small to do for her all the same. They were officially a couple now—[Y/N] was his girlfriend, and that on its own made him want to do something special for her, holidays aside.
But when he called her that morning, she sounded awful.
“‘Morning, P…”
“Whoa, I didn’t wake you up did I? It’s almost 10—“
“Wake me—no,“ there was a sniffle on the other end, “no, I think I’ve got a cold.“ A little shivery cough, and then, “…I’m basically absolutely sure I have a cold.”
“Oh god—you sound awful—n-no offense—do you need anything? Can I bring you anything? Are you okay?”
“No, I-I’m good, I’m just trying to sleep it off, really…I might see if one of my neighbors can run to the grocery for me later. Sorry Peter, I really wanted to see you today…”
He hadn’t felt this put-out over anything in weeks. But then something hit him, and he paused, before calling up Aunt May.
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[Y/N] was in bed; she’d been drifting in and out of napping, a box of tissues and her little trash bin next to her bed along with a few bottles of water and her laptop, which had finally given her too much of a headache to even look at anymore and now sat closed on her nightstand. She’d been considering going and adjusting the heat, going and digging through her pantry, going and even trying to watch TV or sleep on the sofa or something, but so far nothing had gotten her up. Her head was still foggy and a little achy, and she felt sluggish and sniffly, but at least she thought maybe her fever had gone down. Her phone pinged, muffled from where it had slipped down into her thick black comforter, and after an aggravated moment of digging through her bedding, she pulled it out and took a minute to blow her nose for the thousandth time while reading the message.
peter :What’s your address? Aunt May insisted on sending you some of her chicken noodle soup. It’s home-made, and I can swear it’ll fix your cold up.
She smiled at the phone, sighing a little. He was so sweet—she probably wasn’t contagious at this point, and she did want to see him…
me:well, if aunt may went to all that trouble then i can’t say no
She glanced around at the mess on her floor from the tissues that had missed the little black trash can and the empty water bottles, and finally heaved herself up out of her nest of bedding to tidy up a little.
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Peter’s eyes widened a little at the text showing her address, even standing on the corner of her street now. Aunt May had been surprised he didn’t know where she lived, but then more surprised still when they looked to see where it was.
“My goodness, she lives in the Village?” And he wasn’t completely sure what to make of the way she’d said it, but facing the stoop that was supposed to be hers, he was starting to form an idea. She lived in a townhouse—not just an apartment, a whole townhouse, and not just a townhouse, a brownstone. It looked a little—a lot—aged, but the windows on the front were clean and the plants had been trimmed back for the winter, and the stoop was clean, the black metal fencing not rusted at all. For a moment, he wondered suddenly if she lived with someone she hadn’t told him about, and god he hoped he looked presentable enough as he climbed the stoop to ring her doorbell. It took a moment, long enough for him to panic a little that maybe he’d gotten the wrong place, but then sure enough, the door opened and there was [Y/N], cheeks rosy, nose red, fluffy black bath robe tucked close around her, old black slippers on her feet, hair a little mussed but tied back, and most notably her makeup was off and her eyes were a bit red—but overall, somehow, he couldn’t help but think she looked adorable as she saw that it was him, gave him a little smile, and shuffled in a little to let him inside, wiping at her face some with a tissue in her hand.
“Hi,” she got out, tissue at her nose, “Come on, you’ll get sick standing out here too.” And just like that, her large, old door was shut behind him, and he was inside her brownstone with her.
Immediately, he felt mildly chilly—it was the feeling of emptiness, rather than the literal temperature of the air. Her foyer was narrow and a little claustrophobic, but she showed him where he could hang his coat, and then led him out and into the apartment proper. The place looked like her; dark wallpaper on the walls—actual wallpaper! It was a dark, deep purple and patterned with a sort of floral pattern. The floors were a varnished almost black wood, but she had rugs, older, somewhat eclectic rugs here and there, running the little corridor connecting the foyer with the front sitting room and then into the open, atrium of a room that had, he could see from there, the staircase. The front room was clean, but didn’t look terribly lived-in: a library, dark walls lined with shelves of old books and little knicknacks, some large rocks and crystals, a few animal skulls, pressed flowers in frames…the furniture was very vintage, obviously antique, but upholstered in deep violet fabric and adorned with black and gray and purple cushions; a loveseat, a small armchair, and a little coffee table. The most personal part of the room was at the bay windows, there was a reading nook, and resting there was a blanket in dark green with black patterns on it, and a stack of books resting on the cushioned seat. Peter smiled, seeing it, imagining [Y/N] sitting there and reading with her blanket.
“My grandmother liked to use this room to entertain,” she said from the doorway, smiling, “I redecorated, but really only the colors. A lot of the things on the shelves were hers, and my mother’s.” Peter looked over at her.
“Just the colors?”
“I reupholstered the furniture. I always liked the style—was a nice project for me. Did the reupholstering, fixed up the wood finish, painted the shelves and had the wallpaper updated…” His eyes went wide as she gestured around.
“You did all of this yourself?”
“It was…nice,” she replied, sniffling a little and smiling to herself as she looked at the room, obviously remembering, “After she died. She’d always said it was important to make a space your own when it became yours—and it took me a year or so after she died to get around to it, but I got it done.” Peter followed her down the narrow hallway, past the paintings of landscapes on the walls, and into the adjoining room; it was like an atrium, high-ceilinged and with a little chandelier hanging from the apex of the roof, the staircase wrapping up around the wall to lead upstairs. Across from the dark stairs was a wide entryway into another living area: two plush, dark sofas, another short dark coffee table, a dark, soft area rug on the floor, a television. This room was much more lived-in; quilts on the sofas, some magazines and a remote on the coffee table, a few journals and notebooks, a spare pair of slippers. There were more shelves in here, these with movies and green plants, a few more books. A few antique light fixtures and an antique lamp, some used candles here and there.
Under the stairs, though, was another entry, this one into a dining room that looked hardly touched, and then from there into a kitchen that linked the two rooms, and had a door leading outside and to the fire escape on the back of the building. The kitchen was cute, eccentric, spice racks and dark cabinets, plants, windchimes and suncatchers hanging, papers and notebooks on the kitchen island bar, dried herbs hanging over the countertop. It smelled like good food and it certainly smelled used, lived-in, and welcoming.
“You cook?” He asked, watching her set the container of soup from Aunt May on the stove. She smiled.
“I do; my grandmother liked to cook and I was always in the kitchen with her.” She opened the container, and smiled at the smell, closing her eyes a moment. “Ohh, this smells amazing.” She shut it again, sneezing into her tissue and looking apologetic. “You really didn’t have to come all the way over here while I’m like this…”
“No!” Peter pushed off of the bar where he’d been leaning, stepping up closer to her, “No, if anything this is exactly when I should come all the way over here…” he rubbed the back of his neck a little awkwardly, smiling, “I didn’t realize you lived here, though,” he glanced out the kitchen windows, “You’re the one that’s been coming all the way over to Queens to see me!” [Y/N] just smiled, rubbing her nose.
“I mean, I don’t mind it. I’m over there a lot for work, anyways.” Peter shifted a little closer, eyes on her rosy face. Even sick, she just looked…sweet. Lovely, in a disarming sort of way.
“Well, then maybe now I can start coming over here, too.” [Y/N]’s smile widened a little, dimpling her cheeks.
“I wouldn’t mind that, Parker,” she admitted, her voice soft and affectionate, and when he leaned in to kiss her it would have been perfectly charming and delightful if she hadn’t immediately sneezed and jerked back, just barely managing to cover her nose. Peter just laughed as she groaned and blew her nose, throwing her tissue away and shaking her head. He grinned, watching her shuffle to the trash can and back.
“We can…we can try that again, y’know.” She sighed a very dramatic sort of sigh.
“Maybe when it’s not such a hazard…” But Peter ducked down and kissed her cheek anyways.
“I don’t know, it’s not so bad.”
————————————————
They shared Aunt May’s soup up in her bedroom. Peter was still a little in awe at how big the townhouse was, and that she lived alone, but her room was massive—like a studio apartment in itself. Black decor, moths and butterflies pinned in cases, plants and charms hanging around her room. Tapestries of the moon and its phases, of strange charts and symbols on her walls. Shelves with more crystals and odds and ends, candles, little statues he didn’t recognize. A desk and chair, and a high ceiling with a skylight opposite the side of the room her bed was on. They sat, she on her bed and he on the chair from her desk set next to her, and she chatted a little about the house as he tried (despite her repeatedly telling him it was fine) to fuss over her, made sure she had tissues handy and her water bottles were full and her pillows were all arranged comfortably.
“My family owned this whole building years ago; it was a boardinghouse for a long time, but then they renovated, turned the building into apartments, and sold most of the other units,” she explained, “My parents and I lived in another unit, but my mother grew up here with my grandparents, and when my mom and dad died my grandmother took me in.” Peter paused on a spoonful of soup, watching her.
“How…how old were you?”
“Nine,” she replied, and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, you know. I don’t mind if you ask.” He went a little pink, looking caught.
“I still feel…like I don’t know how to tackle this kind of thing,” he admitted, “Even after losing my Uncle Ben.” She nodded, watching him.
“It was recent?”
“Yeah. Not quite ten years ago.”
“Death is a strange kind of thing,” she said evenly, “It’s a natural part of time and life and the progression of everything but it still feels like it’s never the right time, like you can never really prepare for it.” He nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Losing my grandmother was like that, too,” she sighed, “Especially her leaving me the house and her things and all…” she shook her head, “Like I had all these things that were mine all my life but that felt like they weren’t supposed to be mine anymore…” she shrugged, “It was a weird process. Still is, in a lot of ways.” She glanced around, gesturing vaguely. “But, I grew up here. When she left me the brownstone, it was like…okay, this is mine now. I always loved living here, so…” she shrugged, “It’s my space, now.” Peter smiled at her, after a moment, feeling strangely touched to be sitting in this apartment with her.
“Thanks for letting me in, then,” he said softly, and she smiled at him.
“My grandmother would have liked you,” she grinned a little privately to herself, rolling her eyes fondly as she took another sip of soup. “I would never have heard the end of it if you’d showed up here with soup for me and she was still around.” Peter let out a little laugh.
“That’s a relief, then.”
“But she would have given you the business about bringing someone else’s soup for me,” she laughed, “Nona was The Cook around here.” She slurped up a piece of noodle, “I’m glad you did though. This is really good.”
“I’ll pass that along to my Aunt,” he nodded, grinning, “She’s really disappointed you’re sick, she’s been hounding me to get you to come do Christmas with us.” [Y/N] paused, hearing this, and Peter rambled on a little awkwardly. “I told her you don’t really do Christmas, and you know, that you’re sick, just—”
“—You want me to meet her?”
Peter paused.
For a charged moment, he and [Y/N] just sat in the quiet, looking at each other, and then he nodded.
“Yeah,” he replied, “I really do.”
[Y/N]’s [e/c] eyes lit up, and her whole expression softened.
“If I feel better, I’d love to do Christmas at your Aunt’s place.” Peter’s spoon clinked a little hard against his bowl in his lap, and his face was delighted.
“Really? That’s—“ he was at a temporary loss, just smiling from ear to ear. “That’s…that’s great! Aunt May’ll be so excited, she’ll probably go a little nuts cooking, and I know you don’t really celebrate but you don’t have to—“ [Y/N] leaned over and pressed her lips to his, quieting the steady flow of words and smiling against his skin. Peter went still for a second, but then melted into the kiss and leaned closer to her on the bed, reaching up and cupping her cheek. This time, she didn’t sneeze, and nobody’s phone interrupted them. This time, their lips were both warm and soft, they tasted like chicken noodle soup and [Y/N]’s skin was maybe just a little too warm, but otherwise? It was perfect.
But, like all perfect things in Peter’s life these days, this made him realize how afraid he was that it could be taken away.
Caught In Their Webs (Part One)
Warnings:fluff, some angst, swear words, some steamy stuff
Nothing to interesting yet just some set up for the next chapter. Things start to get steamy, next chapter. I’m very exited for the spice!
Andrews!Peter= Peter Toms!Peter= Parker Tobeys!Peter = Pete
You were sat in your bed, staring at your door with an intensity, petrified that at any second the door would open, or someone would knock, and you’d have to deal with the inevitable.
After your Peter left, you were left alone with the two other Peters. Your head, still absolutely reeling in shock from the new information, as well as the fact that there were now two handsome boys or Peters in front of you. You said nothing, and simply walked past them awkwardly, walking to your room with haste. Slamming the door shut behind you and falling onto your bed.
That had been three hours ago. The sun had set, and you were started to get hungry as dinner time came, yet you were still glued to your bed. Staring at the door as you had been for hours, unaware of what exactly you should do. You had texted your Peter at least 30 times, but he had simply replied with a ‘I’ll be back late tonight, after 10’ a text that had done nothing to calm your nerves.
You sighed dramatically, falling back into your pillows, and checking your phone. A bright picture of you and Peter hugging in the snow greeted you, along with a blaring 7:47pm. “Ughh!” you groaned. Slowly you sat up and walked to your dresser tossing of your shirt and pants with the intent to change into something more comfortable and talk to the other Peters, before a knock startled you and you turned to see the door opening slowly opening, to shocked to shout out.
Peter 3’s head popped in “Hi um, we were just wondering if you were…. Oh my gosh oh god I’m so sorry!” he yelped, turning, and slamming his head into the side of your door frame in his rush to shut your door. You heard a hard thud on the other side of the door once it was shut, along with a rushed whisper of ‘what the hell happened?’ from the other Peter.
“Oh my god, what the fuck even is my life!” you yelled at your roof, turning back to the and staring at in anger, now even less keen to exit your room. Not that you thought that could’ve been possible a moment ago. Quickly dressing, in some of your nicer clothes, which you totally didn’t do on purpose, you walked to your mirror. You gave yourself a once over, and quickly fixed your hair, for absolutely no reason ‘god stop it Y/N, you don’t need to look cute’ you snapped internally. Walking to the door you halted at the handle. You took a deep breath in, mentally preparing yourself, before you opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
You walked into the loungeroom, where the two Peters sat on your couch. Peter 2, looking at you kindly a small smile gracing his handsome features. Whilst the Peter 3 was staring at his feet, face beet red. You sighed, before walking in and sitting on the table in front of them, folding your hand into your lap.
“Ok, this um needs to happen I guess,” you spoke, a sudden determination filling you.
Peter 2 coughed softly, “Well perhaps formal introductions are in order. Um, I’m Peter 2 to you guys, but in my universe, I’m known as Peter Benjamin Parker, I was bitten by a genetically modified spider at a school trip, and I became Spiderman. And three of my old villains, who I fought very long ago are now here in your universe as well.” Peter 2 spoke softly, nudging Peter 3 softly after he was finished.
Peter 3 sat up straight, a faint blush still on his cheeks as he avoided your eyes, “I’m Peter 3, and well I’m also Peter Parker, I snuck into Oscorp industries, and I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and I became the amazing Spiderman. Um, two of my villains are here as well.”
“Wait, there are others from your universes here. Villains?” you questioned. “Is that where my Peter is?”
Both Peters sat up straighter, Peter 2 spoke first, “When your Peter had the strange doctor do his spell something went wrong and we were suddenly in this universe. We found each other quickly, but where still not sure how many others there are yet, but so far we pretty sure that there is just five others.”
Peter 3 leaned forward, face suddenly serious “Your Peter and the doctor have found and captured two so far, but the other three still have to be caught,” he spoke seriously.
“Um, so once the other three are caught things will be fixed then, and you two will go back to your universe?” you questioned softly.
The two Peters glanced at each other before turning back to you. “Unfortunately, It’s not that simple, there are certain conditions in which the spell was first created, those conditions need to be met again for the spell to be fixed” Peter 3 spoke.
“That and the doctor said he had no clue how to fix the spell, said something about unusual complications not mentioned in the books. He was uttering something about refusing to go to Wong and that he can do this all himself,” Peter 2 spoke pensively, leaning back in his seat. “First, we actually have to catch the others villain’s, but we have no clue where they are. Which is what your Peter is working on now.”
Peter 3 clapped his hands together, “Then we let your magician do his magic spell, and bam we go back home,” he grinned.
You pursed your lips, nodding your head softly, “and who are these villains exactly? Are they dangerous?” you questioned softly.
The atmosphere shifted instantly, both Peters suddenly tense in their chairs. After a few moments of silence Peter 2 spoke up, “There’s Doctor Otto Octavius an…. He has already been captured. Flint Marko or the Sandman, and worst of all is Norman Osborn or the Green Goblin.” He turned away softly a sad look on his face, “They were once great men. All three of them”
Peter 3 placed his hand on Peter 2’s shoulder in comfort, before turning to you, “My foes are Doctor Curt Connors or the Lizard.” Your eyebrow shot up in question at that one. “As well as Max Dillon or Electro. They were my friends once” he spoke softly, a saddened look in his eyes as he looked at his shoes.
Your eyes went between the two handsome boys, heart heavy as you looked at their saddened faces. “Hey.” You whispered softly; both the boys looked at you intently. “Let’s order some pizza huh!” you said standing up.
Walking away from the two boys you turned your head back to them, “hmm, I wonder… three pepperoni pizzas, extra cheese?” you questioned, giggling when both the boys sat upright immediately, excitement clear on their faces. You walked into the kitchen pulling out your phone, “Oh, and I am not calling Peter 2 and Peter 3 so I’m going to have to figure something out with that” you cried out. Drawing out a chuckle from both the boys.
——————
An hour later all three of you were sat on the lounge, watching TV whilst waiting for your Peter to return. “Wait, so you’re telling me that neither of your universe have Rick and Morty? That is a travesty!” You cried out, from where you were sandwiched between the two boys. Both enthralled by the show on your tv. “Oh my god I wonder what else you guys don’t have.” You spoke in shock.
“Hmmm, it’s reminding me of mick and molly, in fact its quite identical,” Peter 3 mumbled, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap and stuffing it into his mouth.
“What the fuck.” You mumbled out, bewildered. Peter 2 chuckling beside you. “Hmm that reminds me, I’ve thought it through and I’m calling you” you pointed at Peter 2, who raised an eyebrow at you smirking softly. “Pete!” you chirped, poking his chest softly, to which he chuckled softly. “And I’m just calling you Peter, and my Peter shall be foremost called Parker or bug boy, both names are used by my friends more than his real name anyway” you laughed, poking Peters chest as you spoke. Face flushing when he shot you a giant grin.
“Hell, yeah I get to keep my name” He cheered, making Pete snort beside you. Pete’s hand reaching into the popcorn just as you did. Your hands brushed each other, and a bright blush covered your cheeks whilst a low blush covered his face. You turned back to the TV, with a cough.
“So um, going back to the topic of things that are different in your universes,” you started. “Umm, well do either of you have… um significant others waiting for you in your universes,” you mumbled out, cursing yourself internally for your awkwardness. Both the spiders tensed suddenly tensed, a sad look in his eyes.
Before you could question it, Pete spoke out, “Well, I had my fiancé MJ, but well were kind of taking a very long break at the moment… we haven’t spoken in over a year” he mumbled out. You bit your lip, internally screaming at yourself for asking the question and ruining the mood. Your eyes strayed over to Peter, who had tears in his eyes, and every bone in your body was screaming at you to hold him but you stopped yourself.
“I um, had someone. Her name was Gwen…” he struggled to get the words out.
“Peter its ok, you don’t have to.” You started, but he cut you off quickly.
“No its ok… i had Gwen uh, well she was my MJ, and there was a fight and I… I wasn’t fast enough to catch her and she… she… she um died,” he finally chocked out, clearly trying so hard not to cry. Before the rational part of your brain could register it, you were wrapped around him tightly. Holding onto him as if he would fall, if you let go. He stilled for a moment before he let out a deep sigh and hugged you back tightly. A few moments passed and you felt Pete behind you, hesitantly hugging you both from behind your back. You reached one arm back to hold him as well, a silent confirmation that his touch was welcome. He hugged you tighter after which.
“My Peter, has an MJ to,” you mumbled out softly, both the Peters hugging you even tighter after which, as if they knew that it made you sad.
You sat there for ages, simply holding each other and breathing softly. You didn’t know why you felt so comfortable and content in their arms, and you sure didn’t know why you felt so protective and caring for these boys you had just met. But everything in you was screaming give these boys the world. You held each other till the tv went silent. You glanced up from Peter’s shoulder, looking at the Netflix’s are you still their prompt. “Do you guys have the office in your universes,” your whispered, mind randomly suggesting a movie name of the top of your head.
Peter sniffled softly letting you go gently, “no, what’s that?”
Pete also softly let you go, “we have the workplace. Maybe its like that,” he uttered
You looked at him bewildered, “seriously, what the fuck even.”
——————
And that’s how your Peter, or rather for this week, your Parker found the three of you when he arrived. The three of you practically sitting on top of each other, watching finding nemo, your hand still resting on Peters arm gently. Something he bristled at, before silently chastising himself, confused as to why a simple thing enraged him so.
“Hey, I’m back!” he called from the window, jumping in with a grin. “Got some progress about the spell. Um mister strange says he knows of a book that has information about how to fix the spell. Uh he just needs to fix it.” Parker started. “Oh, Y/N um I should probably explain everything now, well you see…”
“There’s no need Parker, they’ve already filled me in on the villains, mixed with the fact that doctor strange, is apparently a stubborn man who helped you break the multiverse and refuses to ask for help. Very inappropriate for a time thingie if you ask me. The real question is did you find any more of these missing villains or no?” You stood as you spoke one hand on your hip, and another pointed at Parker accusingly.
“Um, well there still missing.” Parker said, hands wringing together anxiously. “But we seem to think that we might now where one might be… tomorrow” he said anxiously. Both the other peters letting out a sigh at his words. “But don’t worry, MJ and Ned are coming over tomorrow and were going to figure everything out. MJs already got some great ideas.” Peter started, a loving face on his features as he spoke of MJ. You tensed sharply, something that did not go unnoticed by the other two Peters.
“Alright then Parker, so is there anything that we can do tonight?” you questioned Parker, failing to keep the attitude out of your voice.
“Um, well no… why are you um calling me parker,” he questioned softly, his features falling into a soft frown.
“Well, I refused to call you numbers… So, your Parker, he’s Peter and he’s Pete,” you pointed, accordingly as you spoke. “Now, if there’s nothing else, we can do tonight… then I guess we should just call it a night then. So I guess you can just leave now,” you sighed, stalking towards the hall for your bedroom before halting.
You turned to face Pete and Peter, “um, I guess Peter can take the guest room and the Pete can take my parents room,” you stated, pointed to the doors down the hallways as you spoke. “I am going to bed,” you sighed, walking away from the boys without another word.
Parker stood frozen at the window confusion evident on his face. He’d noticed you had been straying from the group, recently and was missing his best friend. The poor boy had no clue what he was doing wrong. But he knew it was him that was causing your distance from the group. The other two Peters were giving him knowing looks, like they knew exactly what he was going through. He gave them both awkward smiles, and quickly left through the window. Intent on clearing his head, with a few hours of patrol.
———————-
You were getting dressed into your pajamas, teeth brushed and ready to go to sleep. Already anxious for tomorrow when you heard a soft knock. You turned to the door, scared to be caught changing again but the door remained shut tight.
“Um come in,” you shouted out, after you’d quickly dressed.
Peter stuck his head in, “Hi, I um… I waited for you to tell me I could come in this time,” he said a proud look on his face.
You giggled softly at the look on his face, “well, yes that is what most people do,” giggling even more as his face flushed and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah, sorry about earlier, I’ve always been really bad at that aha… done it to you way to much” he whispered the last part so softy you barely caught it. You were confused by the phrase but decided against saying anything. You both stood in silence for a while.
“Did you need something, or?” you questioned, after an awkward length of silence had passed.
“Oh! Um I just wanted to say goodnight, and just let you know if you need anything just let me know ya know aha,” he laughed out awkwardly.
“Oh, well you’re the guest shouldn’t you tell me if you need something?” you questioned with a laugh.
He froze, a bright red blush on his cheeks, “yeah right of course, you’re a fucking idiot Peter!” he said smacking his head as he spoke. “I’m just going to go. Um, goodnight” he said as he stumbled back to the door. You laughed at his soft and gentle awkwardness, staring at the closed door with a fond smile.
‘he’s really cute’ you thought, before shaking your head. ‘Woah girl, where the hell did that come from! You can not get a crush on the damn alternate universe Peter Parker’ you said shaking your head as you crawled into your bed. ‘I suppose all of them are very cute. Arghh stop it bad thoughts!’
“Ugh,” you groaned out, before you finally fell back into your bed falling into a fitful sleep. Not wanting to deal with tomorrow already.
