Webofanxiety - Lauren - Tumblr Blog

What about baby being grumpy and Matthew is trying everything to make her happy again 🥺😍

Matthew doesn’t know why, but his 3 year old seemed to have woken up in a bad mood. Usually she would wake him up by tapping his face lightly until he woke up or jumping on his bed, but that morning, she only shook him and yelled his name until he woke up.

She didn’t smile at all during breakfast, even when Matthew accidentally spilled his orange juice. Luckily Matthew has the day off so he’s with her all day. He’s currently thinking of ways to at least get her to smile while she’s in the living room watching Drake and Josh.

His thoughts are interrupted when the three year old walks in, one of her stuffed animals in hand.

“Daddy. I hungrwy.” She pouts. Matthew looks at the clock on the stove and realizes it’s lunchtime already.

“Okay, what do you want?” Matthew asks, squatting in front of her so he’s at a more even height “I can make you mac and cheese. Or we can order pizza. I have the princess shaped mac and cheese you love. You want that?” He puts an excited voice on, trying to get her to be happy.

All Y/N does is shrug.

“You don’t know? Well, how about I make you the princess mac and cheese and we can identify which princess is which before we eat ‘em.” Matthew says and Y/N nods.

Matthew quickly gets everything set up and while waiting for it to cook, he lifts Y/N and puts her on the counter.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re so grumpy?” Matthew tells her.

“I not gwumpy.” Y/N protests, her mouth in a pout.

“Oh, really? Then why haven’t you showed me your big, adorable smile all day?” He asks. Y/N shrugs, avoiding his gaze. “Did you just wake up on the wrong side of the bed? Did something happen?”

Y/N still doesn’t say anything, watching her feet swing back and forth lightly. Matthew leans down so he can see her face and she looks at him.

“Is there anything I can do to make you smile?” Matthew asks. Y/N shakes her head, but Matthew thinks of stuff anyway. “Not even if I attack you with kisses?” Matthew places kisses all over her face, but once he realizes no giggles are coming out of the little girl’s mouth, he pulls away to see her uninterested expression.

Matthew slightly pouts since that always gets her to laugh.

“What about the tickle monster?” He asks in a funny voice, wiggling his fingers in front of her before attacking her sides. She squirms and pushes his hands away.

“No! Stop!” She yells and Matthew takes his hands away.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Matthew apologizes. “Do you want to color?” He asks. Y/N shakes her head. “Play with your toys?” She shakes her head. “We could go for a walk.” He suggests and she shakes her head again. “Ice cream after lunch?” She shakes her head. “Play a game?” She shakes her head again.

“We can have a silly voice and face competition.” He says in a silly voice, pulling a goofy face after he finishes talking. Y/N stares at him for a few moments before shaking her head. Matthew sighs, running out of ideas.

Matthew lifts her off the counter and holds her on his hip while he finishes up the macaroni and cheese. He gets some in two bowls, getting Y/N a plastic fork and him a silver fork. He carries both bowls and his child over to the table and sets the bowls down. He tries to put Y/N in her highchair, but she protests and yells so he puts her in the chair next to him, making sure to push her in enough she can reach the table.

Matthew sits next to her and holds his fork out for her to clink her fork against his, but she starts eating instead. Matthew frowns, knowing that’s her favorite thing to do at dinner -- aside from actually eating the food.

Matthew eats for a little bit, trying to get Y/N to talk and laugh, but to no avail, she stays grumpy. He finishes his bowl quicker than his daughter and pushes his now empty bowl away, resting his arms on the table.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re so upset today?” Matthew asks. Y/N shakes her head. “Do you want to take a nap after you finish eating?” He asks and she shrugs. “Did you not get enough sleep last night?” She shrugs. “Baby, tell me something.”

“I don’t know.” She mumbles.

“You don’t know what? Why you’re upset?” He asks and she nods. “Did something happen yesterday or last night or before you woke me up?” He asks and she thinks for a few moments before shaking her head. “You’re just grumpy for no reason.” He says and she nods.

“Anything I can do? You want to make a fort? We can make a fort.” He tells her. Y/N thinks before nodding, seeing as that doesn’t sound like the worst idea.

“Okay!” Matthew smiles, finally getting somewhere. “How does a movie day sound? We can watch all of your favorites in the fort and order pizza for dinner.” He tells her.

“Hocus Pocus?” She asks and Matthew grins.

“We can watch Hocus Pocus, yes.” He nods, letting out a light chuckle. “Anything else you want?”

Y/N thinks before standing on her chair and Matthew holds his hands out in case she might fall. She moves closer to him and holds her arms out, going for a hug making her lean over to him. Matthew wraps his arms around her, squeezing her as much as he can without cutting her air supply off.

“Oh, you are the best hugger.” He mumbles, rocking them a bit making a small giggle escape her. A smile comes across Matthew’s face, finally hearing the noise he’s been waiting for all day. He kisses the side of her head with a big muah sound.

“I still eat, though.” She says.

“Oh. Okay, of course. Finish your food, sweet little thing.” He tells her, helping her back into the chair and pushing her back in so she resumes eating.

They make the fort after lunch and the father and daughter spend the rest of the day in the fort, playing games and with Y/N’s toys. He read her a couple of stories before they got the pizza and ate that in the fort. They watched as many movies as they could fit in the day, some serving as background noise while they did something else. They watched Hocus Pocus 3 times because they both agreed it’s the best movie they watched that day.

Y/N fell asleep on Matthew’s chest while the animated Alice in Wonderland played on the TV.

Matthew looks down at her, seeing her asleep, and smiles softly, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. He got plenty of smiles and giggles from his little girl throughout the afternoon which he’s thankful for.

And the next morning, he’s woken up how he always is which is his favorite way -- his 3 year old lightly tapping his face, her cute, little laugh filling his ears.

First Halloween

Request: I read your story about Spencer and his 3 year old and Halloween, it got me thinking about what Spencer would do for his baby’s first Halloween. Picking out a costume, pumpkin picking and carving, and maybe going trick or treating with all the other bau kids, maybe they are older than her cause I see her being the bau baby like her dad

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: Y/N Reid’s first Halloween.

Warnings: fluff

a/n: thank you for the request! it’s short, but hope it works. Hope you all enjoy!

(gif not mine)

Spencer has the day off and given it’s almost Halloween, he planned the day to decorate. After that, he got his 8 month old daughter and took her to a costume store. He gets there and pushes her in the stroller, throughout the store.

Keep reading

Bambi!! I have a request, my love!

Frat!Peter taking you and your little baby daughter on a picnic sometimes because he just wants to spend time alone with his girls ♡ maybe she's a bit older by now and he just chases her around a field and they pick flowers to bring to momma? he's so girl dad I'm gonna cry. okay, anyway, love you, love frat!Peter, hope you have a lovely day/night

Tana my love I love you so much!! I adore this thought and while listening to my cute little domestic Peter playlist Hozier's In a Week came on and it only fueled me to write more...thus I give you this cute little blurb..

We'd Become the Flowers

(please reblog or comment in place of liking/hearting this post pretty please)

Grass and flowers crushed under Peter's bare feet as he chased the three year old around the field. “Maisy, Maisy, Maisy May.” He said your little girl's name in a sing-song voice pretending not to be able to catch up with the little girl. 

“Be careful you two I don’t need another coffee table incident.”

Peter and the little girl's ears peaked at your voice yelling into the field. 

“I only needed a few stitches.” Peter defends himself, hearing you laugh. Snatching the curly haired toddler into his arms blowing a soft raspberry on her cheek. 

Her soft giggles and squeals of more filled the air in the meadow, you lounged lazily on the yellow checkered blanket with your finals study guide/homework scattered around you. Peter could see a blur of your hair color and the blue sundress hazy in the sunlight. 

“Wanna help daddy?” Peter asked, kissing his daughter's head spinning her around. 

“Wanna help.” She says kicking her legs as Pete puts her down picking a handful of flowers. She watches him intently grabbing from yellow and pink flowers. “For momma.” 

Peter nodded in response. “Of course.” 

Peter watched her adoringly, she was the perfect mix of the two of you. She was so little but her heart already held your passion and kindness. Her need for adventure and terrible two’s coming from him. He thanked whatever sent you to him, and whatever got him here. He sat in the grass pretending to bite at the flower his daughter was putting in his face.

 These were his favorite days, all day picnics in upstate. He felt a joy he knew all too familiar. It was the same feeling he held going to ball games with Ben growing up, but now he was happy to be on the other end. 

Peter carried his daughter on his hip as he walked back, her little arms tucked full of the flowers they had picked. Maisy insisted she was big and strong enough to carry them all. 

“What is this?” Your head craned up to look at them and the heat built in Peter’s chest and face. 

“Just a little gift for momma.” Peter smiles sitting Maisy down as she handed you the bouquet, which of itself was pretty impressive. 

“Awe thank you Maisy May.” You said kissing your daughter's head flattening out her hair. Maisy smiled hugging her arms around your neck and Peter took a mental picture tucking it away into his long term memory. 

“Everything okay?” You had asked him after a bit of him just sitting and staring, your daughter half asleep in your lap. Your fingers played with her curls as Peter's chin rested on his knee. He smiled and twirled one of the pink flowers from the batch. 

“Everything is perfect bashful, I got my girls.” 

Hope you enjoyed this small little blurb friend 🫶🏼 it was so cute.

Taglist: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @a-lumos-in-the-nox @moonyslove78 @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @eevylynn

If you'd like to join my taglist check my pinned post!!

I haven’t seen anyone write ghost!reader helping the BAU solve her own case…like knocking things over to get their attention or play eerie songs to give hints😭

THIS IS SUCH A COOL IDEA??

--

For FBI specialists, these guys suck. They've spent 20 minutes looking through your bedroom, and not once have they gone through the shoes in your closet, where one is tucked carefully away with a blood-stained heel. You'd driven it into your killer's eye just before he'd stuck his own weapon into your stomach, and you'd watched him put it neatly away in its place as you bled out.

"Y'know, I think we are looking at victims of opportunity," A tall, lanky one muses, hair in messy waves down to his shoulders as his slender hands hold your journal that you're not too happy he's reading. "There's nothing in here that indicates any sort of high-risk lifestyle, or anything that connects Y/N to the other victims. I think she just had her window open, and that was enough."

"I think you're right, Reid. This doesn't exactly look 'high-risk' to me." Another speaks, the dark tone of his skin a stark contrast against the white button-up he's holding out from your closet.

"But there's still something missing," Reid hums, peering confusedly around the room, "I mean, the other victims lived miles away. So if these really are opportunity kills, this guy's driving across the country and perusing neighborhoods to kill? That's not very probable."

"No. There's something else," The bigger one agrees, kneeling by the stain of your blood against the carpet. You watch on from the corner of the room, waiting for him to tuck his fingers just beneath the edge of the bed and withdraw the token that had fallen there when your killer had flailed about in the loss of his eye.

He doesn't.

You groan with frustration, but neither of them hear it. You're tired of waiting, tired of watching, tired of hoping they crack the case. You lunge for the bed, sending a breeze against the bottom of the comforter and rippling it so that the coin is visible for a split second.

The bulky agent's eyes widen slightly at the unexplainable draft, his thick brows dipping in concern. But he's seen the shiny coin, and he lets out a tsk as he examines it.

"Morgan? What's wrong?" Reid glances over at him, "Is that-?"

"A train token," Morgan drawls, "'Guess we know how this guy's getting around."

"Where did you find that?"

"It was under the bed." Morgan recalls, "It was... weird. There was this little breeze, like- like someone moved the comforter. That's the only reason I saw it. Would've missed it otherwise."

Reid's eyebrows arch curiously, then a smirk slides over his lips, "Maybe it was a ghost."

"There's no such thing as ghosts, pretty boy." Morgan scoffs, standing up straight with the token in hand, "Let's go, we've gotta deliver the profile- ah!"

Before they can walk out the door, you grab the shoe from your closet, flinging it at Morgan's ankle in retaliation for his rather rude comment. He jumps nearly a foot in the air, looking down at your bloody heel in terror.

"That just- that just hit me! It flew out of the closet, and- no, man, I'm not doing this. Fuck- fuck this, I'm going back to the car."

"It's bloody," Reid crouches to examine the shoe, warily glancing at the closet it had flown from, "Go ahead, Morgan, I'll just be a second."

"That is why white people die in horror movies," Morgan spits, already beelining for the front door, "I don't fuck with ghosts!"

When he's gone, Reid is silent. He snaps pictures of the heel, only touching the mess after it's been sufficiently recorded. There's some obscene mush that rubs off onto his finger and he grimaces, inspecting the remains.

"It's an eye," He murmurs to himself, but you hear it from where you're crouched right beside him. He has a pretty face, Morgan wasn't lying. He peers curiously once more at the closet, and you slide yourself into his line of vision as if he can see you. It's refreshing to have someone look at you again, even if they don't know they are.

Reid stands, taking your heel with him. He digs a plastic bag out of his pocket and slides the heel inside, gloves stained the same unsettling color. He starts for the door, finished with his investigation, but he lingers just before he can exit your bedroom. You're standing just behind him, intent on walking the man out and watching him drive away.

He turns back, gaze aimed towards the closet that's no longer occupied by your supernatural throwing arm.

"Thank you," He speaks, "I believe you're real. And I hope this- uh, finishes your business here. I hope you get to rest soon."

My Neighbor's Cat

Franz

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Warning: sassy cat, fluff

Please support me by not only liking my post but also reblogging and maybe leave a comment in the tags. Thank you!

Spencer came home late. The case was long and tiring, taking a lot of his energy and patience. He nearly fell asleep in the escalator on his ride up to his level. The slight jolt woke him up. He dragged himself to his door with heavy legs. His key ready in his hand.

He couldn’t remember exactly how he opened the door or how he got to his sofa. The only thing he knew was he laid on the couch for 19 minutes and five second when he heard a light tap at his window. Spencer didn’t think too much. Sometimes birds get lost and peck at his window. But when he heard a stronger tapping followed by a pitiful meow he sat up and walked over to his window.

A tabby cat sat there meowing at him. He was wet from his ears to his paws. Spencer speed walked over to his kitchen to retrieve a kitchen towel before opening the window. First the cat started to ready itself to jump into his living room but stopped short as he saw the towel in Spencer’s hand.

The cat looked up at him with a look of ‘I dare you to touch me’. Spencer only huffed. He saw the poor thing’s body shake violently and grabbed it. The animal protested vehemently. Spencer tried to calm it down but no luck, “Stop thrashing. You are wet all over.” The cat hissed and screamed for his dear life. Spencer was scared someone would call the police or any animal rescue organization and arrest him for animal cruelty.

With a final hiss he let the cat go. It strode away from him with his head held high like he owns the place. As if sensing it is being watched, the cat turns around. Spencer was perplexed by the sheer personality the cat radiated from itself. It looked away from him and walked to his office desk. Spencer just saw as the cat looked at him, mischief in its eyes, and hopped onto it.

While finding the right space the cat knocked down a lot of his book piles. “No, no! Not there! Come on!” The cat ignored Spencer as it lay in the middle of his desk. Right on some papers for his current case. He wanted to take the cat in his arms and put them in another space but the cat wouldn’t pudge. He merely growled at him in protest.

Spencer sighted deeply. He gave up and turned to the notebook on his coffee table. He took it and sat down on his couch. He began to scribble down some leads and theories into the little black book. The cat snored loudly at his desk which earned it the attention of the genius.

Spencer closed his book and stood up stretching his limps. He walked over to his desk phishing his phone out of his satchel. He angled it so the cat was recognizable. He made sure the photo was okay before leaving out of his door. He made sure he had his keys before making his rounds.

His first stop was his next-door neighbour he never had met. They moved into the apartment a while ago, he couldn’t remember when. But one day he heard music blasting through their shared wall. He liked it. The drums stimulated his overthought brain. He waited for a few minutes before going to the next.

Door after door opened but no one seemed to claim ownership of the cat. He nearly wanted to give up when the door of the elevator opened with a ding and you stumbled out. You didn’t see the lanky man at the end of the floor standing by your door. You fished out your keys and came to a stop right in front of him. You looked up and saw him watching you. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking were I was going.”

Spencer didn’t know what to do. He felt heat rushing on to his cheeks. Before he could do anything you had a look at his phone. You were curious as to why such a young man had such an old phone model. You saw your cat on it. Your eyes wide. “Franz!”, you exclaimed. Spencer was thrown out of his trance. He looked at you before looking at his phone again. He cleared his throat before asking shyly, “Is this yours?” You nodded eagerly. “Yes, he is mine. This is Franz.”

Spencer was intrigued. “Franz?” You giggled softly, “Yes, after Franz Kafka. I like what and how he writes.” Spencer couldn’t stop the spreading of a smile in his face. “Well, Franz is sleeping at my desk on top of my work I really need to go over. Could you maybe get him?” You had to laugh. “Yes. Sorry about him. I think he can sense when someone has to work but needs a break. He does that a lot to me too.”

Spencer giggled as he turned his key to open the front door. He let you in before closing the door softly. “Right over there.” He pointed at where his desk was. As you walked closer you could see your cat’s sleeping form. Before you took Franz into your arms you wrote down your name and number.

Franz protested but was immediately soothed by scratches behind his ears. You turned to Spencer and nodded at the post-it with your information. “Just in case he bothers you again.” Spencer grinned brightly, “Franz could never!” You gave him a look.

The next day at work there was a sudden call on your private phone. It was strange at this hour of day; your friends knew when you had breaks and if they needed you urgently they called on your work phone. You looked at the caller ID and everything became clear. “Hey, Y/N! It’s Spencer. He’s back! What kind of cat food does he like?”

Wanna read more of Spencer? Click here Wanna stay updated? Click here Wanna request something? Click here

You liked this story? Please reblog and support my content!

𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 𝗺𝗲 - 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: peter wants to be babied.

𝘄/𝗰: 0.5k

𝗮/𝗻: hey guys!! it has been nearly a year since i’ve last written and i just wanna say i’m sorry for leaving for so long </3 please do bear with me, this may not be that good judging by how long it’s been since i’ve last written. i hope you enjoy though! also for everyone who has requested something, i haven’t forgotten about you! i’m getting to those soon :)

“please hold me” 

it’s nearly 1am and you’re sprawled out on your bed watching some random movie that was playing on tv. you’ve been up waiting for hours for peter to come by after patrol, and now he’s finally here sneaking in through your window.

“are you okay baby? you finished up pretty late” you question softly as you take off his mask and brush his hair out of his face.

“i’m fine. i just want you to hold me” he says tiredly and practically puts all of his body weight on you, causing you both to fall back onto your bed.

Keep reading

Stacked Against You

Summary: You confront Spider-Man about his true identity, manila envelope style (literally).

Goosebumps rise all over your body as the cold wind from the now-open window brushes past your exposed skin. You don’t need to look up, you know exactly who it is. “Sorry I’m late, some idiot tried to rob the pizza place on 13th Street.” The sound of his voice was deeper than normal, something he did when came to visit you like this.

“Romeo’s? They have some of the best pizza I’ve ever had. Are you hurt?” You can hear his footsteps approaching you, causing you to glance up at him. “Nope,” he pops the ‘p’ as he speaks. He sits beside you on the bed, “Tonight was really calm aside from the robbery attempt towards the end, I helped an old lady carry her groceries home, and she gave me one of those strawberry hard candies.” 

“The ones with the filling, because those are so good.” You can see him nod his masked head out of the corner of your eye. “How was your day?” 

You fall back onto the bed, “It was fine, I’ve been going back and forth about doing something.” He mirrors your actions and falls back too, “What’s got you so lost in your thoughts?” You sit upright, taking a deep breath before exhaling the word ‘you’. 

“What?” The eyes of his mask furrowed, further expressing his confusion. “You’re Peter Parker.” 

The eyes of his mask widened, “Wh-What?” You repeat yourself, “You’re Peter Parker.”

“No! Why would you even think that? Who even is that?” His voice was laced with panic as he sat up. You move off the bed and towards your desk, opening the drawer. Your back is turned to him when you say, “I’m glad you asked,” turning around with a manila envelope in hand, his name-his real name written in thick black marker. 

You start by pulling out old pages of a newspaper containing photos of Spider-Man, “Peter Parker is a close friend of mine, but more importantly, he’s a part-time photographer at the Daily Bugle. In fact, he’s their best photographer, because he’s the only person that manages to capture you on camera well,” 

“Oh, so you think I’m some photographer? I can assure you I’m not,” he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I don’t think, I know. The angle these photos are taken can only be taken by one person, you. No normal person can take these. Do you honestly expect me to believe these weren’t taken with a self-timer? This one is literally a close-up of you scaling the side of a building,” you shove the pictures in his face. 

“And don’t even get me started on the videos of you fighting or all the times I’ve patched you up and Peter just so happened to have a bruise or scar in those exact spots?” you interrogated. 

“That’s just a coincidence,” he’s trying to reason with you. 

“No, Pete. Once is a chance, twice is a coincidence, and three or more times is a pattern. Then your voice-”

“What about my voice?” 

“You always try to make it deeper but it never holds, it always falters. You always end up actually sounding like yourself, always!” 

“I have no idea what yo-” 

You step closer to him, shaking your head, “No, none of that. There’s no use denying it…the evidence is stacked against you, Tiger.” 

Peter’s glad his mask is still on to hide his flustered face at the nickname. He lets out a nervous laugh and takes a deep breath before grabbing the back of his mask and pulling it up, revealing a bashful smile and fluffy hair. 

You can’t help but grin at him, “I knew it!” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“Mad at you for being a superhero? Absolutely not. Worried? Definitely. I mean, Pete, you are the only person I know who runs toward danger. I’ve always worried about you and your safety, even before I knew, back when you were just Peter.”  

He lets out a sigh of relief, “Really? I know this is a lot to take in, I don’t want you to think I didn’t trust you enough to tell you.” 

You stand between his legs and place your hands on his shoulders, “I know you trust me. You wouldn’t come to me when you get hurt if you didn’t.” 

One of his hands rests on the back of your thigh, and the other plays with the edge of your shirt. “Can I ask what really tipped you off?” 

You smile down at him before opening your mouth, “There were a few things I kept a close eye on like you running off in the direction a siren was coming from. The places you had bruises and scars, as you, would match up with the videos of where Spider-Man got hit in your latest fight or an area I helped you ice or stitch up. And then your moles, you have a million of them, it’s not hard to miss when I’m cleaning your bloodied chest. You’re also in skin-tight spandex, I recognized your frame.” 

“You know for being just a friend, you sure do pay a lot of attention to me, honey.” There’s a smugness to his voice. 

Your cheeks heat up at his words, focusing your gaze on the wall behind him, “I’m just an observant person.”

“Uh-uh, that might be true but that’s not just the case now is it?” His gloved hand slips under your shirt, thumb drawing circles against your skin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Peter’s smirk grows, “I think you do, baby. I think you-” his voice falls into a whisper “- I think you love me.” You turn your head to meet his eyes and exclaim “What!” 

“You love me, you’re in love with me.” His confidence is beyond visible. 

“I am? That’s quite  the accusation, I’d ask to see your evidence but I’m almost certain you don’t have any.” You were trying to hold your own but it felt like he could see right through you. 

“Well I don’t exactly have the same kind of proof as you but I know I’m right.”  You give him a skeptical look, “Oh, do tell.” 

He starts running the hand he has on the back of your thigh up and down. “You do that,” he says. 

“What do you mean?” There’s a wicked look on his face, “Your heart starts racing when I touch you.” It was true, your heart was pounding against your ribs, but there was no way he could know that…right?

It’s as if he could read your mind because he continues speaking, “When I got bit, I didn’t just become super strong, my sense heightened. Including my hearing, especially my hearing. And right now, and every other time I touch you, your heart races.” 

You didn’t know the full extent of his powers, you knew he had super strength and a sixth sense but you felt dumb not even considering the fact he could have super hearing. “So the time you held my hand-”

“When we were crossing the street and your heart skipped a beat and you held your breath for like twenty seconds, yeah I heard that.”

“Oh, my god.” Your cheeks were now burning. 

“You also always have your hands on me, not that I mind, I really like it.” You open your mouth to contest his state but he cuts you off before you have the opportunity, “Before you deny it, I would like to point out you’ve been stroking my cheek this entire time.” You were, hadn’t even realized you were doing it, you begin to pull your hand away from his face when he leans into your touch. 

He pulls you closer, causing you to straddle his lap. “I love you. I know you love me too, you can lie to my face but your heart will give you up every time.” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, he loves you, and hearing him say that makes you melt. 

“I love you, I have for a while now,” you whisper against his neck. “I know you have, honey,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“Do you really listen to my heartbeat?” You asked, you had to know, the idea made your heart swell, you wanted it to be real. “Of course, I do. It’s my favorite sound, I love hearing that I have the same effect on you that you have on me.” 

“Oh, Tiger, you’re truly something else.… gimme me a kiss, please?” You close your eyes and pucker your lips waiting for his lips to meet yours. A warm feeling takes over when you feel his lips press into you. The kiss starts off delicate, the both of you were so giddy that you’re grinning against each other. The giddiest doesn’t go away but minimizes when your eagerness takes over, turning the kiss from sweet and gentle to heated and a bit sloppy with Peter’s tongue slipping into your mouth when you let out a small gasp after he gives your ass a squeeze. Your fingers work their way through his hair, tugging at it slightly, smiling when he groans into your moan. 

He pulls away and rests his forehead against yours, “You’ll be the death of me, honey.” 

Fairy!reader with Spencer?? She just has ZERO understanding of boundaries/Spencer’s aversion to touch so she is just all over him and he’s getting so flustered but he actually loves it <3

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

i'll do big!fairy reader where she's able to adjust her size or something like that <3

--

"So- so you can just grow and shrink as much as you want?" Spencer verifies, voice wary. You're currently prying at his wrist, pulling at his hands with your soft fingers.

"Mhm," You nod, finally wrestling his hand against yours. You match up your fingers, and Spencer feels warmth ooze through his skin at your touch.

"Perfect," You gush, wings fluttering happily behind you, "Same size."

Spencer feels weak in the knees.

Silence falls over the two of you, but your excited brain doesn't seem to realize that it's tense on Spencer's end. Instead, your eyes rove over his pretty face with his pink cheeks, and land on a chess set on a table behind his head.

"Oh," You gush, "Spencer, what's that?"

You rise to your knees on the couch to point over his shoulder, and it means your chest is at his eye-level. He clears his throat, turning his head to look at where you're pointing, 'Oh. That's- um, that's my chess set."

"There's a horse," You breathe, eyes shiny and wings fluttering, "Spencer, can I please have the horse? I promise I'll be careful with it."

"Uh, yeah- yeah, you can have the horse," Spencer reaches behind him to snatch the knight off of its square, presenting it to you with his slender fingers, "Here."

"Thank you!" You squeal, plucking it from his grip and surging forwards to smash your lips against his own. His eyes widen and his hands flail, but the kiss is a hit-and-run, over faster than he can think about stopping it.

"I like horses," You hum, eyes on the figurine as you settle against his stiff chest. You're tucked into his side like you hadn't just laid a kiss on him so big that he'll still feel your lips against his while he's drifting to sleep tonight. Your fingers ghost over the sleek build of the knight, "People used to ride them through the forest, and when they'd stop for lunch, I got to sneak out and braid the horse's hair."

"Did- um," Spencer's voice fails him, cracking mid-sentence, "Did anyone ever catch you?"

"No," You shake your head, craning your neck up so that you can meet his eyes. Yours are shining, as glittery as your wings, and your grin is just as pretty. The expression takes Spencer's breath away, and he's not sure his cheeks could get pinker if they tried.

"People don't notice fairies," You shrug, "Well, you do, but you're different."

At first, Spencer takes it as an insult. Well, not an insult, but not a compliment either. Different in the way people whisper it at him when he's rambling too much, or when he could read at a twelfth grade level at age six.

"You see things other people don't," You go on to explain, head back against his chest and cheek chubbed where it's squished against the material of his sweater, "You care more about everything, you make people feel safe. That's why I came here, y'know? 'Cause I knew you wouldn't hurt me."

Different is okay, Spencer thinks, heart pounding in his chest as you lean down to kiss his finger. His hands are still hovering aimlessly in the air, but at the sweet smooch, he lowers it to rest over your waist. You shimmy happily at the gesture, and for once, Spencer doesn't worry about the glitter shaking off of your wings onto his couch. He can deal with that later, for now, he'll care about you.

Prophetic Fucking Visions (Alfie Solomons x Reader) [One-shot]

Gif Source: cillianmurphyss

You first met Alfie on the shore, though you were in the sand and he was above you on the bluff. A gunshot exploded above your head.

Curses spewed out of you as you ducked, your heart pounding in your chest. A seagull went down in a puff of feathers, blood splattering onto your hair.

You swore loudly.

Alfie’s grizzled face peered over the bluff, eyes squinting down at you. “Fuck me, that’s a woman.”

Keep reading

Spencer Reid Oneshots 001-100

They are all in order from highest word count to lowest. Everything is under the cut.

60 fics total

🥵 = smutty goodness 😏 = implied smut 🥰 = fluffy sweetness 🥺 = angsty heartache 🙂 = neither fluffy nor angsty

Keep reading

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢 & 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚏

♡ - 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 | ◇ - 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 | ♤ - 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 ♡ | You visit the museum during your time off from the BAU, only to bump into your coworker, Spencer whom you only speak to professionally. But, perhaps the chance meeting is enough to change that completely and bring something new to your relationship.

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡◇ | Spencer always walks his best friend home whenever he can, especially knowing that she has anxiety and is afraid of going home alone at night. On their way home they get separated but Spencer is right there to protect her.

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐬 ♡◇ | When you don’t show up to the office several days running, the team gets worried. Spencer comes to check on you using the spare key you gave him for emergencies, only to find that your apartment tells a very soft and sweet story behind that business suit of yours. And maybe he falls for you even more than he already has.

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 ♡ | When Spencer’s favourite cafe closes, he finds a new place to visit for his morning coffee ritual only he stumbles across a cafe that is home to another regular who just so happens to like playing chess. And just maybe he makes a move, on the board and the pretty girl that plays chess.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ♡◇♤ | After a catastophic breakup that leaves you without anywhere to go, Spencer takes you in as his roommate. As time goes on however, Spencer finds out just how neglected your needs were by your ex and tension quickly builds between the two of you.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 ♡◇ | After you were kidnapped and hurt during a case, you stick exclusively to Spencer. You feel the safest with him. He doesn’t understand why, especially with Morgan and Hotch around, surely you would feel much safer with them. And maybe it just so happens to bring some feelings forwards that both of you had been suppressing all this time…

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 ♡ | When the Quantico office expands their library and introduces a new librarian, Spencer is immediately taken with her. But when she gets perhaps a little too curious about Spencer and is reading tastes, she turns to Penelope for help finding his goodreads…

𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡ | You have always had some hidden feelings for Spencer, he’s handsome, smart and a lot taller than you. But Spencer has caught onto your feelings, even if you won’t even look at him properly and he’s tired of waiting to ask you out. He plans to impress you with the things he knows you love most (other than him), books and stuffies.

𝐁𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ♡ | You head out to the bar after work, only to bump into Derek Morgan and his BAU coworkers. He tries to chat you up and get a date and as much as you like Derek (and think he’s hot), he’s not that professor looking nerd he came in with reading a psychology book in the middle of the bar on a Friday night…

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 ♡ | When you can’t settle, Spencer reads to you until you fall asleep

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 ♡♤ | You plan to admit your feelings to Spencer one autumnal afternoon, and maybe it leads to something else you had been craving too…

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐔𝐩 ♡♤ | While at Rossi's for a dinner party, Spencer has a bit too much to drink and accidentally spills the details about your secret relationship...

Hi :) I was wondering if you’d be open to writing something about Tommy and baby Shelby going to see Alfie. With season 5 Alfie trying to hide his scars because he thinks she’d be scared but she just cuddles into him. I get if this is weird or too specific😅

Protected

“Remember what we talked about eh?” Tommy says to his youngest sibling as he tugs open the door on her side of the car. (y/n) Shelby takes her brothers outstretched hand to help her jump down out of the car that was a little too high up for her to manage to climb out by herself. “Yes Tommy.” She responds, skipping off in front of him to the big heavy front door of the building they were going into. The little girl leans against the door to very little avail as it barely even budges until Tommy reaches the door too and pushes it open with one strong arm.

He steps very firmly in front of (y/n) in the lobby of the building to prevent her running off again, and crouches down to her height with both hands placed firmly on her small upper arms to hold her still. “You stay right next to me okay?” He repeats, “And stay quiet yeah? I’ll try and be as quick as i can.” (y/n) smiles in response, “And then we can go to the sweet shop?”

Tommy nods and gives his little sister a soft smile before he stands up straight and takes her hand tightly in his. His littlest sister is so fearless and unaware of the dangers of the life she was dropped into that it always gives Tommy a sense of relief in some ways. It was almost like a form of escapism. Bouncing between Polly, John, Arthur, Charlie, and Tommy had made her life very different from most, even from Tommy’s young son. It would be incredibly safe to say that it was a shock when Polly Gray had entered into the betting shop in Watery Lane holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. They were all incredibly confused and very soon learned that Arthur Shelby Senior had shown up on the doorstep with another child he wasn’t interested in raising. She was an accidental one who’s mother died in childbirth and the deadbeat father had been gifted with yet another little life to let down.

Of course it became very important for Tommy that the baby girl did not experience the same kind of sheer let down that their father had given to all of them. He named sweet little (y/n) on that evening 6 and a half years ago. He felt like he was completely aimless and useless at that time. He had decided not to go after Grace and that lost love was weird for him after finally having it. Then that beautiful, quiet, warm and sweet little girl was placed into his arms and held tightly onto his finger and suddenly, his world and his love seemed to hold new meaning.

She was his muse, his greatest love and his favourite little sidekick.

“Tommy fuckin’ Shelby.” Alfie rumbles out, his back to the door as he faces out his balcony. “That’s a bad word, Tommy.” (y/n) chides in a whisper as she looks up cautiously at her elder brother. Tommy offers her small hand a gentle squeeze and nods his head, but promptly turns his head back to the man holding a gun at the window. “And you’ve brought your mini protégé, i see.”

Alfie turns half of his face, only his good half, to see the sweet little wave from the youngest Shelby sibling. “Alfie, this is my sister; (y/n).” Tommy introduces, hoping his willingness to divulge his sisters name would move Alfie away from the subject as quickly as possible so that they could talk about what he was really there to talk about and then he could take his sister and go quickly. He didn’t like her having to be involved in these things, he always feared it would bring her into the line of fire. “Mhm,” Alfie grumbles, “Last time i saw you, you was only about this big-” He gestures with his hand only a few feet off the floor, “Couldn’t speak much, either.” The Londoner adds, eyes slightly narrowed. The 6 year old tilts her head to the side.

“I can speak a lot now, Mister Solomons.” She says, somewhat proudly. The burly man laughs, not his usual sinister or mocking way. “I can see that.” He hums in response, eyes moving from the little girl to Tommy when he clears his throat heavily to draw attention back to him. “If we could, Alfie, I’d like to talk business.” Alfie nods his head in response, gesturing with his hand to the couch across the room. Tommy let’s go of his sisters hand to sit down on the couch, the little girl doing her best to climb up beside him with only a little help from her brother. Alfie sits on the chair across from them. Tommy knows there had to be significant damage to the side of the man’s face after the injury he sustained from the bullet fired out of Thomas’s gun. There was almost no way he escaped that unscathed.

“I’m going to kill a facist, Alfie. And i need some men.”

The words from Tommy prompt Alfie to rather abruptly turn his head, somewhat shocked by the words, but more shocked by the fact the 6 year old little girl was completely unbothered by the words her brother had spoken. The pre-school aged girl simply continues fiddling with the pocket watch Tommy gave to her. She looks to be dismantling it with a very distinctive focus that reminds Alfie she is a Shelby, and she might fully be aware of how to kill him already.

“A facist ey?” Alfie repeats, his eyebrows raised. “Politics got to you, Thomas?” Tommy rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. “I need some men.” Tommy adds, making Alfie scoff. “Oh you do, do you? And you want mine?”

Tommy merely nods his head.

In his discussion with the head of the Peaky Blinders, Alfie had not forgotten the presence of the 6 year old on the couch, but it had fallen away from the forefront focus of his mind as he debated the thought of lending men to a Shelby’s cause. In doing so, he turned his head in thought and a little noise of awe left the youngest Shelby. Tommy and Alfie both direct their attention straight to her.

The little girl scoots herself off the couch and Tommy reaches for her arm, but just misses. She trods right up to the huge London gangster and tilts her head. “What happened?” She asks softly. Alfie shifts uncomfortably on the couch he sits on, running his finger absentmindedly over the scarring of his face. “Got shot.” Alfie responds, Tommy clears his throat heavily and almost awkwardly in knowing he was the one who had given Alfie Solomons his facial scarring. (y/n) tilts her little head in awe as she clambers up onto the couch next to him.

“Looks cool.” She mutters in awe.

Most look at him in some kind of shock or horror even. Some with sympathy thinking it had come from the war and some with fear knowing where it had really come from. But few with the kindness and curiosity of the 6 year old standing on his good couch.

“Does it hurt?” She asks quietly. Alfie shrugs.

“Depends.”

That’s when her little hand reaches forward to trace over the scarring with an almost feather light child’s touch as she stands there on the couch, her hands are cold and gentle over the markings that no one has touched since his last hospital appointment.

“Her mother’s daughter.”

Alfie flicks his eyes back over to a now standing Thomas as he reaches forward to lift his sister up into his arms where she sits on his hip with little furrowed eyebrows and a purse on her lips. Alfie’s residual aching cheekbone pain has faded to nearly non-existent for the first time he can soberly remember. He knows that Tommy knows this by the look in his eyes and the way in which he notes his prior statement before he gathered his sister.

“She’s sweet.” Alfie nods, standing to his feet. As softened as both men may be by the child in the room, Alfie does not like sitting as Tommy Shelby towers over him whether the man is an ally or not. “Polly says i get it from Tommy.” (y/n) chimes. Alfie raises his eyebrows with a grin that makes Tommy roll his eyes at the retired gangster. “Oh do you now?” Alfie hums, opening his mouth to speak again when Tommy cuts him off. “You go ahead to the car (y/n), eh? I’ll meet you down there in just a minute okay?”

The six year old nods and runs off the moment her feet hit the ground. Tommy turns to Alfie immediately.

“If you ever-“

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Mom.” Alfie rumbles, crossing his arms over his chest with a beaming grin. “Little miss Shelby has you whipped, mate. Tell me, what’s your favourite apron you wear at home eh Thomas?” He chuckles heartily, making Tommy glower in rage at his teasing. “I’m fucking serious, Alfie.” He growls. Alfie straightens up and stops laughing immediately.

His eyes narrow for a split second and he tilts his head, his eyes searching the depth of Tommy’s cerulean blues and immediately noticing the sheer panic and worry that lies deep within them, attempting to hide under brotherly protective instinct and rage at the prospect of harm falling on his little sister. Alfie inhales deeply. He would truly never dream of harming a child. It’s not in his nature, nor does it sit well with him. And though he had been quick to give the head of the Peaky Blinders a reality check in the past regarding the safety of his son, in the end he had no idea Charlie Shelby had been taken and he never would have arranged for that to happen.

Alfie nods his head and leans forward. “She’s special to you, yeah?” Tommy doesn’t know why Alfie asks. He’s sure it’s clearer than he wants it to be, but alas the Londoner asks anyway and Tommy doesn’t know exactly how to answer, so he simply makes a motion something akin to a nod though looks more like a twitch of his chin. “Mhm, I can tell. You can have the men. I’m sure you know the price.” Alfie turns away. Tommy doesn’t know what it was in Alfie’s eyes that reassured him more than words ever could that he wouldn’t lay harm on the 6 year old little girl who treated him with more respect and kindness in the ten minutes she spoke to him that anyone had in years. There was an element of brotherly protectiveness that Alfie felt only after knowing her a short time.

“And Tommy?”

“Yes, Alfie?” The Birmingham MP turns back as he leaves the doorway of Alfie’s sitting room.

“Anything ever happens to the kid, you fuckin’ let me know yeah?”

Tommy nods his head, the ghost of a smile somewhat on his face. His little sister is just about as protected as they come, and there was a distinct feeling of certainty that Alfie Solomons was there, lurking in the shadows of existence with a familial fondness of the little Shelby girl who carries the glow of an angel above her head that would ensure no men, from Birmingham or further afield would have to go through every Solomons and Shelby loyal man up and down the country before a hair on (y/n) Shelby’s head was messed. Tommy holds hope somewhere deep in his heart that his little sister will never have to see violence aimed at her, and that for as long as she lives she knows that she is instantaneously loved, dearly held in every heart and ferociously protected by some of Britain’s most dangerous men.

The question is: what’s a male acting performance where he’s having the worst day of his life but looks so hot doing it?

The response:

This is the Andrew Garfield category - aka Peter Parker/ Spider-Man in "The Amazing Spider-Man" (2012, dir Mark Webb). Hotter than hell!

would you, maybe?

Summary: Peter really, really wants his vampire girlfriend to bite him. He finds out it’s more than just a sex thing.

Pairing: tasm!Peter x vampire!Reader (she/her); 18+ mature, smut, established relationship, possessiveness, dirty talk, blood sharing; there is a kink here but I don’t know what to call it. If anyone knows, please share with the class.

Words: 7.2K

——————————–

He’s tried everything except asking.

The idea got lodged in his head weeks ago, in the most innocent way possible - a hug. She’d just come back from visiting her family overseas and hadn’t fed while there. Her parents weren’t especially fond of her peculiar dietary choices. Namely, they thought drinking from the tap was far superior to the bottled nonsense from which their daughter got sustenance. She didn’t like feeding off of humans, even the willing ones that supplied her relatives with blood in exchange for the pure thrill of it. Some people were freaky, she explained, and they simply enjoyed feeling like they were a part of something special. He bought half the explanation. From the way her eyes were avoiding his, he guessed there must’ve been more to the story. In any case, she’d said she wasn’t fond of drinking straight from the vein and he took her word for it. For that reason, part of him was unsure about what he wanted to ask; but there was another part too - one that had taken in a sight he couldn’t forget.

Upon her return, he’d pulled her into the bone-crushing hug that he’d always craved but could never have, because minding his strength always came first. Vampires, he’d come to learn, were pretty durable. And he was glad that was the case for many reasons, but of course, his mind immediately went to other potential applications of that durability.

Keep reading

ANDREW GARFIELD British GQ — Luke Gilford (2022)

your boy who is a friend, peter | part two | tasm!peter parker x reader

He quickly, selfishly, puts his hands on your face. He's not stupid enough to kiss you, simply holding your head still as he speaks. "You're prettier in person."

"So are you," you say, a hoarseness in your voice that has him glowing inside like somebody has lit a fire in his chest.

<3

summary you and peter have been pen pals for a long time, and you’re finally going to new york to meet him. [6.3k] warnings fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, long distance meeting for the first time, peter is besotted and a flirt, first kiss, fem!reader

read part one | two | three here

<3

Peter Parker is really nervous. May keeps looking at him sideways.

"Why are you worried? She likes you."

"She likes you," he corrects. "She tolerates me."

"Peter," May scolds.

Alright, it's likely you do, in fact, like him. It's more than likely. You've been his pen pal for almost two years and talked to him over the phone everyday for the last two months.

The sound of your voice haunts his dreams and your laugh keeps him up at night. It's all very sickening, and he's determined to make you happy. You just have to get here first.

He offered to fly out to you but you argued that you liked Aunt May too much to stay away any longer, which made his chest burn in acute, fascinating ways.

I'll learn to drive, he texted you.

Why would you bother?

Flying is expensive.

And driving lessons aren't? You live in New York. Plus, I'm sure the gas would be about the same as a plane ticket.

Whatever. I just wanna see you.

You'd sent a picture of your dinner and he'd blushed at his own forward attitude.

You’re staying with him for a whole week. It seems excessive considering you've never met, but what other options do you have? You live on opposite coasts. The flight is pretty grueling - 6 hours no stops.

He knows you'll be multiple things: tired, nervous, insecure, hungry. He's accounted for all of them and has everything you might need in his rucksack. Has even tried his hand at flapjacks and brought you five different drinks he knows you like. He's read articles on the necessary ladies things and stocked his bathroom accordingly. Everything is set.

He's waiting for you.

"What if she thinks I'm ugly?" he asks. May scoffs. Peter glares at her. "I'm serious."

"You should seriously consider what you have to say about my nephew. And so what if you're ugly? Girls like muscles."

"May," he says, laughing.

She smiles at him reluctantly. "There's no point worrying about it. She'll either like you or she won't."

"Awesome. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Oh," she flaps her hand at him and reaches up to pinch his cheek. "You know what I mean. She'll like you. She already does."

"Did she tell you that?"

You've spoken to May on the phone a few times when he's had to pop out. It always goes well. Whether he's running (swinging) for eggs or using the bathroom, he'll come back to you and May laughing and chatting about something or other. Only sometimes you both go abruptly quiet when he comes back. Suspicious activity.

"No, she didn't tell me that. But I know these things, you know."

He bats down the urge to dry heave. People from what he thinks is your flight start to file out, most looking unhappy. He's done the math a million times: there's a three hour time difference and a six hour flight. You left California at 6am and would land in New York at 3pm. This might keep you up tonight, your body having jumped three hours into the future, but overall he's hoping you'll be alright.

You appear suddenly, not quite where he'd been looking. May grabs his arm and alters his gaze and there you are with your bag and a freaked out look on your face. He waves his hand until you clock on and smile, small but undeniably a smile, and start in their direction.

You pause a foot from him and he puts his hand out for your bag. You drop it on the floor and he awkwardly puts his hand back.

"Hi," he says.

You step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. You're silent enough to make him nervous, but you're warm, and you fit in his arms like you were made to be there. He wraps his arms around your shoulder and meets May's smug gaze with his own panic before looking down at your head.

He rubs his hand down your back. "Hey," he says again.

"Hi," you say into his jumper.

"Was your flight okay?"

"They lost my suitcase."

He’s shocked at your statement and tries to hold you at arms length  but you don't budge. Your hands tense in the material of his coat.

"They did?" he asks worriedly.

You squeeze him once to his delight and then pull back, looking at him with wide eyes. "All my clothes."

"You don't seem upset?" He’s confused.

You shake your head. "This is the best day of my life," you say, like it's not supposed to melt his heart. Then you finally notice Aunt May and a smile stretches your face so wide it actually makes him jealous.

"May," you say.

May holds out her arms for her own hug. This one is much quicker but with a similar tenacity. "We're so glad you're here. And don't worry about your suitcase, I'll sort everything out."

You nod as you step back. You seem stuck between an intense joy and overwhelmed, hands grasping at nothing.

He picks your bag off of the ground, breathing a little shallow. You're more beautiful than he thought, up close, which is like being punched in the chest. Hard. And Peter Parker can take a punch.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"You're so tall," you say instead. He's glad to see you're both on the same page.

In the cab May takes the lead, which is fortunate. He can't seem to stop looking at you long enough to speak like a normal person.

May elbows him hard in the side and he snaps back into it.

"What?" he asks.

"I said to Y/N, we've set up your room for her."

"I can't take your bed," you say. Watching your mouth make sounds is a little much for him to comprehend.

"Nonsense," May says, turning her body completely so you can't see her expression. She glares at Peter fiercely and says cheerfully, "Peter's more than happy to sleep on the sofa."

"Right," he agrees, looking at your face. You smile tentatively in thanks and he smiles back.

The cab pulls up to the curb. Peter pays, you all clamber out onto the sidewalk and May's already chatting, leading you up the steps to the Parker Residence.

"Don't worry about your suitcase," May is saying. "I'll make sure you get it back. I can't believe how often they lose them, lousy idiots. Imagine if I lost somebody's kidney? There'd be an uproar."

Peter is standing behind you. You turn to him. "Uproar," you mouth. He's too distracted by your pretty lips to say anything funny and is thankfully saved as the door swings open and you're led inside.

You compliment May a handful of times about how lovely their house is and he knows you mean each one. May pushes you both out of the kitchen and says she'll start making dinner, 'cos everyone's hungry at this point and she needs a head start if it's going to be good.

"I'll show you my room," he says.

A flight of stairs and an embarrassing display of baby photos later and he's pushing open the door. There's pictures everywhere and they give the room a general sense of disorganisation, but other than that it's clean. He's checked every crevice, vacuumed and re-vacuumed.

He puts your bag on freshly washed sheets and wrings his hands. "I'm really sorry about your suitcase," he says, turning to you. You're standing in the doorway, his doorway, pretty as a peony and staring at him. "Do I have something?" he asks, looking down at his shirt.

"Can I hug you again?" you ask instead.

He grins, barely opening his arms before you're pushing into his chest.

"I can't believe you're real," you say, sighing. He brings his hand up to your hair and pets you without thinking, the other arm settling over your shoulder blades carefully.

"Think I was a catfish?"

"A delusion, more like."

He snorts and tightens his grip on you. You giggle and cross your hands over his back. How weird, he thinks, to be hugging you. He'll admit to imagining you here before, never as accurate or startlingly pretty, never as real, never with your voice, which he has quickly decided is his favourite sound, but imagined all the same.

The smell of May's cooking seeps into the room, the tartness of tomato sauce, the cloying scent of red wine as it cooks off, the fragrance of thyme and garlic and something he can't name. He dips his head down before it can occlude your perfume and he loses it for the night.

You finally let him go to look up into his face. Caught red handed, he smiles again, a dopey smile, one he might look back on and be embarrassed about, but you give him your own smile back in return and ebb away any shame.

He quickly, selfishly, puts his hands on your face. He's not stupid enough to kiss you, simply holding your head still as he speaks. "You're prettier in person."

"So are you," you say, a hoarseness in your voice that has him glowing inside like somebody has lit a fire in his chest.

He lets your face go gently and sits down on the bed, leaving enough room for you to do the same. You perch gingerly on the edge of his sheets, the camera around your neck wobbling.

"You're lucky you took it with you," he says.

"What?" you ask, looking away from his walls.

"Your camera. Lucky it was with you, instead of in your luggage."

"Oh, yeah, yeah," you say, eyes creased in the embarrassment of getting distracted. You take it from around your neck and put it on the bed.

The whole reason you were both pen pals was through a young people's photography club. Peter thought you were a brilliant photographer in that you always found something beautiful to document. Neither of you were particularly loyal to the technical aspects of it.

"You can have as many of my clothes as you like, but a camera is one thing I won't give you," he says, teasing.

"I bet you could be persuaded," you say, and then scrunch your eyes shut. "I didn't word that well."

"You could try," he says.

You look away from him pointedly, grinning and trying not to. Your hair shifts. He desperately wants to touch it and, in fear of being a creep, intertwines his hands and forces them deep into his lap.

"Oh my god. No way. No way," you say, kneeling down on the ground and shuffling towards his record collection. "Peter, is this real?"

"Wh-"

You pull out a record, hold it up. It's What I Like About You by The Romantics. Your face is a picture.

"Peter!"

He chuckles and gets to his feet, unearthing his record player from under a pile of fresh laundry. You gasp and sit very patiently as he plugs it in, wiping away a fine layer of dust off the top before he opens it.

“Have you used one of these before?” he asks you.

“No,” you admit.

“It’s not difficult. Just set the record on here and move the needle to the edge. It does the rest by itself,” he instructs. You do as he says, handling the record like it’s made of pure gold.

Quickly the room is filled with the sounds of a plucky guitar. The player isn’t the best, hence its disuse, but you're pleased and your face lights up and any worries he has about you coming are slowly dissolving.

You sing along happily, watching the record player with something akin to wonder.

“What else do you have?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing else as impressive. Uh,” he looks at his collection quizzically. “Oh. I have Pet Sounds.”

“The Beach Boys Pet Sounds?” you almost shriek.

“No, the other one,” and when your shoulders deflate, “yes, yes, The Beach Boys.”

“Oh my god.”

He moves to sit by your side, using the retrieval of Pet Sounds as an excuse. Your knees touch. He sits criss cross and you sit in a W-shape, still in your shoes.

“The uh, the bathroom is right down the hall if you need it. I - got you a bin. A storage bin. It should have everything you need, but just tell me if something’s missing and I’ll get it for you, or,” he clears his throat, “or you can ask May. She won’t mind.”

He expects you to be a little weirded out or shy about it, but you beam at him. “You got me a storage bin?”

“Yeah,” he says, confused for the second time. You only smile.

The record finishes and you make a humming sound.

“Thank you for asking me to come here, Peter. I'm really happy,” you tell him, looking down at your knees.

He wonders if there’s a manual or a dictionary or something that will help him decipher you. “Of course. I told you in my letter, I like you.”

Your eyes dart to his. He thinks you might cry, and his heart fills with worry, but you giggle and put your hands out for the record. He passes it your way and watches as you turn it over, reading the back of the sleeve with a cute grin on your lips.

-

After listening to Pet Sounds lying down top and tail on his wooden floor, pretending not to stare at each other, you eat a chest-warming meal with his Aunt May.

Afterwards you find time to excuse yourself and sequester away in Peter’s bathroom.

You give yourself ten seconds of smiling unabashedly at your reflection in the mirror, cheeks aching. He’s pretty and lovely and he smells nice and he thinks you're pretty. He got you toiletries.

You use the bathroom and wash your hands and catch yourself smiling again. You shake your head at yourself and turn to the little bin. A sticker denotes it as yours, Y/N written in careful, permanent ink. You open it up and assess the things he’s got you, deodorants and a toothbrush, two types of toothpaste, floss, soap, nail oil, moisturiser, face wash. Losing your suitcase doesn’t even matter at this point, besides your total lack of clothing.

Which poses your first stress. Underwear.

You tuck the storage bin back into the corner and wipe under your eyes, preparing for what might be an awkward conversation.

Peter is waiting for you in his room, scrolling through his phone.

“Peter,” you say, and the pleasure in saying his name and seeing his face perk up isn’t lost on you. “I need to go to Target. Or Walmart. Somewhere. Whichever is closest,” you say.

“What for?” he asks.

You shift onto your other foot. “I need underwear and things.”

“Oh, right. Of course. Do you have your coat? It’s cold out.”

Your coat is suited to the warmer climate of California. He shakes his head when he sees it and scrounges through his things for a hoodie that looks about your size. You put it on, and for the split second that it’s covering your face you give it a little self-indulgent sniff. It smells like him.

It’s dark out. Peter sticks close to your side as you walk, assuring you it won't take long to get to the nearest store. “Is it always so freezing?” you ask him.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

Your teeth chatter. “A little.”

“Oh, baby,” he laughs as he says it, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “Something tells me your suitcase would’ve been useless.”

You’d beg to disagree. Not to be presumptuous, but that suitcase had your nicest, fanciest underwear.

At the entrance of the store he rubs your shoulders before he lets you go, picking up a plastic handle basket as you walk in.

“Where’s the clothing section?” you ask.

He leads. You follow. You're in half a mind to grab a hold of his hand but you're not quite sure you're there yet, so you trail behind him like a lost puppy, wide eyes trying to take in his every detail.

He's wearing a dark, dark blue hoodie under a brown corduroy shirt jacket, a shade lighter than his hair curling at his neck. You picture yourself running your hands through them, scratching his scalp, picture yourself kissing him while you do it. Then you blush and almost trip over your own feet trying to match his long strides.

Peter stops in front of the clothes and turns to you. It's odd. You know him, of course you know him, and still you're getting to know him, his face, his body language.

"Do you want me to, um…" he scratches the back of his neck, "I can make myself scarce."

You think about how you hope he might treat you in the coming days and shrug gently. "I don't mind. I'd prefer if you stayed with me, but if it makes you uncomfortable…"

"I'll stay with you, then," he says. You share another infectious smile.

"I'm not buying another bra. They're too expensive,” you tell him decidedly.

He nods like he understands. His pecs are so big at this point, maybe he does. You laugh at your own thoughts.

"What's funny?"

You pause your browsing to step a tiny bit closer to him. "I was just thinking, maybe I could borrow one of your bras?"

He blushes, pale cheeks pinking quickly. You feel terrible for teasing and pick up a 5 pack of underwear to move the conversation on. They're elasticated, the kind that digs into your skin.

"They're nice," Peter says.

"Yeah, but the elastic hurts after a while." You hang them back up. He quirks his eyebrows.

"What?" you ask him.

"Guess I never thought about it."

"You're not a tighy-whitey guy, then?"

"No," he admits.

You pick up a different pack. There's no point deliberating too much. You would've liked nicer ones, especially considering the occasion, but the ones in your hands are pretty enough. White, dirty pink, purple, orangey pink and pinky orange, all hemmed with shiny lace. They look soft and cute.

You put them in the basket without any preamble and wander a little to the right, looking at some pajamas questioningly.

"Cute?" you ask him.

"Don't bother, I've got a huge selection of t-shirts with your name on them."

You bite your lip. That suits you just fine.

"I need some pants. For going out. Are we going out?" you ask him.

"We can do whatever you want. I would like to take you somewhere nice at least once, though. If that's agreeable."

"Agreeable," you murmur, endeared by his formality. "Where will we go? Somewhere that'll look down on a Walmart dress?"

"Aunt May will get your clothes back, bub. She's magic."

You need at least one pair of your own pajama pants even if it's for the peace of mind alone. You edge over to the pants and shorts and don't know what to do. Go cute or go comfy? Is there still winning over left to do? Best to assume. You pick up a pair of simple black pants with cuffs and a pair of cycle shorts and try to assess his face as you put them in the basket. He's looking at you.

"Is there anything else you need? Socks?"

"Yes! Socks," you agree. "Where are the socks?"

You wander around for a while before you find socks and tights and shoes. You don't waste time. One pack of white ankle socks, one pack of black crew socks. You don't know why you bother — you only have the sneakers you wore on the plane. Still, best to be prepared.

"That's everything, I think."

"Let's get you some thermals," he says, having thought it over. "Or at least something you can layer. And some pants."

You do everything that he says and end up, somehow, in the snack aisle. Your hands hover over a tub of flapjacks when he stops you.

"I forgot. I made you flapjacks. They're in my bag, though, so they might be a bit mauled."

"You made me flapjacks?"

"You flew 4000 kilometres because I asked you to and you're surprised I made you flapjacks?" he asks, sounding amused.

"Well, not just 'cos you asked me to. I wanted to come and see you, you know? I'm not being held at gunpoint."

"You're not? Thank goodness," he says, releasing a dramatic exhale.

"Grow up."

"Make me."

"Hate you," you mumble, picking up a bag of hershey's kisses and dropping it on your clothes.

"I don't think you do, sweetheart."

You take a steadying breath. God help you.

-

You sit at the end of Peter's bed. He drops a shirt in your lap, then a hoodie, then a pair of sweatpants. He wouldn't let you pay for any of the clothes you'd picked out earlier, to your annoyance.

"I don't need these," you say softly, holding his sweatpants up.

"Those are for me. You're just holding them."

"I see, I'm your shelf."

"You're a very cute shelf," he says agreeably. He holds up two t-shirts. "Which one do you want?"

You point at the softer looking of the two, a white shirt that says thrasher in faux hand drawn letters with an evil, goblin looking creature.

"You would pick that one."

You roll your eyes at him. What was that supposed to mean?

He stretches, arms up, bicep bulging. His eyes drift shut and he groans with his mouth closed. You feel something warm in your abdomen and look away guiltily. "You want to shower?" he asks, words warped by his stretch.

You feel like a cat with its back raised.

"Can I shower in the morning?"

"Whenever you want. D'you need anything else? Is that enough pillows?"

There isn't room on his bed for any more pillows. You're both talking in quiet tones. His hushed voice has goosebumps rising over your skin.

"I don't need anything."

"Right. I'm downstairs if you need me, okay?"

"Okay," you murmur, looking at him with likely too much affection.

He sets you with a smile and nods, moving forward to kiss your forehead, hand at the back of your head, seconds stretching. He pulls away and takes his change of clothes from your lap, stopping in the doorway before he leaves. You're still reeling from his mouth as he talks.

"I'm… really happy that you're here."

"Me too," you say meekly, feeling a sudden shyness.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," you return, pressing your fingers to your forehead as he closes the door. The skin tingles with tiny pins and needles.

—

For breakfast, May makes you both a smiley face of eggs and bacon. The radio hums a Carpenters song and light leaks in through the blinds, white and soft, draping the countertops in a silky haze.

Peter shuffles his chair closer to yours when you sniffle, startled, reaching out to clasp your shoulder and rub the top of your back, the fabric damp under his hands from your wet hair. He hadn't expected tears so early in the morning. You blink rapidly and attempt a weak smile. May pushes away from the counter with a tea towel in her hand and a similar expression on her face, murmuring something lightly about the laundry before she leaves.

Peter speaks in soft tones. "What's wrong, huh?"

"Nothing," you say, swallowing. "I promise, it's nothing. I just – I had a really good day with you, yesterday. I can't believe this is really happening."

He hums and presses his fingers into your knotty shoulder, hoping the pressure will ground you. He's satisfied when you relax under his touch.

"It's not too much, is it?" he asks in concern.

"No, it's not too much. It's-" you twirl your fork between your fingers and set it down on the placemat. "You're really nice. You and your Aunt May. And I already knew that, obviously, but reading your letters and talking on the phone isn't the same as- as-"

"As a smiley face breakfast?"

"Exactly," you say, laughing wetly. You wipe your damp eyes. "Yes. As a smiley face breakfast."

"You're very easy to be nice to," he says, hoping this will cheer you up. He wonders if its stupid to bare his heart to you and then decides he doesn't care. You're here. "You're kind and funny, and you’re beautiful."

You squirm in your chair and spear a piece of bacon with your fork. "This is what I mean."

He lets go of your shoulder and takes up his own fork, looking out the corner of his eye at you periodically as you eat. You can feel his gaze, he reckons, as your composure slowly but surely slips away.

He's glad to hear your voice again when you do speak, glad that the nervousness and insecurity has faded away.

"Will you stop looking at me?" you ask.

"Not likely."

"I didn't realise how teasing you are. Even over the phone, you were never so-"

"Charming?" he offers.

"-incorrigible," you finish, picking up your heavy glass of water, so full you have to move it at a snail's pace to avoid any spills.

He waits for you to take a sip and says, "I thought I'd wait for you to get here before I started the actual seduction."

You spit water everywhere, alarmed. It drips down your face and creates an even bigger wet patch on your front. It dots his trousers.

"Peter," you whine, the effect lost as you start to giggle. "Why?" you ask, the syllables dragging in mock indignation.

He wipes your wet chin with his thumb. "I don't think I could explain it to you."

-

Peter insists you change again. You feel guilty, having already used up three of his t-shirts in two days. You say as much.

"Oh, no, I get to see you in another one of my shirts," he says, one hand thrown against his head in faux fear and the other passing you a new shirt. "The horror."

You change in the bathroom. Once you've sorted out your hair and gotten on some makeup you find him in the same place as yesterday, scrolling through his phone at the end of the bed. He lifts it up to show you when you walk in.

"They're playing reruns."

The phone displays a movie theatre website.

"Cruel Intentions," you read. "The Fifth Element. American Pie. The Sixth Sense."

He raises his eyebrows. "You wanna go?"

You, feeling brave, sit down so your thigh is pressed against his thigh, your arm against his arm. "What one will we see?"

"When do you want to go?" he asks back.

"Any time you want," you say, lying down. He looks over his shoulder at you, then back to his phone. You look up at his wall behind you, studying the photos you'd slept next to last night.

A flash goes off.

You blink dazedly and find him holding his phone. You cover your face and groan.

"Peter."

"Sorry, sorry, you look really pretty."

You peek at him through your fingers. There's a time for shyness and there's a time for trying everything in your power to get a boy to kiss you, and now is that time. You soften your eyes as best you can and drop your hands.

He takes the bait, swivelling, leaning down, one hand between your body and your arm. He presses his fingers to your waist slowly. The other hand draws a line from the top of your head to your jaw, tilting your face towards him. The ghost of his touch has you trembling, fighting with your body to breathe normally.

He inches down hesitantly and you're just about to close your eyes when May calls out. You both flinch like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't be.

"What?" Peter calls, hands still on you but attention turned.

"Come and lift this for me, won't you?"

He sighs, you sigh. He squeezes your waist and smiles at you, as if to say, what you gonna do? and then gets to his feet. "Be right back," he says.

You lie on his bed and calm your racing heart, quickly finding this to be a lie. You get up and change into the pants you'd bought the previous night, tucking his shirt into the waistband. You check yourself over in the mirror. If you didn't know, there'd be no indication that you'd ever lost all your best clothes.

He appears in the doorway looking spritely. "Hey, ready? We can make American Pie if we leave now."

-

Peter is trying his very best not to do the move. The yawn, the arm over your back. It would be terribly easy. You're watching the screen with a ridiculous tenacity. You just missed your mouth for the second time since you got there, popcorn tumbling between red velvet seat. He looks away quickly, knowing you're gonna look at him out of the corner of your eye to check if he noticed.

Jim has just been caught defiling an apple pie. You're laughing and reaching into his lap where the popcorn is for another handful, and he's suddenly hit by the melancholy realisation that you have to go home at the end of the week. He bites his lip and tries to distract himself with the movie and almost succeeds, the hint of a frown playing at the edges of his mouth.

You take one of the napkins from the cup holder and wipe your buttery fingertips, tucking the used tissue into the pocket of his hoodie you've borrowed. He tries not to look at you until you put your hand on his bicep.

"Hey, are you okay?" you ask him, whispering.

"I'm perfect," he assures you.

You teeter on your seat. He watches as you push up onto one knee, just a little taller, and lean in. Your thumb touches the corner of his mouth and your fingers brush against the short hairs in front of his ear.

"You're frowning," you say, words so quiet they're almost lost under the soundtrack of the movie.

"Just can't believe he'd ruin a perfectly good apple pie like that," he jokes. You giggle, and, moving your thumb from the corner of his mouth, hold his face in place. You dot the sweetest, smallest kiss on the edge of his lips.

He smiles, can't help it. You nod, seemingly pleased with yourself, and sit back down. "There," you say. "I missed your smile."

It's a wonder he doesn't kiss you right then and there. He's pulling for a romantic moment and American Pie might not be it. He does allow himself some indulgence, finally letting himself throw his arm over your chair. He doesn't bother faking a yawn.

-

"Here," Peter says, carefully passing you a mug where you're sitting patiently behind his record player.

After the movies he'd taken you on a detour to a small record shop, where you'd found a 90's collection for cheap. You waited with the sleeve in your lap as he went to get drinks, and now he's returned you can hardly keep your excitement in.

You aren't sure what songs are on the vinyl, the sleeve a little worn and torn. Peter sets his own mug down on the floor next to him as he sits and takes the record from you, putting it quickly onto the turntable. The first song is one you don't know. You try not to be too disappointed - it sounds nice, jazzy and sweet.

You take a sip of your drink, let the heat warm your stiff fingers. The colour is coming back into his face as he drinks. It had been awfully cold on the walk home, and you'd worried your fingers, intertwined, would freeze, and you'd be statuettes of affection for the rest of time in the middle of Queens.

They feel weird now, to be without his.

"Are you still cold? I'm sorry, I really didn't think about how you'd need to get acclimatised."

"Acclimatised," you repeat, laughing to yourself. "I'm fine. My legs are a little numb, still."

"We can't have that," he says, getting up. He holds his hand out.

You look at him quizzically.

"Dance with me?" he asks.

He looks, as he always does, so incredibly handsome and lovely, deep brown eyes dark in the lamp light, framed by thick eyebrows pushed up in question. He's shrugged off his coat and hoodie and you can see the lines of his chest through the black material of his shirt. You climb up on your knees and let him tug you with strong arms into a standing position.

"I don't know how to dance," you blurt, hand held firmly in his.

"I think it's pretty easy," he says. He takes your other hand and, to your great fortune, a preppy song with guitar and a fast pace begins to play.

"Don't laugh at me," you implore him, nervous as he starts to sway you from side to side, slowly and then faster, hands held aloft between you both.

"Don't laugh at me," he says back.

You look at each other, both worried to be weird, and then he breaks and you break and you both start dancing. It's awful, it's disjointed, he knows dance moves that make you laugh until you're bending over with tears in your eyes. You jump up and down as the songs get more and more excitable, let him push you this way and that, ecstatic and fuelled by his hands on yours, his skin on your skin.

You're laughing at Peter, mid air guitar riff, as the song changes.

"I love this song," he says.

It's slower. The words start, and you find your heart rising up your chest.

You fill up my senses…

Peter takes your hands again. You dance slowly, eyes tracing his mouth as he sings along, quietly and broken up with chuckles. You're pretty sure if you open your mouth he might see your heart beating in your throat so you keep your lips pressed together.

There's a pause in lyrics, a sweet crescendo of strings. Peter picks up your arm high and you take the cue to spin, twirling away from him slowly and then back. He pulls you into his chest, holding your twined fingers over his shirt and weaving his other arm under your armpit and around your back, holding you close. You put your arm on top of his, your hand on the juncture where his neck meets his shoulders, and feel a swift welling of tears from the song and from his softness.

He's not singing along anymore, lips in a half smile as he looks at your face.

Like a sleepy blue ocean…

You put your hand on his cheek, stroking the lightly freckled skin with your thumb.

"Can I kiss you?" he murmurs, hand tightening on yours where they're pressed to his heart.

"Yeah," you say lowly, words warmed with an unspoken please.

He leans down until his nose is touching yours. You hold your breath and let your eyes drift shut as the warmth of his breathing flutters over your lips, a little scared and a lot wanting. He presses his lips to yours and uses both hands, warm and big, to caress your face. He tilts your head a little to the left and goes right, your lips burning from his firm kisses. Your chest fills, a cascade of warmth running down your body. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and try your best to kiss him back with as much tenderness as he's showing you. His lips move to take your top lip between them. You press your free hand to the base of his throat lightly, feeling dizzied by a need to be close to him.

When he deepens the kiss he tastes like hot chocolate. You make a noise you're not proud of as his fingers push over your hair, neck craning back as he kisses down searchingly.

The song finishes. He pulls away just enough to breathe, kissing the highest point of your cheekbone where it's level with his mouth after you straighten your neck, attempting to catch your breath, fingers clasped around the neckline of his shirt. He strokes the back of your neck softly and you blink to yourself, feeling like the ground underneath you has become soft as downy feathers.

You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. He pushes his hands down, sliding a smooth trail over the column of your neck and the curve of your shoulders. He pushes you away gently to look into your face.

"How was that?" he asks.

You shake your head and huff a silent laugh out of your nose. "Really? What, you want it on a scale of 1 to 10?"

He massages the doughy flesh of your upper arms, grinning almost cheekily at you. "Sure, I'll take a 1 to 10. Or a traffic light system, if that’s easier."

You pretend to think about it. He gets more and more outraged the longer you fake it, mock indignation flashing over his features.

"You're thinking way too hard about this," he complains.

You catch his elbows in your hands and tilt your head up. "I think I need to go again. Just to be sure."

"To be sure! Alright, sweetheart. Don't complain if you find yourself scandalised."

"Something tells me I won't mind," you murmur, pouting gently. He pecks the swell of your lips, and the music fades away as he leans in for a second time.

<3

I think a part 3 is in order ?

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

tasm taglist @pomminine @isabelleonabicycle @decafcoffew @runawaywithmyghost@joebobisachickenfart @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah

sugar and vice, pt 2 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Peter makes a daring rescue to save Honey. Or is this a rescue at all? more shameless trope pining.

words: 5.5k

warnings: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. bandaging wounds. ouchy hurt boo boo. lots of crying. references to assault. someone gets tortured. shameless forced proximity trope. imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions.

you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if you're too young to remember the ipod nano, this aint for you, chief.

Back to Part 1

Part 2

How many state capitals can you name?

Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock.

She was running out of questions to distract herself. She’d already gone through listing all of Stephen King’s novels. All of the Presidents. All of the elements of the Periodic Table. She was running out of distractions.

Sacramento. Denver. Hartford. Dover.

She’d been to Delaware once for a funeral. The whole state was a graveyard. She was going to be killed and who would be at her funeral? Would her dark-eyed friend be the one to murder her?

Tampa. Atlanta. Honolulu. Fuck! Tallahassee, not Tampa… Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock. Sacramento—

Would he make it quick? Would it be him or would it be one of the people from the car? Did he know the two men that took her from the train? Did he order them to take her? Then what was that gunfire? Why did it seem like they were running?

She didn’t know how much time had passed since she had been brought to a room, sat down, and left alone under the dark of the hood obscuring her vision. Heated but hushed voices echoed from the other side of a wall. They were too muffled to comprehend, but the frantic frustration was unmistakable.

She could barely make out the words.

“She’s a liability now, Parker! Where’s she gonna go?”

Her heart felt like it would burst from her chest. The conversation got quieter.

Montgomery. Juneau. Phoenix. Little Rock. Sacramento. Denver. 

The sound of a door lock startled her. Her body went rigid as a door opened wide. She swallowed hard, unable to get the image of the gun in Peter’s grip out of her mind. Heavy footsteps approached her. Her lip quivered beneath the hood. If the shot was coming, maybe it was better for it to come now. Maybe it was better if she didn’t see it coming.

The hood came off of her head, revealing a dark room only illuminated by a window. The night lights of the city skyline sparkled in the distance. She was on a sofa—a loveseat facing a desk. As far as she could tell, she was in some sort of office or study. And crouched down in front of her, was her dangerous friend.

Peter held his hands up in a placating manner, letting the hood drop to the floor. “Don’t cry, Honey. It’s just me.”

The sweetness of his voice made her heart beat faster. She cursed the treacherous bitch for allowing that to happen, after everything.

Just him. As if that was supposed to mean anything. Is he Peter, or is he Ben? Does it matter which one he’d tell her? And what other option did she have to respond, other than crying? Her mouth was still taped shut.

He studied her features in a way that made her squirm. His face was solemn as he considered her. He huffed a sigh. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me,” he declared in an apologetic tone. His cocoa eyes glistened with regret. “You’re probably feelin’ angry with me right now. I get that. You’ve been nothin’ but sweet to me and I... I—” 

He stopped short of finishing the sentence as if his jaw locked up. A wrinkle creased his brow. He glanced down at the floor, then looked back up at her. “I’m gonna ask you to do somethin’ for me,” he began. “You don’t have any reason to owe me anything, I see that, I do. I don’t have the right to ask. But I’m still gonna ask.”

A hand came up to rub the back of his neck. The gesture made him seem more anxious, more boyish. Not the same man that marched into the garage holding a gun. Not the same man that ordered his man to blindfold her.

“You’ve always been patient with me,” he continued, dancing around a topic he didn’t want to address. “Even when I’m not my best. I need you to be patient with me now. Take a chance on me, Honey.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She really wished it wouldn’t do that.

He gazed at her, lowering his voice to an even more soothing tone. He emanated calm and control. “I’m gonna help you off the sofa, then we’re gonna leave this room,” he said. “We’re goin’ to the last door at the end of the hallway, okay? Nod if you understand.”

She stared at him like a deer in the crosshairs. After a moment, she nodded.

“Okay, good,” he replied. He reached for her. “Easy now.”

He put his hands around her upper arms and attempted to lift her weight from beneath her shoulders. A flash of pain erupted like her deltoids were on fire, and she winced and whimpered behind the tape.

Immediately, he pulled back his hands with a sour look. An edge of irritation returned to his eyes, in a way she’d remembered from the coffee shop when those goons showed up, except now they were alone and that look was rendered at her. Or so she thought.

Tears welling up again, she avoided his gaze. She sank further into the couch, as if that was even possible, and shook like a leaf. He stood before her wordlessly. She could only hear a heavy exhale through flared nostrils.

Seconds passed, then Peter bent at the waist, placing his hands on her hips. She shuddered at the pressure, the warmth and width of his hands on the crest of her hips. He held her in a steady grip, bringing her to her feet, this time with less pain. 

Upon standing, she looked up and locked eyes with him. It stilled his motion, and he stood with her pressed up against his chest, looking down at her with darkening eyes. His body was solid mass through his white dress shirt. It occurred to her that she’d never seen him without a coat before. Her heart was fluttering, and she wondered if he could feel it. She felt suddenly pliant, legs turning into rubber. 

Dizzy, she wavered a bit, blinking her eyes rapidly. It could’ve been the adrenaline spiking again, building pressure rising up beneath her skin. Perhaps it was her lack of real food since her distant lunch. Perhaps it was heat stroke, the way his gaze burned into hers.

He gripped her tighter. Swallowed hard.

Reluctantly, he released his hold, moving a hand to her lower back. “C’mon.”

She gulped. Hesitantly, she let him lead her to the door. Once they went through the doorway, he escorted her down the hall just as he had said. It was dark, but she could see light from beneath the closed door at the end of the hall.

Her boots felt heavy again. Her mind was screaming at her to run, but where would she go? 

“S’okay,” he stated softly, reading the slowing of her steps for what it was. “Almost there.”

He brought her to the solid door, twisting the handle and opening it. The only thing her brain could register was a massive king-sized bed in the middle of the room. She pushed back on his palm, attempting to wrench away from him. He grabbed her from behind, his arms holding her in place.

“Easy, easy, s’okay,” he tutted. 

But she was short-circuiting. Her mind was filled with violent images, clouding her sense of reason. A shriek crawled up her throat, desperately clawing at the adhesive of the duct tape over her mouth. 

“Hey, s’okay, it’s okay!”  He was holding her against the brick wall of his chest again. She shook her head desperately, struggling to break free to no avail. She could feel his heartbeat against her back. 

He pressed his cheek against her temple, his arms pulling her in with crushing strength that lifted her feet from the floor. “Enough!” he snapped, with a shockingly harsh tone. 

The simple admonishment made her go limp. She sobbed desperately.

His head fell backward and he let out a long sigh, frustration evident within him. He softened his grip, and instead of pinning her, it felt much more like an embrace. He bent his neck and his lips went to her temple again, his breath hot on her skin.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he breathed into her hair. She felt the slow rise and fall from his chest. The kindness had returned to his voice. He took another deep breath, and she felt it reverberate in her. “No one is gonna hurt you,” he declared, more authoritative this time. She matched her next breath to his. 

They stood in silence for another few seconds. Her gaze traveled from the bed to the expanse of the room. The dark colors and modern accents. The yellow source of tungsten light spilled from an open doorway. 

“Now we’re gonna walk forward. Into the bathroom.”

He began to walk forward, and her feet moved in accordance. After the first few concordant steps, he loosened his grip on her. She felt the absence of his body heat as they stepped onto a tiled floor, turning a corner to a grand bathroom bigger than her meager apartment bedroom.

It was stunning; a mix of classic beauty and masculinity. Adorned with black marble, gold fixtures, and subway tile. Her eyes soaked up the details with an unintentional gasp. Inappropriately, she wished for her phone to save the image to the Pinterest board of her bathroom dreams.

“It’s okay,” he gently reminded her. Hearing his voice pulled her back to her reality. Her eyes snapped over her shoulder, up to him, then back forward as they approached a freestanding clawfoot tub filled with steaming water.

Her feet got heavy again and he turned her to face him. She looked up at him with a face full of confusion and betrayal. It only seemed to sour him further.

“I need you to trust me, remember?” Peter said to her. “I’m gonna take off the tape, but I need you to get in the water first.”

She felt her head shaking. Tears streaming.

“It’s the tape,” he explained. “Your skin is already reacting to it. If I try to pull it off now, it’ll take your skin with it.” She quirked a brow up at him. “We’re gonna use the soapy water to soak the tape on your wrists. The stuff on your mouth, I have a solvent for.”

She blinked, looked at the water, and back up to him.

“You don’t have to undress or anything,” he answered, again reading her mind with stunning accuracy. “We can take off your boots and you can step right in if you don’t mind getting your clothes wet.” She watched the Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I’m not gonna try anything,” he whispered quietly, “I swear.”

She lost herself in his eyes again. She studied the honey of his irises, a golden glow enhanced by the vanity lamps. She thought of caramel and chocolate and bourbon. And the tang of oranges, the smokey smell and flavor of an Old Fashioned she had three years ago at The Flatiron Room on an otherwise disappointing date—

“You with me?” he spoke so softly it could be a croon. Brought his hands up and she felt the rough pads of his thumbs brushing away her tears.

Her eyelashes fluttered closed at the sensation. That dizzy feeling hit her again, and she tried to swallow it down. When her eyes opened, she saw her friend staring back at her, the shadow of a smile adorning his face.

She spent too long gazing up at him like he was some sort of Prince Charming. Composing herself, she straightened and gave him a nod.

Having gathered her meaning, he responded with a subtle smirk, before putting it away. Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees in front of her, never breaking eye contact. The action made her stomach weak. Made her avert her eyes. He deftly began untying the laces of her boots and braced her lower back to pull off her shoes. 

Though he didn’t request it, she peeled her wool socks off next. She could have wet jeans and a wet shirt, but wet socks made her skin crawl. Once her bare feet were on the tiled floor, he came to a stand. He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her as she stepped into the deep tub. 

The warm water felt instantly soothing as she lowered herself into it. Her hands prickled with the sensation of the hot water reheating her abused limbs. He was right about her skin—she hissed at an immediate sting where the tape was. The thought of ripping off the duct tape over her mouth as fast as possible seemed more unpleasant.

She sat down with arms bound behind her, looking up at him as he sat beside the tub.

“The soap’s gonna help dissolve the adhesive,” he explained, pulling up a tray within his reach. A mass of dry cotton balls, cotton swabs, and gauze was neatly organized on it, next to several bottles of solution. It was bizarrely efficient. It made her wonder how many times he’d done this before.

He went to work, rolling up the arms of his sleeves up to his elbows. She pulled her eyes away from the sight of his toned forearms. 

His fingers went to her face and she couldn’t help but flinch. He made note of it, lips pursed into a straight line, but said nothing. Slower, he reached for her hairline and a razor-sharp sting of her flesh reminded her that she had taken at least one good hit to the face. 

His burnt-auburn eyes were now focused, a line forming in his brow as he studied a blood-crusted cut she couldn’t see. 

“This one’s deep,” he said with a frown. “It’ll need liquid stitches. I’mma take care of this first before it gets worse.” His hands left her sensitive flesh as he came to a stand, moving across the bathroom into a medicine cabinet where more first-aid supplies were located. 

While his back was turned, she rolled her eyes in frustration. The tape on her mouth was clearly the more pressing issue. 

“Can you bear with me a couple of minutes before I take the tape off?” he asked perceptively. It was starting to get creepy. He sat down beside her again. “Just relax. It’ll be easier to do it now.” He dabbed a cotton ball with alcohol. “And it’ll be harder for you to bite me.”

Her eyes darted to his face, her body tensing. She had bitten one of her captors hard enough to draw blood. He busied himself with cleaning and dressing the wound while she pondered the possibility that Peter had been behind her kidnapping earlier in the evening.

That neck-less, ginger bastard – Katz? – dragged her off the train without any regard for whether or not she felt safe. Particularly right before he knocked her out. Did he work for Peter? She hadn’t seen his face since.

“Your heart’s racing,” he informed her, breaking her chain of thought. He swallowed hard, a solemn look plastered firmly on his face. “I wasn’t lying when I said no one was going to hurt you.” His eyes rested on the wound as he delicately pinched her flesh together. “Not again,” he sighed, disappointed.

A few seconds passed as he carefully coated the cut in the liquid stitch solution. He looked pained, increasingly irritated. “I’m sorry about all this,” he blurted out. “I-I never shoulda come back to see you. I... I-I’m sorry about everything. Never meant for any of this to happen.” His sad eyes found hers. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t mean much, I know. But I hope you believe me.”

She stared. Considering. Decided that she did. She had to. Tied up, sitting waist-deep in this strange man’s bathtub, she had nothing else but her hope.

He took a cotton swab and dipped it in a jar of pristine petroleum jelly. One hand delicately lifted her chin, angling her face upward toward him, as he took a corner of the tape at her mouth and began to work the petroleum beneath the strip. He meticulously followed that action with a warm, wet compress, and then a cotton ball of isopropyl alcohol. The tape hurt as it slowly gave way, but less than it could’ve. 

The peaceful silence gave her time for her brain to slow down. Time to think. Time to plan. Time to question those plans. Question her judgment.

“Alright, almost done,” he said, then gave a small tug on the tape. The moment her lips were unsealed she took a deep breath. She hadn’t realized how much her breathing had been restricted. 

Peter reached back for her with a square of medical-grade adhesive remover. 

“Don’t touch me,” she spat, jerking her head out of his reach. He froze immediately, lifting his hands away where she could see them. Behind her, she pulled and tugged on the duct tape, the glue now having partially dissolved. She winced as she pulled her wrists apart.

“I was gonna get to that—”

She bit down on a yelp at the burn of the tape ripping off, taking bits of hair and drops of blood with it. She pulled her arms in front of her, revealing angry red welts on her wrists. Her shoulders felt like a stretched-out rubber band, tender to each movement. 

“Okay,” he nodded bitterly, frustration poking through. “Tape’s off. You’re bleeding. Well done—”

“Stay away from me!” she barked. She scooted back as far as she could away from him in the bathtub. Her eyes were wide and wild, like she really could bite him at any moment. He sat back on his ankles, staring at her. Displeased. 

“Take it easy,” he softly ordered, cool as ever.

“I-I don’t know who you are or-or what you’re into,” she babbled frantically. “But you—you better lemme go!” She panted heavily, words flowing out of her mouth, “My-my boyfriend is a cop! He tracks my phone. He’ll know I didn’t come home and-and when he turns on the tracker, he’ll see that I’m here... and he’ll bring fifty cops with him!”

Peter stared at her flatly, raising a brow. It was clear by his reaction that he wasn’t impressed. “Fifty?” he repeated, deadpan. “That’s a lot. Where’re they gonna park?”

“I’m serious!” she growled.

“Oh, yea-yeah, I know,” Peter nodded, pulling himself into a crouch at the tub. “This boyfriend of yours,” he added, swallowing grit as he said it, “he got a name?”

She blinked. “Jefferson.”

“Jefferson?”

“Scott.”

“Is it Scott or is it Jefferson? Is it Jefferson Scott?”

His mocking tone filled her with a flash of anger. She seethed, swearing at herself not to cry again. “Let me go!” she demanded with a glare. “And I promise, he won’t kill you when he finds me!”

The humor evaporated from his eyes like a droplet of water in a frying pan. “A promise?” Peter repeated, his cocky smile fading. He went motionless. Eyes dark. A chill shot down her spine. “Where was ‘Jefferson’ when Fisk’s men grabbed you tonight?” She swallowed hard. Refused to blink. “Really coulda used his help,” he bit off.

Her heart was beating faster than before. Pounding like a kickdrum beneath her ribs. His blackened eyes narrowed on her. “Do you have any idea,” he questioned bitterly, “what they would’ve done t’ya? If I hadn’t gotten there first?” 

The calm tone of his overt implications made her queasy again. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for a reply. 

She gulped. Steadied her voice. “Who's to say they don’t work for you?” 

“They don’t work for me,” Peter declared, ice in his eyes. 

“You expect me to believe—”

“They don’t work for me,” he repeated, as serious as a heart attack, “because I don’t employ assholes who beat on women.” He leaned forward, his chest puffing up, his words coming out in a low hiss. “Because if I want something done, I do it myself. Especially when it comes to protecting what’s mine.” His eyes narrowed, “And we both know you don’t have a boyfriend.” 

She blinked at him, dumbstruck. Peter declared through gritted teeth, “You could send fifty cops or fifty-thousand. If someone took my girl, I’d get there first. And there’s not a damn thing you could say to keep me from rippin’ him apart.”

She shifted backward, arms wrapped tightly around her body, stunned by the switch in demeanor. He sat across from her, quietly glaring, chest heaving with pent-up rage. Her throat felt tight. Her pulse pounded in her neck.

Seconds passed as they gazed at each other in a stalemate. He was the first to look away, his breathing conscientiously slowing down. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, keeping his head turned away from her sight.

“Don’t lie to me,” Peter said, finally. “Ever.” He looked up at her, eyes a bit softer. “It’s very important that you never lie to me. When people lie to me, it puts me at a disadvantage. Makes it harder for me to protect the people I care about.” He sniffed, stowing his emotional baggage from earlier. “So please,” he gently requested, “don’t lie.”

He kept his eyes downward as if he was more interested in the state of the grout. She had witnessed him rear up like a cobra and now he was slinking away, sheepishly hiding from her gaze. 

There was that word again — protection. His focus is protecting the people he cares about. Protecting what’s his. She eyed him carefully, her muscles relaxing a bit. This was happening because she was a threat to him. Did that mean in some way, she had power over him? 

He wiped his nose with his forearm, still avoiding her eyes. “You hurt anywhere else?” She blinked up at him, confused. Her silence made him meet her gaze again, and this time the sympathy and remorse had returned. “Anywhere I can’t see?”

She stiffened once she caught his meaning. Breaking eye contact, she gazed down at the tiny bubbles coating the surface of the water. “Um... no.” She answered as honestly as she could. “I don’t... I don’t think so.” The statement felt like a lump in her throat. She felt her eyes burn again, and she angrily dared her body to defy her again. She couldn’t handle it.

“Okay,” he nodded. After a moment, he came to a quick stand. His orders flowed more formally. “There are towels over here. There’s a robe on the door. Cat’s gettin’ you some clothes. Should be here soon. Leave the wet stuff on the edge of the tub. When you’re done in here, come outside of the bedroom. I’ve got one more thing I need from you tonight, Honey.”

He turned on the leather sole of his heel and disappeared from her sight, as fast as ever. She sat in the rapidly cooling water of the tub, tenderly rubbing the swollen flesh of her wrists. She listened to his footsteps diminish. The door slammed, a bit too forcefully.

Alone, finally, she allowed herself to cry again.

About fifteen minutes after being left alone, she emerged from the main bedroom with a thick white terry robe blanketing her. With nothing but her thoughts and growing exhaustion, she decided not to keep Peter waiting too long. She’d completed each task on his list, as a good houseguest should. Or whatever she was.

She found him leaning back against the wall in the darkened hallway, hands in his pockets, musing quietly.  He turned to look at her with a much calmer mood. Both of them cooled off from their earlier spat, but an awkwardness remained. An elephant in the room neither of them wanted to address.

“C’mere,” Peter beckoned, jerking his head down the hall. “I wanna show you something.” He turned and approached a flight of stairs, descending it. She had no other option but to follow. 

They reached the main level of the residence where she took in the sight of an open-floor living room and kitchen surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. Though it was night, this was the most well-lit area she had seen. It was spotless, and carried the same modern, refined-industrial aesthetic that she saw in the bathroom. 

She recognized the lanky teenager on the couch, sitting with arms crossed, head bobbing to music blaring out of over-the-ear headphones. Miles sat quietly in his own world, brow furrowed, as he focused on the beat of the music. 

Tapping away at her smartphone, the silver-haired woman from the car ride paced idly. She was even more gorgeous in person. Peter approached her, hands in his pockets, and nodded in Miles’ direction.

“What, is it time for a siesta?” Peter muttered disapprovingly.

The woman gave him a go-to-hell look. “Lay off, will ya? You know how he gets.”

“We need to keep our eyes open,” Peter responded grimly. “That means on alert, Felicia.”

“Jesus Christ, Parker,” she groaned with a petulant sigh. “Seriously?” The woman, Felicia, looked up incredulously at their houseguest, then back to her boss. “What happened to discretion? You wanna give her my social security number, too?”

“Where’s O’Hara?” Peter replied.

She rolled her eyes, dropping her arms. “Fuck it, then. In the basement with Brock. That’s Eddie Brock, if anyone here is taking notes for the FBI.” She turned, minding her phone again. “If you need me, I’ll be keepin’ my eyes open, with your credit card, waiting for the Postmates guy to deliver your lady friend a new wardrobe.” 

Peter rolled his eyes with a light scoff.

“And just for that, I’m buying myself my Christmas present from Fendi,” she called back, a deadpan tone. “Thanks, Boss. You really shouldn’t have.” 

Peter glanced over at his Honey, who was curiously watching the familial interaction in silence. He jerked his chin again, approaching a metal door frame near the foyer. “This way.”

He tapped a button on the wall, calling up an elevator. She shuffled uncomfortably on her bare feet, but then followed him into the tiny space. They stood together in silence as the elevator descended. 

Once it opened, they were in a dark, dingy, brick-laid fortress, a stark contrast from the exquisite rooms above. He stepped out of the elevator, and hesitantly, she followed, wishing she’d put on her boots. 

The space felt claustrophobic, littered with dust-covered junk. Mostly paper boxes. There was a table with an old computer that looked at least 30 years old, surrounded by glass beakers and antiquated lab equipment. She spotted a retro green chalkboard on castors, half-shrouded in a tarp. 

As much distance as she wanted to put between herself and Peter, she also crowded at his back. She felt cobwebs brushing her ankles, and the sensation made her want to fold herself up like origami.

They turned a corner and she froze. Mouth agape with horror. 

Bound and gagged in the middle of the basement was Katz. The man looked rough. Barely conscious. His face was bruised, bloodied, and jagged, the bones having been broken and rearranged. On either side, Miguel and another thick mass of man—Eddie Brock for anyone taking notes for the FBI—stood by. She watched Eddie anxiously as he wiped his hands with a blood-stained shop rag.

The sight of tortured man made her gag. Tears sprang to her eyes as she glanced away in terror.

“S’Okay,” Peter tutted, taking her by the shoulders and keeping her back to their tortured captive. She was grateful for that kindness, as it spared her the sight of the half-dead man.

“Remember I told you that you could trust me?” Peter asked, tilting his head towards her. She was gasping. Sucked in air, like a fish out of water. “Honey, look at me.” 

Her stomach quaked and she worried that she’d vomit. Despite this, she looked up at him. Once he had her attention, he went on. 

“This man works for somebody very dangerous,” he explained slowly. “He had direct orders to kidnap you and take you to one of his places. A mechanic’s shop near the docks on the Lower East Side that he uses for business. Once they had you there, he and a bunch of his friends were supposed to hurt you.”

Her chest heaved violently, tears flooding her vision. She shook her head and tried looking away. Felt faint. Like she was going to pass out. Gently, Peter hooked his fingertips beneath her chin, bringing her gaze to his.

“They were ordered to take pictures,” he softly added, more gentle with his choice of words, “and send them to me.” A heartbroken sob escaped her lips and he winced, as if the sound alone caused him physical pain. “Listen, listen, listen,” he cooed, shushing her. 

He dipped his head, leaning his forehead against hers. It was intimate. Too close for the relationship that they had, but at the same time, she was starving for it. The sensation of his warm skin against hers, the heat of his lungs ghosting on her face—they worked to ground her. She focused on what was happening and not what could have happened.

“I never got any pictures,” Peter explained tenderly. “He says they never got that far.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her chin quivering. She leaned into the touch of his thumb gently stroking her jaw. When she could open her eyes again, she found his. His cocoa orbs gazing down at her compassionately. 

“Remember what I said about lies?” he asked with a kind voice. “Remember I asked you never to lie to me?”

Another quiet sob whimpered out. She nodded her head.

“Tell me the truth now, Honey,” he said. He lifted his forehead, gazing into her soul. “Is that the man that hit you?”

She shuddered at the memory. Terror gripping her. Heart pounding.

“Words, Honey,” he tutted gently. “I need you to say it. Tell me the truth.”

“Yes,” she whimpered in reply. She brought her hands up to cover her face, but he wouldn’t allow it. 

“Good girl,” he answered. “You don’t need to hide.”

The tears kept coming. “I can’t.... I can’t—”

“S’okay, we’re almost done,” he cooed, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair. “Now this part’s really important. I want you to think. I don’t want you to be afraid. Just think.” 

She cried even harder. Her body swayed. She felt like a lone tree being pummeled by a hurricane. As much as she wanted to collapse, he held her upright. “Please,” she begged, but she wasn’t sure what for. “I don’t want... I can’t...”

He wrapped his hands around her cheeks, his fingers reaching around her head. “Just look at me, Honey,” he replied. 

Sniffing hard, she complied. He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t decode. It was a blend of anger, sadness, and pain all at once. He swallowed hard, as if he was trying to steady himself.

“Tell me the truth,” he said with a voice void of its own breath. “Did this man, or any of the other men, hurt you?” She shook her head rapidly. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” she sobbed.

“Don’t lie—”

“No!” she shouted desperately. 

He exhaled slowly, letting out a breath he’d been holding. “Good,” he nodded, seeming to relax. His hands rubbed her arms, taking extra care around her shoulders. “That’s good.”

“Boss,” a voice called from behind them. She looked beyond Peter to see Miles standing anxiously near the elevator entrance. He wore a hollow expression. Breathed through his mouth only. “You think she could use some sleep?”

Peter gazed at the younger man, a mixture of grief and gratitude. “Yeah,” he nodded, blinking away tears that had begun to form at his lashes. “That’s a good idea. Take her upstairs, wouldya?”

Miles nodded once, and stepped forward. Hesitantly, Peter let go. Honey shot out of his arms like a spooked cat, clinging to Miles’ chest and burying her face there. Vicious sobs racked through her body. Miles placed a hand on her back and led her back out of the basement.

Peter watched her go sadly. Didn’t turn away until he heard the elevator doors close.

“So,” Eddie’s deep voice chimed in, fixing his grim blue-green eyes on Peter. “What now?”

Both Miguel and Eddie watched the tense curve of Peter’s shoulders. The balling of his fists. 

“Hammer,” he replied, voice as dark as night. Peter turned and stalked toward the captive. He snatched a bloodied hammer off a workbench nearby. Eyes widening with fear, Katz began to jerk in his seat, pulling desperately on his restraints. 

“You should be grateful, Nicky,” Peter sneered, acid in his voice. “This coulda gone another way.” He loomed over the captive, eyes blacker than oil, nostrils flaring. He gripped the handle so hard, it’s a wonder it didn’t snap in his hand.

“If I found out you were lyin’ to me,” Peter said, vengeance coating his voice, “I woulda gone for the pruning shears.”

To be continued...

Back to Part 1.

A/N - Reblog to be tagged.

Every time you reblog, it supports free fandom writing. Thank you for your support!

reid’s hair throughout the seasons (requested by anonymous)

YOU KNOW WHAT’S COOLER THAN MAGIC? MATH!

Transparent Soul [p.p]

Pairing: Peter Parker x ghost!reader

Summary: You’ve been a ghost for nearly a year now, but your new friend Peter makes you feel more human than ever before. You fall in love with him hard and fast and you know he has the power to turn you back into a human, but you only have one chance. Is he really the right person?

Warnings: semi-suicidal thought for like ten seconds, a few mentions of depression, post nwh, mentions of death and dead parents and a car crash, but i promise it’s not a sad fic 💀, smut (no ghost smut </3, oral, f masturbation, finger sucking, protected vaginal sex), little bit of angst, this fic’s timeline vs mcu timeline is a bit wonky but we’ll ignore that <3 (—> peter is college age)

Word Count: um. 13k

Happy Halloween!! Finally managed to write a Halloween fic lol, I hope you enjoy ghost!reader <3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

One of the things you hate most about being a ghost is not being able to touch anything. Your hand floats right through whatever you try to touch. 

You’d give everything to finally pet the cat that you always hang out with on the fire escape of an apartment building in New York. She’s a black cat with piercing yellow eyes and despite being a stray, her fur looks as soft as anything and you keep each other company around this block of houses, though you prefer the one you’re currently on.

You could call this house your home, but you don‘t live in it. You‘re a ghost,. You have no need for an apartment. You just observe the people who live here, without ever interacting with them.

From experience you know that people don‘t react nicely to a ghost, unlike your cat friend. You’ve decided to call her Lucky, simply because you feel Lucky to have her. She’s the only friend you’ve made since becoming a ghost.

Lucky doesn‘t seem to care that you‘re a ghost, or maybe she doesn‘t even know. She always hangs out with you on this fire escape and stays with you for hours. Sometimes the brown-haired boy in apartment 7A leaves his leftovers out for her. You‘re glad someone‘s taking care of her - not that you‘ve ever seen him pet her. But he leaves food for her anyway. 

Lucky has decided to leave you for the night - probably anoyed that you won’t pet her no matter how many times she tries to rub her head against your leg, only to be confused because she can’t actually touch you.

You’re visible, but just barely. A faint picture of the human you used to be, anyone could see you, but they would immediately realise that you’re not human, with your transluscent skin and hair and clothes. 

You can choose to make yourself fullly invisible though, and it’s how you spend most of your days. Otherwise you’d only be met with fear and malice.

You make yourself invisible as soon as you see the boy from 7A swinging through the streets. Oh, have you forgot to mention? He’s Spider-Man.

You watch him as he makes sure no one sees him climbing into the window of his apartment. He closes the window behind himself and you look away when he changes into his pyjamas.

He’s barely home, always out late being Spider-Man and leaving early in the morning, you assume for work or college - you’ve seen him studying at his desk. He never has friends over and you wonder if he’s as lonely as you are or if he just meets people somewhere else.

You’ve been wanting to talk to him for a while. You’re hesitant because ever since you’ve been a ghost no human has ever reacted positively to you, but Spider-Man could be different.

He’s Spider-Man. An Avenger. If he’s fought a purple alien with a magic glove, then maybe he won’t be too creeped out by a ghost.

You don‘t want to put all of your trust and hope into him but he‘ll be the first person you talk to in months, so it is a big deal no matter how much you try to convince yourself of the opposite.

You‘ve tried to talk to people before, only to leave them traumatised or calling an exorcist and you had to find a new home again. You like this house. It‘s not in the nicest area but the people who live here are fun to observe and you‘d like to stay here, so you can only hope Spider-Man won‘t make you leave. 

The thought of talking to him makes you so nervous though, so you’ll give yourself some time before you do it.

The next day, you’re sitting by the fire escape where you always sit.

It’s dark already and not a lot of people are out during this Thursday winter night, so you’re just sitting (well, floating) with your legs dangling off the railing. You’re not bothering to make yourself invisible - no one would see you here anyway.

You’re looking out for Lucky to come and join you, but she’s not here tonight, so you’re just listening to New York’s noises.

And then everything happens so quickly.

You turn your head and you see Spider-Man. You weren’t expecting him to come home yet and you’re too surprised to remember to make yourself invisible. Before you know it, he lands right next to you and you hear a loud and shocked “Oh” from him.

You make yourself invisible but it’s too late, he’s already seen you, so you become visible again. This is your chance to make a friend.

You don’t have a heart, but if you did it would be hammering against your ribcage at full speed. You don’t know what to say but the good news is he’s still here. He hasn’t told you to leave yet. 

He just looks a little scared, with his forearms pulled tight to his chest. You can’t read his expression because he still has his mask on.

“Hi,” is all that comes out of your mouth. You haven’t really used your voice much but it sounds surprisingly normal.

He doesn’t reply. “Are you.. are you Spider-Man?” You ask, even though it’s obvious. But you don’t know what else to say. It’s hard to start a conversation when you don’t know if the other person is about to call an exorcist.

He replies with a shaky voice. “Yeah, I am. And, uh, and you are?”

You tell him your name and he nodds politely, still unsure.

“Yeah. I’m a ghost,” you smile slightly.

He relaxes a little, “Oh, I thought so. I wanted to ask but I didn’t know if it was like, uh offensive.”

You laugh and it feels so unfamiliar, “Well, I’m not offended.”

He smiles at you and you smile back, but you don’t know what to say. You’ve forgotten how to talk to people. You wait for him to say something and your (metaphorical) heart sinks with every second that he remains silent and fidgets with his hands instead. It would help if you could at least see his face.

You decide to just be honest. This conversation isn’t going anywhere else.

“I uh, I‘ve been in this house for a while and usually people um. They don‘t react nicely when they see me, so I mostly keep to myself. But then I saw you and I remembered seeing you on the news with the Avengers so if.. if you‘ve been with them then I assumed a ghost wouldn’t be the craziest thing you‘ve ever seen so uh..”

He hasn’t taken off his mask but you think you can see him smiling. It seems as if your explanation is enough for him to deem you harmless, as if he realised that you’re right, he has seen scarier things. What’s a ghost going to do to him?

“It‘s cold out here, do you wanna come in?” His words surprise you and you don’t remember the last time you smiled as widely as you do when he opens the window to his one-room apartment.

“I don’t have any feeling in my body so I can’t feel the cold but, uh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll come in.”

Maybe he just doesn’t value his life very much and that’s why he’s letting you, a stranger who is also a ghost, in his room. But maybe he just sees you. Maybe he sees that you just don’t want to be alone, and that you’re harmless.

You try not to overthink it too much. Maybe he’s just letting you in his room to try and kill you, but you feel good about him. So good that you almost forget you’re not a normal human with feelings who lives a normal human life.

He lets you in first but you float through the wall instead of ducking down to get through the window like he does behind you.

“Woah,” Spider-Man says, grinning. He looks you up and down, as if he’s just now noticing that you’re floating a few inches above the floor. You sit down to hover over his bed as he closes his window.

“So, are the movies about ghosts quite accurate then?” He turns around to ask you, and casually pulls his mask off - probably out of habit from when he comes home. He freezes for a second and then presses the mask over his face. He quickly turns away from you to slip it over his head again, mumbling something under his breath.

“I uh.. I’ve seen your face before but… it’s your choice of course.”

“Oh,” he says.

“I have no interest in exposing your identity,” you say, “It’s not like anyone would believe a ghost anyway,” you add sadly, looking down when you remember that this is not a normal, human, interaction.

“I don’t have much to do so I just like to people watch and uh, I’ve seen you in here with your mask off, so…” You explain, hoping he’ll trust you. Honesty is all you have.

When you look up, Spider-Man has pulled his mask off and smiles softly at you. You know he has no reason to trust you, doesn’t even owe it to you to talk to you. But he does it anyway, and he stretches his hand out, “I’m Peter, by the way.”

It’s nice to finally have a name for the boy from 7A. You reach for his hand out of instinct before you remember that you can’t take it. “Oh, uh, I can’t,” you say as you pull your hand back. 

He stares at you for a second before he seems to understand and pulls his arm back too, “Oh, sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay. I forget it too sometimes.”

Peter looks at you curiously, curiously and nothing else, and you realise then that you forgot how it feels to have someone look at you without fear or hate. But you can tell he’s still getting used to talking to a ghost, so you try to start the conversation.

“The movies are quite accurate.”

“Huh?”

“You asked if the ghost movies are accurate. I think the most obvious things are true. You’re a floating nothing that can go through walls,” you chuckle, trying not to think of how shitty it feels to live your life that way.

He smiles and sits down on the bed with you, “Have you always been a ghost?”

The question makes your nonexistant heart ache and Peter must see it on your face, quickly adding, “You don’t have to talk about it, of course.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You take a deep breath and think for a moment. Then, you tell him your story.

You tell him how you were in a car crash with your family right when Thanos made half of the world’s population disappear. You turned into dust just as you were about to die. 

When you came back five years later, your family was dead. You always assumed you were just on the brink of death when Thanos snapped his fingers, and the universe couldn’t decide whether to let you live or not, so now you’re somewhere in between. But sometimes, you’d rather be dead. 

Peter has tears in his eyes by the time you’re done speaking. You can tell that he’s speechless, and you’re not expecting him to say anything. 

“Wow… I’m so sorry,” is all he says. 

“I try to see the positive side of things. At least I got another chance at life, not many people do. It’s not really like this life has been worth living but.. maybe I just haven’t figured out how to be a good ghost yet.”

You decide not to tell him how depressed you’ve really been. You haven’t ever talked about what happened, and this was hard enough to talk about. Although it does feel better, finally getting your story off your chest. You remember that you’re telling all your secrets to a stranger, but you already know his biggest secret too, so it’s fair.

“I know I’m not a ghost, so I’m not saying I understand but… I think I kind of understand.”

He tells you about his dead parents, then his dead aunt. He tells you about parallel universes and losing all of his friends. He tells you how everyone had to forget him. 

He keeps saying that he knows how crazy it sounds, but it really happened. You assure him that you don’t doubt a single thing he says. Who are you to decide what really happened and what didn’t, when you’re a literal ghost. 

He doesn’t tell you how depressed and lonely he is either, but it’s obvious. You assume it’s also obvious to him how sad you are. Maybe you don’t need to say it - you understand each other wordlessly. 

He’s careful to not sound like he’s implying that he fully understands you. He’s not a ghost, so of course he can’t. But at the core, you’re the same. You’re alone and you’re lonely. 

Yes, he has the chance to make new friends and you don’t, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re both lonely, both suffering. 

He’s choked up by the time he’s done talking and you don’t know he’s managed to not break down sobbing yet. 

You’re both quiet for a while after he’s finished talking. You can’t say anything to make it better, so you don’t try. You’re here, and that’s more than he’s had in a while. 

“Wow, you could have stopped me there,” Peter smiles awkwardly, “Look at me oversharing. Sorry.”

“You and me both,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “And it’s okay to cry, by the way. I wish I could.”

“You can’t cry?” He asks, his eyes red and wet, but he’s not crying yet. 

“I can’t. I feel things inside, I have feelings and emotions like everyone else. But there’s nothing physical. I don’t eat or sleep or cry. If you touch me I won’t feel it. You won’t either. It’s all just on the inside, and I have the urge to cry sometimes, but I just literally can’t. I’d give everything to cry again. So, please, cry. I can leave if you need time.”

“No no, no,” he wipes his tears away and smiles bashfully at being so eager. He has no idea that you’re even more eager to be spending time together. 

You get the feeling he needs the company as much as you do. He just told you how he lost everything. Your situations are so similar it‘s nearly scary. So if you need him, you know he needs you too. 

He asks more questions about you being a ghost - more light-hearted ones, and you happily answer them all. The soul-crushing loneliness aside, there are a few cool things about being a ghost.

You can go anywhere you want, without being seen. You don’t have to be scared of men when you’re out late at night, if anything, men would be scared of you. You may or may not have scared some creepy men on purpose before.

There’s one question Peter hasn’t asked yet, but you know he wants to. Instead of making him ask, you just ask him if he wants to touch you. He grins at your offer and you hold out your arm for him to touch it.

His hand goes right through you when he tries to touch you, and he’s as giddy as a child being told they can have some candy. You can tell that he thinks it’s cool.

You like that you’re making Peter smile and laugh and even talking to someone is making you happier than you’ve been in months. But deep down it also makes you sad. You can’t even touch Peter’s hand, let alone hug him, or hold him.

You try to ignore those thoughts though. Being with Peter is still better than all the months you’ve spent alone since you became a ghost.

You know it will make him laugh, so you reach right through his chest, your arm going right through him. And even though there’s still a general sadness within you, Peter is making you so happy right now. 

Even though you’re talking about being a ghost, and showing him how not-human you are, even though you’re a floating thing of light that doesn’t feel like it’s there, he makes you feel the most human emotion there is. It’s not love, you’ve only known him a few hours. But you just like him. Maybe you’re just emotionally starved, and you’d like anyone who would give you the time of day, but you can’t feel the difference.

You enjoy spending time with him. You get along well. And it’s making you feel like you could stay with him and talk with him forever. He’s making you feel like you actually have a heart. And your heart is telling you that Peter is a good soul, someone to keep in your life, who deserves all the happiness in the world.

He’s making you feel like a normal person, with normal human emotions. He’s making you forget about all the loss and the loneliness. And it’s all you’ve been asking for since you turned into a ghost.

Being with Peter is wonderful.

You talk through the whole night and it doesn’t even cross your mind that you won’t be able to talk to him forever. He doesn’t realise this either until the sun rises and the streets are bright again.

“Oh my god, it’s so late, well, early,” he looks at his phone, “Shit, I have to go to class like. Right now.”

You watch him pick up a few things and he stuffs them into his bag, sticking his toothbrush in his mouth while he gets ready.

“I uh, I’ll go then,” you call out to him while he’s getting ready. He’s stressed and you don’t want to add to it.

“Wait,” he stops you, “I need to see you again. Uh, I mean, do you want to hang out again later?”

You grin, “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He grins too, unable to look at you, “Okay, where will you be?”

“I’ll be at the fire escape when you come home. Same time as yesterday?”

“Yes. But you can also stay in here, just if you want to.”

“I might. Thanks. Now go and get ready and don’t worry about me.”

He’s gone two minutes later and you’re already looking forward to when he comes back. You go on a walk, the longest route you can think of, to distract yourself.

Peter comes home earlier than he said and seems surprised that you’re there.

“Hi,” you say, getting up from his bed and floating over to him. It’s not like you could hug him hello, but you still want to be close, “How was your day?”

“Hi, it was good, yeah. I’ll tell you later but I uh. Just… just so you know, I didn’t fully express how much I enjoyed last night. If I’m honest, while I was at work I thought maybe I just hallucinated you. Because you’re too good to be true because we just get on so well and also because I’ve never met a ghost before so I didn’t know if you were real,” you both laugh, “But now you’re here again and I‘m just so happy that we met. And that we got along so well and just.. yeah. I really need a friend.”

You don’t know what to say yet, so you just grin. You feel the same, even after one day. Sometimes time doesn’t mean a thing and you just recognise a good soul. Both of you did.

“I just really wish I could hug you right now,” you say, your voice sounds like you’re about to cry but you know it won’t happen.

“We can try,” Peter suggests quietly.

“Okay.”

You both take a step forward and put your arms around each other, but you don’t feel anything. It’s awkward for both of you and you leaned in to much so you’re half standing in Peter.

You decide not to do that again, but your heart breaks; you can’t even pretend to hug someone.

He tells you about his classes and work. He’s college age but after everything that happened to him and with everyone forgetting him, has to redo his general education test. You know he’s smart and doesn’t have to go to classes, but he says he wanted to make some friends there. He hasn’t so far because he’s still too sad and mostly keeps to himself, but he’ll get there eventually.

Even if he hasn’t made friends in class, he’s made a friend at his home. You will never be far.

Even though you don’t mean to, you start talking again for what feels like hours. Before it really becomes hours though, you tell him to go to sleep. He keeps interrupting himself with a yawn and the circles under his eyes are getting darker by the minute.

“I can’t sleep now. I wanna talk to you,” he says and your figurative heart swells.

“I’m not going anywhere. We can still talk tomorrow,” you smile. You reach out to caress his face but pull your hand back when you remember you can’t. You will never get used to it.

He smiles tiredly, “Okay. Will you stay here?” 

Before you can answer he adds, “It-it’s obviously okay if not.”

“I’ll stay.”

He sleeps on the left side of his twin bed even though you don’t need any room. You pretend to cuddle him while he sleeps but you’re always floating a few inches too far away from him or end up floating into him.

Becoming Peter’s friend has made you the happiest you’ve been since you became a ghost, but you’ve never been sadder to not be human. To not be able to touch him, to hold his hand, to hug him.

You go outside to float in front of his window, only to find Lucky meowing on the fire escape and you’re once again reminded that you can’t pet her and can’t show her love how you want to. You wonder why she stays with you. You can’t give her food, water or shelter, and not even cuddles.

You go back inside when you hear Peter mumbling something in his sleep. He’s told you about his nightmares and you’ll wake him up if he seems upset. But you think it’s just a normal dream, so you let him sleep.

Peter takes you to the movie theatre the next day while you make yourself invisible. You’ve always thought about doing stuff like this since you’ve had the ability to get into any place unnoticed, but you knew you’d see happy families and friends and couples and would have felt like an outsider. 

Now you’re not alone anymore.

“Did you have a bad dream last night? You were talking and moving a bit in your sleep.” You ask him while you walk home through dark empty alleys. You don’t have to make yourself invisible here and people won’t think he’s crazy talking to himself.

“Oh, I…” his cheeks turn red, “No, no. But I wanted to ask you something. Since you told me you just go watch people in our building sometimes. So do you, uh, do you see people having sex a lot?” He laughs shyly.

“I see more people masturbating. I never intentionally watch, but you’d be surprised just how many people do it before going to bed,” you throw him a pointed look and suddenly he seems to find the floor really interesting, “I’d never watch you on purpose, but you do it so much,” you laugh.

“Jeez, okay,” he puts his hands up in defense and looks away from you completely with an embarrassed grin.

You laugh and bump your shoulder against his, forgetting you can’t and walking through him for a second. You’re grateful he’s still not looking.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I wish I could do it. I mean, I can’t even touch myself.”

His eyes meet yours and he smiles, and his blush slowly disappears.

You can’t feel the temperature but just looking at Peter makes you cold. He could go as Rudolph for Halloween with a nose as red as that. All the trees have turned different shades of orange, red and yellow and you ask Peter to take you somewhere livelier where you can look at the change of the season in real time.

You’re invisible again when you get into the lit up streets with more people, but it’s like Peter can always tell where you are. You two don’t say much, but he smiles at you every now and then, and he’s looking right at you even though you know he can’t see you. But he can feel you. 

It makes you want to cry.

You stay out well into the night even though it’s too dark to appreciate the colour on the trees. But that doesn’t matter to you. You haven’t spent time more than a block away from Peter’s building in months. Now that you have someone else to go with, it’s all different.

You can’t help but think how much more beautiful it would all be if you were a human with an actual life. If you could have more friends. If you could go out and be seen and not have to worry about people freaking out or about being hunted down if someone sees you.

But for the moment you’re also happy that you have Peter. You always will be. Maybe it was meant to be. You both lost your life, in one way or another, and found each other.

You become best friends over the next few weeks. You knew it was going to happen from the first time you talked for hours, but having a friend is even nicer than you remembered. It feels like your life is worth living again.

You’re actually doing things these days. You have things to look forward to. You have someone to talk to, someone who sees you, someone who accepts you even though, from the outside, you’re just a bit of not-quite-invisible air.

Peter sees your soul, he sees you as a person, but nevertheless he loves you just how you are, no matter how much you hate the state you have to be in forever.

He told you he loves you so early it could be considered rushed, but you couldn’t deny that you feel it too. Maybe it’s all going faster because you’re both starved for love, and for human connection. And maybe that’s okay. You’ve found a true friendship with him, and it has saved both your lives.

You’re not living how you’d wish to, but now that you have Peter, at least you can consider your existence a life. You forgot how much joy other people can bring you, and you’re lucky that Peter turned out to be one of the good ones.

Even though your life has gotten more exciting, and you’re doing more, you probably still prefer being in Peter’s one-room-apartment, just being yourself and talking for hours. You’ve known each other for months now and it feels like you could talk for all the years to come.

When it’s just the two of you, you can just be you. You don’t have to make yourself invisible, and you can’t imagine how weird it must be for Peter to be best friends with a ghost, so you appreciate him even more. Deep down you’re as human as anyone else, but you look far from it.

There are times when Peter forgets. When you’re thinking of getting food, he asks what you want, then he quickly apologises when he realises that you can’t eat, but you’re never mad at him. You still forget it yourself. You forget it even more now.

But while you love your long talks with Peter, about the most profound things, and more often the most meaningless things, what’s special about him is that you don’t have to talk. You can just be. 

It’s not awkward when you’re both silent; it feels like the purest form of human connection. You just love him and he loves you. And he’s the best and most important friend you’ve ever had.

It’s not an ideal life, but for a ghost, it’s not too bad.

Peter is hesitant when he asks you to come to his job with him. You think it’s because he doesn’t want you to see what you’re missing out on - talking to people without them freaking out, having a normal life.

But you doubt you’ll be jealous of Peter having to work, plus you’ve always wondered what his workplace looks like. He started off working at a food place, but now he’s got a part-time office job that is less exhausting and pays better.

He says he doesn’t really have friends at his job, only a few colleagues that he’s friendly with, so you don’t think it will make you depressed again to see how he can talk to people when you can’t. You have Peter - a true friend - so why would you be jealous of some shallow and forced office friendships.

You’re just grateful you don’t have to sit around all day until Peter comes home. He’s taken you to class with him once, but you realised just how glad you are to be done with anything related to school and went home early.

He takes you to his work on a Friday, which he says is always the best day. Everyone’s happier because the weekend is close and Peter’s day ends a few hours earlier so he can take you to a street market around the corner after work. You won’t be able to buy anything, but you like looking. 

When you’re with Peter, you always enjoy yourself.

The office isn’t far from Peter’s place, so you walk there. You make yourself invisible the first time you see another person and prepare to stay like that all day. 

You’re excited to see where Peter spends hours nearly every day, but it’s nothing you didn’t expect. It’s simply an office. But he seems comfortable here and it makes you happy. 

You know he’s struggled with money all his life, especially now with no financial support from anyone. Knowing that he makes enough money here to pay for his apartment and maybe even a few nice things every now and then — and it’s not even a full time job — makes you happy for him.

He shouldn’t have to work a day in his life, or at least get paid for being Spider-Man, but there are worse jobs than this, and there are apartments more expensive than his, especially in New York. 

He jokes around with a few colleagues and once they’re gone he whispers their names to you. He’s told you about them before and it’s nice to finally put faces to the names. Peter smiles at you even though he can’t see you, but he’s looking right at you every time. 

You get bored after the first hour and Peter tells you to do what you want, and you want to go outside. 

You walk around a bit, observing people and the tiny moments of their life that you can witness. You wish you were like them. 

It starts raining and you rush down the stairs into a subway station. It always feels weird when you’re walking through the rain and you can’t feel any of the raindrops. 

You haven’t been at this station in ages - you had no reason to. You watch one train stop and go again, and suddenly you have the urge to go explore. You’ve never taken the time to notice what the underground tunnels look like - not on foot, anyway. 

You follow the next train from one station to the next, and you follow it for two more stations. It’s exhilarating how you’re on the tracks but the train can’t hurt you. You don’t have to be scared. 

You stop following the train as you take a right at a junction. A different train passes through you, and you walk through another station. At some point though, it’s all quiet. You realise that no train has passed you in twenty minutes, and you have no idea how far you’ve gone. 

Suddenly, you notice how dark it is. There are no lights at all except at the end of the tunnel, but it seems so far away. You turn around to go back. You know there is nothing to be scared of. If anyone’s here, they can’t see you, they can’t hurt you. 

Despite having no lungs, you feel out of breath as you rush back to where you came from - where you can see light. Your head snaps back when you hear something dripping behind you, then a few taps. 

You stop in your tracks - you can’t tell where the noise is coming from. You close your eyes and count how long you think it would take for a deep breath. 

When you open your eyes, the light is gone. It’s pitch black. You wish Peter was here to help you. How far from him are you? What if you won’t see him again? You don’t know how to get out of here. 

You remember you can float through anything, and you can just go upwards, and you’ll end on some New York street. But when you try, you’ve suddenly lost all sense of direction. It’s like you’re underwater, deep, and no matter how far up you float, you just won’t reach the surface. 

Not knowing what else to do, you keep going, anywhere. You’ll get back somehow, you have to. 

Then, a door appears in front of you, light coming from behind it. You touch the handle and before you open the door, you’re in a room, sitting on a pillow. 

You feel at home immediately. It’s like a spa for your brain. Comfy furniture and decorations, you can barely see the white of the walls. They’re covered in tapestry and spiritual ornaments. 

Suddenly, there’s a woman in front of you, sitting on the carpeted floor. She doesn’t look human, but she’s not a ghost like you either. You’re not sure if she’s even real. She’s ethereal. 

It crosses your mind for a second that you’ve overused your abilities as a ghost, and you’ve ended up in heaven after being hit by a subway train. Maybe God is sitting in front of you. 

When she opens her eyes, it feels like a privilege to look into them, but when she looks right back at you, you realise you never made yourself visible again. How can she see you?

She chuckles, and it’s like an angelic whisper. “Don’t worry, you’re still disguised. It’s just me who can see you like this. It’s okay, my darling. What are you here for?”

You take a few moments to answer. “I.. I didn’t come here for anything. I was just going for a walk and then ended up here. I don’t know how.”

The woman smiles. “That’s what they all say. But no one wanders down the subway tracks if they’re happy with their life. So, what can I do for you?”

“I don’t.. understand. Who are you?”

“There is nothing to understand. You’re overthinking it. Who I am is not important. Now tell me your biggest wish, currently.”

She smiled kindly as you try to process it. The more she looks at you, the more you trust her. Against your own wish to not expose your deepest desires in front of a stranger, you answer. “I want to be human again. I want to live a normal life. With other people. And I want to be able to cry, and to feel touch.”

“Ah,” she quietly laughs to herself, “I could have guessed that myself. You see, my love, what you need is a kiss from the one you love. And it will turn you back. But you get only one try, so choose wisely. Make sure it’s the right person.”

All of a sudden, you can’t help but laugh. You get what’s going on. You’ve ended up in the den of a crackhead or a homeless person who watched too many Disney films growing up. 

What are you doing, telling her about yourself?

She smiles at you warmly even after you laugh right in her face, and suddenly you feel bad. She might be out of her mind, but she seems kind. 

You open your mouth, but when you blink you’re standing in front of Peter’s office building. You look around a few times. Now you feel like you’re the one out of your mind. You stand there for what feels like a few minutes, confused as anything, a little scared too. 

You try to find an explanation and then remember that you’re a barely one year old ghost, and you probably still have a lot to learn. You hope it’s just that. 

You forget everything that just happened when you hear Peter’s voice. He’s helplessly fumbling with the straps of his backpack, looking left and right, calling out your name when the people passing are far enough away. You have no idea how long you’ve been gone. 

You go towards him and make yourself visible for a second, scaring him with a “Boo!”

He jumps and puts a hand on his chest. You become invisible again. “Oh my god, I thought I lost you. You were gone much longer than you said,” he whispers as people pass. 

“Sorry, I went exploring. I would have come home eventually though. I always will.”

You don’t want to scare him, so you don’t tell him what happened. You’re with him now, so you feel safe anyway. 

He smiles at you and you make your way back home together. Well, his home, you’re just a guest. 

He tells you what he did at work while you were gone and when he asks what you saw when you were out, you tell him you just followed a subway around. That’s why you were gone so long, you followed it for ages and had to go back all the way. 

You and Peter watch a film in the evening, but you’re not paying attention. You think back to your encounter with that woman - or whatever she was. 

Her words replay in your mind and you realise for the first time what she was actually telling you. 

A kiss from the one you love. 

Peter. 

She was telling you to kiss Peter. 

It’s like suddenly something clicks within you. 

You’re in love with him. 

You’re in love. With Peter.

He’s literally the only person you even have: he’s the one you love. 

It hasn’t occurred to you before that he’s more than a friend to you. Maybe you didn’t allow yourself to think it, because it would never work out.

But if that woman is right, you know it can work out. It all becomes as clear as glass. You’re in love with him.

You look at his face and you don’t know how you only saw a friend in him before. He laughs at the movie and the crinkles by his eyes become more prominent, and you just want to kiss them. 

His mouth is open in a wide grin as he looks at you and you stare at his lips until his grin fades after a while. “What?” He licks his lips, “Not funny? You said you liked the actor last time so I thought—”

“No. It’s not that. I’m just.. tired.”

“You’re tired? I didn’t know you could be tired.”

“Well uh, no, not tired. But. I don’t know. I just can’t focus on the film right now. Aren’t you tired? You’ve had a busy week,” you suggest. You want him to go to bed, so you can think in peace. 

“I am tired,” he smiles shyly, “I just didn’t want you to be bored. Didn’t wanna leave you alone for so long.”

It’s something he’s told you before. While he sleeps, you don’t. Sometimes you go out, but sometimes you stay in his apartment, right next to him. It’s weird when you spend so much time with him, but he’s asleep and it’s like he’s not actually there. 

But you tell him it’s okay, and twenty minutes later he’s snoring away while you float around in his room, thinking. 

You didn’t want to straight up tell him. You didn’t want to admit your crush, your love. It’s also a lot of pressure to tell him that he can turn you back into a human, fulfill your biggest dream, but only if he loves you back. 

If you tell him that you like him, and he rejects you, you’ll lose your only friend. So will he. You can’t do that to yourself or to him. 

But what about the woman? She seemed to know what she was talking about. She made you feel safe, once you decided to go along with the situation. 

You’re a floating ghost. You have no doubt that fortune tellers could be real.

Then again, it could have just been a homeless woman who was taking drugs in the dirty underground. You have no reason to believe her. You have no reason not to believe her either though.

Maybe you’re just going insane. You teleported to Peter right after. You didn’t know you could do that. Or maybe you‘ve been wrong all this time and ghosts don’t live forever. Maybe your mind is rotting, and maybe you’re dying. 

You sit down - you hover - next to Peter on the bed. He’s fast asleep, his hair all over the place. He’s curled up like a baby, and all you want to do is slip under the blanket with him and hold him.

You’ll decide that you’ll take the risk.

You won’t tell him that he could turn you human, but you’ll ask him for a kiss. If he rejects you you’ll… you don’t even want to think about how that would feel. But if he kisses you and you become human, you’ll be able to have a normal life again.

You’ll be able to kiss Peter, to hold his hand, to hug him. You’ll be able to make friends again, you’ll be able to cry, and actually feel the flutter of your heart when Peter smiles at you.

You’ve always trusted in your gut feeling, and in what’s in your heart. And right now you have hope in you. So you’ll trust in that.

By the time Peter wakes up, you’re sceptical again, and nervous. You’d much prefer to live a human life with Peter as your partner, but you couldn’t bare to ask Peter for a kiss, be rejected, and ruin your friendship. You’d be all alone again. You don’t want to risk that.

But you don’t want to be a ghost forever either - not if there’s another option.

You think for a few days, but you just can’t get the idea out of your head. You want to try it - you have to.

Peter has noticed that something’s off, and you don’t want to worry him any longer.

You’ve been trying to pay attention to how he treats you, how he looks at you - but you didn’t even realise you were in love for ages, so it’s even harder to realise if someone else is in love.

But, whether he’s in love with you or not, Peter is a kind soul. He won’t reject you in a mean way, or laugh at you if he doesn’t want to kiss you. It doesn’t mean that your friendship has to be ruined forever. 

And anyway, the woman said you need a kiss from the one you love. She never said anything about him loving you back, even though that is implied. She never said anything about romantic love either though, and one thing you are sure about is that Peter at least loves you as a friend.

Today is a day where Peter is being extra adorable. His smile, his hair, the look in his eyes. They’re all perfect. He’s perfect. You just want to kiss him, regardless of if it turns you into a human or not.

You’re in his room, watching a film, but you’re barely paying attention because you’re talking all the time. You wait for a moment where no one’s talking and you’re both watching the film. You ask him to pause it.

Before you can change your mind, you say it. 

“Peter, can you kiss me?” Your voice trembles at the end but his shy little smile gives you hope. He turns towards you, his cheeks turning red.

“I, I don’t know. Can I? I thought that wasn’t possible.”

“I know. But can you please try?”

“Oh. Okay.” He smiles softly and clears his throat, and then he leans in. He closes his eyes and so do you when you kiss him.

You briefly open your eyes again when nothing happens, to check if you’re close enough. 

You are close enough to kiss him.

You close your eyes again and try to think of how badly you want to turn human again. Maybe you need to convince whoever is responsible for turning you back. A whine slips past your lips when nothing happens.

Peter pulls away and you open your eyes. You look down at yourself.

Still a ghost.

Nothing has changed.

“I have to go.” You don’t even look at him as you get up and leave. 

Peter follows you, “No, wait. Wait.”

You make yourself invisible and he stops in his tracks. You stay there - Peter is your safe place, you have nowhere else to go. Peter calls out for you a few times, turning to see if he can find you. He usually can, it’s like he can just feel you, maybe it’s to do with his spidey senses. But this time, while he’s panicking, he can’t calm down to feel where you are.

You leave when a neighbour comes to curse at Peter for being so loud. 

You hide in the cellar, where no one bothers you. You’ve never wanted to cry more than now, but you just can’t. The sensation, the urge to cry, is there, but you have no tears.

It was stupid to even think you could kiss him. You thought you’d turn into a solid human once your lips touched. All you did was make it awkward for both of you.

And you can’t believe you were dumb enough to believe that woman. You feel pathetic for letting yourself feel so much hope, all because of what a stranger on drugs said to you.

Or maybe that woman told you the truth. Maybe the woman was right, and Peter just doesn’t love you. Realising that hurts more than knowing you’ll be alone and a ghost forever.

You don’t think you can ever look Peter in the eyes again. You hate to take away the only friend he has, but after putting so much hope in him and being disappointed - you can’t just be his friend. It was unfair of you to expect him to be in love with you, but it didn’t stop you from doing it.

After staying in the basement a day and a night, and trying but failing to cry, you realise something. If the woman was right, and there is a way for you to get your life back, and the issue was just Peter’s feelings for you, or rather the lack thereof, she should also know how to end your life.

Turning back into a human would revive you, and make your existence into a life that is worth living. If she knows how to do that, she might know you can stop existing altogether. If you can’t find love, what’s the point of being here?

You’ll go along the subway tracks again, and hopefully you’ll find her.

But, even though you don’t want to see him again, you want to say goodbye to Peter. See him one last time. It’s early, so you hope he’s still asleep.

You make your way up to his floor, floating past all of the windows below his. It’s cold and it’s raining, and the sun isn’t quite up yet. You can only just see Peter through his fogged up window.

He’s asleep, but the covers are on the floor, and he’s wearing the same clothes he wore when you last saw him. You hope he’s not too sad. You know he can make other friends. Maybe even meet someone he can fall in love with. You think he’ll be okay.

You curse when a raindrop hits you right in the eye, and the noise you make wakes Peter up. You freeze when he looks right at you and gets out of bed.

“You’re back,” he beams, but you see the dark circles under his eyes.

You look down at yourself and realise you forgot to make yourself invisible. You try, it’s like an instinct at this point - you usually think about it and you become invisible. But nothing happens.

You go through Peter’s window and meet him on the other side. You haven’t seen him in a day, and you already missed being so close to him. God, not being able to hug him will be the death of you.

Peter starts stuttering about how worried he was and how glad he is to see you, meanwhile you’re still trying to make yourself invisible. Finally, you stop him. “You can see me?”

“Oh, uh,” he frowns, “Yeah?”

That’s when you realise. “Wait. Peter. Oh my god. I just felt a raindrop in my eye, when I was outside. There was a raindrop in my eye! And my back has been hurting all night, Peter. My back hurts!”

“I didn’t know your back could hurt.”

“It couldn’t, but now it does. I was sitting down in your basement for like a whole day. And now my back hurt. And I can’t make myself invisible anymore,” you’re nearly shouting now.

Peter looks at you for a few seconds as he processes what you’re saying, “Wait. Are you…”

“I think I am.”

You try to grab his hands in excitement but it doesn’t work. “Oh. And wait, I just floated right through your window. Maybe I… maybe I imagined feeling the raindrop.” You look down as your smile turns into a frown. You’ve once again let yourself get too hopeful about something you’re not sure was even real.

“Try again,” Peter says, folding his arms in front of him, “Try walking through my door.”

“What?” You ask, annoyed.

“Try to go through my door like you always do.” He turns towards his door and you sigh. You float right through the door and come back. Still a ghost. You just want to go back into the basement - you don’t even have enough energy to try and find the subway woman anymore.

“Again,” Peter says. You stare at him and he stares back until you turn around to pathetically float through his door a few times. He tells you to do it again and again but you’ve had enough. You try to float back into his apartment again but you crash against the door with a bang.

Peter comes running and opens the door, “Oh my god, are you okay?”

You don’t answer him - you have no words. You look down at yourself - still a ghost - but you just felt something you haven’t felt in years. You just touched that door, and you felt it in your whole body.

Peter has tears in his eyes now and you look at him, “Peter, what does this mean? Oh my god.”

“I don’t know. Try again,” he says.

You float right through his door about ten times until you bang against it again. This time Peter sees you, and he’s speechless for a few seconds.

“You just- I just- I saw you. As a human. It’s like you flickered to life for a second and you – you weren’t a ghost anymore,” he looks at you completely in awe and it’s like you can feel your heartbeat. You look at your body, and it’s still transparent - there’s no heart inside of you - but you’re hopeful now. And it finally feels like you actually have a reason to be.

“So- so what, should I just walk through your door over and over again until I become solid?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t think we should force it. Maybe your atoms are still learning how to be atoms again.”

You squint at him, “Thought you were supposed to be good at physics. That doesn’t sound very scientific.”

“I don’t know how much of this is science and how much is.. magic. I don’t know. Maybe we just need to be patient.”

“I can’t be patient.”

“I know, neither can I. But you’ll just hurt yourself by banging against a door ten times. Let’s just sit it out and distract ourselves and wait and see.”

He closes the door and sits on his bed, his eyes never leaving you. You blink at him. 

“Peter. I can’t just sit with you here pretending that everything is fine between us and like this doesn’t determine my whole entire being and my life, and my relationship with the only living person I love.”

He looks at you in confusion, “Why does it determine our relationship?”

“You won’t want to be with me if I keep being a ghost.”

“What? Why not?”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t even kiss me. You won’t ever be able to take me on a date anywhere. I can’t even exist except in this apartment.”

“I don’t care as long as we’re together. And I won’t lie, or course it sucks that I can’t kiss you. And that I can’t hug you. But I don’t love you for physical things. I love you for who you are. I love you for things that go beyond flesh and bones and biologically being a human. Who cares about that? I’m in love with who you are in your soul, not your body.”

You can’t believe what he’s telling you. “You’d want to be with me even if I stayed a ghost?”

“Of course. Without a doubt. You think I would have fallen in love with you if it was a dealbreaker for me that you don’t have a physical body?”

That’s when you suddenly realise that you’ve just confessed your feelings for him. And he feels the same. 

“You’re in love with me?” You feel your whole body flickering for a second, and from Peter’s face you can tell he saw it too. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, and you both take a step towards each other. The fact that you’re turning back into a human means the woman was right. She was real and she was telling you the truth. You found the right person and kissed him, and now you’re going to be human again. 

You can’t believe it. Well, you’re still a ghost but you don’t know what else this would be.

“I’m so in love with you too,” you confess, and you’re grinning at each other so much you could cry. Maybe soon you’ll actually be able to. You can’t wait to cry again.

“Mmmmmh Peter, you better have some good distractions.”

You decide you shouldn’t go outside since you can’t make yourself invisible anymore, so you watch some movies, but you’re both too giddy to pay attention for even a single second.

By evening, you’re still a ghost, and while your hope isn’t gone, you’re starting to overthink. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just imagining things because I’m hopeful? Or what if this is a weird stage between ghost and human that I’m trapped in now? And-and what if that woman was just lying to me, what if she’s cursed me or if she was a crazy woman and I’ve put my whole hope and trust in her and believed that it could turn my whole life around?”

“Wait, what woman?” Peter asks.

Oh. You weren’t going to tell him until this whole turning into a human thing has been sorted. Knowing that Peter loves you back is the only thing that matters, you thought the details could wait.

“Do you remember when you took me to your office a few weeks ago, and I disappeared for a bit? I met this woman, I don’t know if she was a human or a ghost or what, but she seemed so trustworthy and angelic, and she told me… she asked me what my biggest wish was, and I told her I want to be human again. She said I need to kiss the one I love and it will turn me back.”

His gaze turns soft and then excited. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have kissed you right then and there and you could be a human by now. Why are you still doubting that this is working? Oh my god. And I’m the one you chose. I love you.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans in to touch you, but pulls back when he realises he can’t. Not yet. But soon.

You giggle, “I love you too. But I was scared you didn’t feel the same. And I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we have. That’s why I ran away after we kissed. I thought I’d messed everything up. And I wasn’t even sure if that woman was real, so I doubted that you’d believe me.”

“Of course I would have believed you,” he smiles.

“And also… I was scared that it wouldn’t work. And we still don’t know if it worked. I mean, look at me.” You try to take his hand but your hand goes right through his.

“It will work. But you’ve been a ghost for a while now, it will take some time.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll find a different way. I promise. And even if not, I’ll make your life worth living. Even as a ghost. I think in the end we’re all just ghosts. Some of us have flesh bodies with gross organs inside. Some of us are just a beautiful floating soul like you.”

You smile and lean in, trying to touch him again. It doesn’t work, but now that you know he loves you either way, it doesn’t matter as much. You’d still prefer a human life though.

You wake up late the next morning. All the excitement must have tired you out eventually. You turn around and see Peter still sleeping, a smile on his face. 

You stare at him for a bit. At his toned biceps and the rest of his arm, all the way down to his hand that’s resting on your hip.

His hand. That is resting. On your hip. 

You jump up when you look at your legs and they’re actual legs. You’re lying down in Peter’s bed. You’re not floating anymore. And you just woke up. You slept.

You’re human.

All your moving around wakes Peter up and he’s confused for the first few moments, his brain taking a while to start working.

“Peter, I have a flesh body with gross organs inside!” You sit up and jump around on the bed, waiting for him to fully wake up so you can finally finally kiss him.

His eyes go wide when he takes in your body, your human self, and he almost lunges forward to wrap his arms around you and meet your lips in a bruising kiss. You pull him as close to you as you can, pressing your lips against his, and you start to cry. You can’t believe that it’s actually happened. That you’re actually kissing Peter.

You want to kiss him for the rest of your life, but you haven’t touched anything in over a year, so feeling your body for the first time in a long time, being kissed and crying at the same time is a little overwhelming. 

When you place your hand on Peter’s chest, he immediately understands what you’re asking and he pushes himself off of you, only hovering above you. His eyes are filled with tears and one of them rolls down his face and lands on your chin, and he wipes it away quickly. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay.” You don’t wipe away your own tears, you want to feel them on your face. The tears feel even more magical than a kiss turning you from a ghost into a human. “Peter,” you take his face between your hands and cup his cheeks, “Look. I have real tears on my face! And I can feel them., I missed them so so much.”

Peter cries with you and turns his face to kiss your hand. “You’re so beautiful. I mean, you were beautiful before but, god. It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you.”

You’re about to respond when your stomach growls loudly and you both look down at it. 

“You must be hungry,” Peter says, getting off of you and walking to the kitchen area, “I can, I think I can make some pancakes. Or just toast? I don’t know if your stomach will have to get used to food again first.”

You sit up and stare at him for a bit. He’s so gorgeous. You’re so glad you met him.

“I want to shower first. Haven’t showered in like a year,” you laugh, walking over to him. Peter lifts your arm and shoves his nose against your armpit, “You smell fine. You smell lovely, actually.” You scream and you giggle as you run away from him through his small but cozy apartment. If you’re honest, it smells a lot better than what you expected of such an old building. You’ve grown so fond of it, although that’s mostly because of Peter.

“Shit,” you realise, “I have to get a job now. And buy food and clothes and pay rent and find a place to live. I wanna be a ghost again,” you joke, but Peter takes your hand and gently pulls you towards him.

“I won’t let that happen. Just stay here. For now, or forever if you want. And I’ll make sure to feed you, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

You step closer to him and grin against his face. You can see he wants to kiss you, but isn’t sure if he can in case it’s overwhelming. You give him a short kiss and ask him if you can shower. He tells you you can do whatever you want and to tell him if you need anything - including alone time without him. But for now, you just need a shower.

When you come out of the bathroom, Peter has bought new clothes for you. You’re in the clothes you died in, so you’d rather wear anything else, but the clothes Peter bought are quite nice and fit perfectly. He says he just ran to that thrift store around the corner and got you loads of clothes for less than twenty dollars. You always wanted to go there with him. Now you can. 

You can do whatever you want with Peter, wherever you want. You can meet new people and make new friends. And you can live a human life. 

Peter makes breakfast for you and you spend the rest of the day lying in bed with him, occasionally holding hands or kissing for a second, but making out or even cuddling is still overstimulating. You know you’ll get there soon and you can’t wait until you do so you can physically show Peter just how much you love him, but for now being brought back to life is already making you feel enough things. 

You nearly forget that you have to sleep again now. That’s until you yawn and you realise how exhausted you are. Peter tells you to go to sleep and he’ll look after you. 

You fall asleep holding his hand. 

The next day, Peter has to go back to work, so you spend some time alone. 

You touch yourself all over your body, just feeling yourself. 

You’re much more used to touch now than you were yesterday, so your hand sneaks down between your thighs, giving yourself the best orgasm of your life. 

It’s just you and your body, making love to yourself.

You go for a long walk, enjoying every aspect of it. You don’t have a winter coat so you just take a blanket with you. You hardly even stand out for New York’s standards. 

The colourful leaves have all fallen by now and you missed being able to step on the crunchy ones. You missed feeling the wind on your face and how your nose gets all cold in the late autumn air. 

You kiss Peter for longer than ever before when he comes home from work, and then you hug him for about ten minutes. And then you kiss him again. 

He takes you grocery shopping so he can cook you your favourite meals and he can learn what you like. 

You’re in the fruit aisle, asking him which apples to get, and you realise he’s not listening to you, just staring. “What?“ You start grinning at his lovesick expression. 

“Nothing. I just love you so much. I mean, look at you.” He twirls you around and doesn’t let go of your hand, “You’re so.. alive,” you both laugh, but you know what he means, “You’re so vibrant. And full of life. You were beautiful before but now? Wow. Like. Oh my fucking god.”

You let him stare and just get the apples that look the best to you. 

You’re walking through the streets hand-in-hand a while later. You’re on your way home, enjoying life and enjoying that you can touch Peter and that you can walk outside without having to make yourself invisible. 

“The one thing I didn’t miss is how bad this city smells sometimes,” you scrunch up your nose and Peter kisses it. You chase the smell of him when he pulls back, burying your nose against his neck, humming, “Mmh, you smell good though.”

“You smell better,” he grins and kisses your lips, his cold, red nose brushing up against your cheek. 

While Peter unlocks the front door to your building, you hear an unmistakable meow from behind you. Lucky. You haven’t seen her in weeks. You were worried something happened to her. 

You crouch down in front of her, reaching out your hand. She immediately pushes her head against your palm, asking  you to pet her. 

You don’t know how - because you didn’t have a smell when you were a ghost - but she recognises you. She knows you. And you finally get to feel her soft fur and make her purr for as long as she wants to. 

You don’t dare ask Peter - it’s technically only his apartment and you don’t even know if pets are allowed in the building. “Just take her,” he playfully rolls his eyes and holds the door open for you and Lucky. You’ll let her go out whenever she wants, but if she can’t be bothered catching mice or needs a warm place to stay or to get a cuddle, you want to be there for her. She got you through some rough times. 

You and Peter end up cooking together - it’s much more fun like that. Lucky is snoring on your bed, but she’s on Peter’s side, so you leave her there. Lucky stays out most of the time, but you see her every few days, and always welcome her in. 

You get yourself a pretty winter coat in a small shop not far from your and Peter’s place, and you notice a sign saying they’re hiring. The manager is beyond kind and it’s only a few hours a week, and you get the job. You don’t really need it while you’re living with Peter in his apartment, but you need something to do and now you and Peter really don’t have to worry about paying rent each month. 

You pick Peter up from work that day in your new, pretty coat and it starts snowing. It’s the first snow of the year. Peter tells you how sad and depressed he was last winter and how happy he is now. You tell him how sad and depressed you were last winter and how happy you are now. 

You were both so lonely. So lost. With an existence you could barely call a life. And you found each other, and it changed everything. He’s your person. And you’re his. 

Peter takes you to meet some colleagues outside of work for the first time and you invite a neighbour you were talking to the other day in your building’s laundry room. You can already see her becoming a new friend, and afterwards Peter tells you how well he gets along with one of his colleagues. It’s a good day. 

By now, you’re completely used to all touch and sensation. You can kiss Peter for as long as you want without feeling overwhelmed, and you keep wanting more and more. 

Your watching a film one Friday night turns into nothing but kissing. Kissing kissing kissing. It’s not enough though, and you pull Peter’s hoodie off over his head. 

“I need you,” you softly say into his ear and he grins. 

“You sure?”

“I’m so sure, Peter, please.” You’ve been thinking about having sex with Peter for months now, so now that you’re finally ready, you’re ready. 

He smiles at you and leans down to kiss your neck, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingers slowly sliding up your belly. 

It’s torture how light his touch is, so you pull off the shirt you’re wearing, leaving you only in your panties. 

Peter licks his lips as he looks at you and slowly lowers his face to your chest, kissing between your breasts and then gently taking one of your nipples into his mouth. 

You grab onto his hair and sigh in pleasure, his hands making their way up your sides, but soon you’re hungry for more. Your fingers glide down his chest, past his abs, and find his hard cock beneath his sweatpants. 

He stops what he’s doing and moans, pressing his head against your shoulder as you begin to tease him with featherlight touch over his briefs. “Fuck,” he groans, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

The pleasure written all over his features makes you stop what you’re doing. You lift your legs to push your panties down your legs. You’re trying to get Peter’s pants off too but he sits up to spread your legs and sit between them.

Your cheeks heat up as he spreads your lips to look at your pussy, and he shyly tells you how pretty you are. You can feel his breath on your skin and you’re getting wetter by the second. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, pressing his lips against your inner thighs with a wet mouth.

“Yes, fuck, more than okay.” 

Then his mouth is finally on your clit, and you gasp when you first feel his wet tongue on your pussy. You tell him what to do and he quickly gets the hang of it, his eyes focussing on your face to see what you like most.

He slowly and gently plays with your pussy until you cum all over his face with a cry of his name, and then he doesn’t stop until you cum another time. By your second orgasm, you’re grabbing his hair and grinding your pussy against his face, begging him to get inside of you.

He stands up to get the condom but when you see the bulge in his sweatpants, you want him in your mouth.

You sit up to kneel at the edge of the bed, next to where he’s standing. You touch him over his pants and look up at him with angel eyes. “Can I?”

“Fuck. Of course.” He drops the condoms when you pull down his sweats and wrap your hand around his hard cock.

You’re looking up at him as you take your time with him, tracing his length with wet lips, gently licking his balls, and then you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. You take him deeper each time, slowly moving your head up and down, your spit dripping down him. 

He opens his mouth, and nothing but a desperate moan comes out, making you suck his dick faster. You grab his thigh to steady yourself, hollowing your cheeks every time you take him deeper into your mouth.

Seeing him all worked up, gasping and moaning, is making you so wet and desperate, but you can’t stop - you don’t want to. You can hear how close he is by how short his breaths are and how broken his voice sounds.

“Fuck– fuck,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and then he puts a hand on your cheek, making you stop.

“I wanna be inside of you now. I need to–” he takes off his pants and puts on the condom while you lie back down, spreading your legs. Peter stops when he gets back on the bed and presses a kiss onto your clit, taking a second to taste you again.

“Peter…” your whimper, making his head snap towards your face.

“Okay, yes, okay,” he quickly positions himself between your legs, lining himself up with you, “You sure?”

“Yes, oh my god, Peter. Just fuck me.”

He grins and kisses you as he slowly pushes into you. You wrap your arms around him and hold him as close to you as you can. You stop kissing him back - you feel too good to do anything.

All the desperation is gone, it’s just you and him now, taking your time. The rest of the world doesn’t exist. Only Peter does.

He looks into your eyes as he thrusts into you, as deep as he can, and you wrap your legs around his waist, so you’re spread out even more for him. “I love you,” he breathes.

“I love you,” you say, pulling him even closer. You search for his hand and he brings it up to your face. You open your mouth so he can push a finger past your lips, and you hum as you suck his finger into your mouth. The only sounds you can hear are Peter’s breaths, him sliding into your wet pussy, and your wet lips around his finger.

You’re still looking right into his eyes, and he doesn’t look away. You chase his finger with your mouth when he pulls it away, but he quickly soothes you with a deep kiss.

“You wanna cum for me?” He asks, bringing his thumb between your legs to rub your clit. He’s holding himself up with his forearm, still fucking you while he touches your clit.

You never knew how strong he was. But now that he’s on top of you, so desperate and so close, his big biceps right next to your face, he’s still doing everything he can to make you feel good - no weakness in sight.

You feel your orgasm approaching, and press your lips against his. “Fuck, so good for me, so pretty,” he whispers against your mouth, keeping the rhythm steady against your clit.

The waves of your orgasm flood you with pleasure and spread through your whole body. You arch up into him, pressing your chest against his. Your pussy squeezes him so tight that he cums with you, moaning into your mouth, short thrusts into your pussy until you’re both coming down from your highs.

You stay wrapped in each other for a while, his forehead pressed against yours. You’re breathing each other, pressing kisses onto each other’s faces.

“I love you,” he says, still out of breath.

You grin at him and put your hand on his cheek as you kiss him, “I love you too.”

You’re walking down the streets of a holiday-themed market a few weeks later, a hot drink in one hand, your other one intertwined with Peter’s, snowflakes flying through the air.

He’s showing you a cute holiday bauble when you see the reflection of someone you know in it. Your quickly turn around and then you see the woman. The woman who told you how to become human. 

She’s standing far away, but you can see her clearly. She smiles at you and you beam back at her. You want to walk towards her to thank her, but something tells you to stay right where you are. 

“I knew you’d make the right choice,” she smiles warmly, and then she vanishes into thin air. You grin. 

You look at Peter and his adorable face for a few seconds. Then you grab him to kiss him, and he kisses you back with so much love. 

She’s right. You made the right choice. 

☆.｡.:*support a writer and reblog or send an ask if you enjoyed, it helps out a lot.｡.:*☆

We’re Pregnant!

Characters: Spencer Reid x Reader, JJ, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss

Word Count: 1,709

Warnings: pure fluff

Summary: When you start showing symptoms of being sick, Spencer goes out of his mind to take care of you. When those symptoms turn to something else, he doesn’t know how to react.

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! this is unbeta’d and every mistake is all on me. Thank you @kendall-michele for the idea.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

“Are you feeling any better?” Spencer asked as he popped his head into the bathroom. For the third morning in a row, you had been in the bathroom throwing your guts up. Maybe this was due to a meal you recently ate, but you think you caught something from someone. It’s been a while since you got sick, so it came as a shock to you when you started throwing up without a fever.

“No, I’m not. I don’t think I’ll make it into work today. Hotch knows this, but could you update him?” you sighed as you slumped against the wall.

“Yeah, I will. Did you want me to get you medicine?”

“No, I think it might be going away. I don’t have a fever. I’m sure it will go away soon,” you nodded before getting up and flushing the toilet. Approaching the sink, you rinsed your mouth out with mouthwash before exiting the bathroom with your boyfriend.

“If you’re sure,” he trailed off.

Keep reading

hi cate! this is my first ask sooo i’m nervous to send this tee hee but i love your acc and i’ve got a front row seat on the hot wife wagon 🤪 and let me tell you cate i have thoughts. lots of them.

but what do you think about dr. hot wife stitching up spencer in the ER after a case? like she’s doting on him and bringing him jello and being extra gentle and stuff. and if the team doesn’t know and sees them they’re like 👀👀 “where’d she learn those bedside manners??” “can i get some stitches too?” ok that’s all. i love you and what you do have a great one!! 💖

oh i love this so much and don't be nervous, i love hearing what you think

"What happened?" She asks, walking into the crowded room. Spencer's sitting on the edge of the bed, Morgan's sitting on the chair and Hotch is standing. "I'm Doctor L/n." She introduces herself to them as an afterthought.

Spencer smiles at her voice, pointing to the cut on his forehead. "Someone tried to mess up my pretty face."

She laughs as she turns away to get some gloves. "Well, they didn't succeed." She assures him. "I am going to have to stitch it up, though, so keep your head still."

She grabs what she needs to stitch the sutures into his open wound, standing in between his legs in a way that she wouldn't with any other patient. Spencer, on the other hand, acts professionally and keeps his hands on his thighs.

"So what actually happened?" She asks instead of waiting until they get home.

"I got hit in the back of the head by an unsub and fell into a glass mirror." Spencer answers.

Y/n's eyes widen, but she's happy he's there and only slightly hurt. Being thrown into a mirror could do a lot worse. "Sounds like 7 years of bad luck to me." She says jokingly.

"I don't know." He disagrees. "I think I'm pretty lucky, but I can try it out if it'll help with your assessment."

"Mm, okay." She agrees, carefully working on his face.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" He asks.

Morgan and Hotch's eyes snap to each other, exchanging odd looks as they both silently wonder whether or not Spencer has a concussion because he has never been that flirty. In all the years they've known him, a question like that or one with those implications has never come out of his mouth.

"I'm married, actually." She answers.

"So I'm going to have to wait out my 7 years of bad luck before asking you out?" He wonders with a pout.

Morgan holds a hand over his open mouth, and Hotch starts worrying they're about to have to deal with a sexual harassment lawsuit.

But she laughs, and not like she's trying to politely shut him down. "I don't know. I'm kind of fond of him."

"I'm going to go see if the rest of the team is here." Morgan awkwardly says, getting out of his chair and leaving the three of them in the room.

"Okay, I think you're good." She says, finishing off the tidy stitch. "Did they check you for a concussion?"

Hotch takes his chance to defend Spencer before he says something unusually stupid. "No, he could have one- he probably has one. He's not usually like this."

She nods, taking off her gloves. "Any memory loss, nausea, unconsciousness, confusion, headaches?" She lists to both of them.

"None of that." Spencer denies. "But I did want to ask if I could take you out on a date."

"Yes, lots of behavioral change," Hotch answers for him.

Y/n looks sternly at her husband. "I won't hesitate to send you for a CT scan." She threatens although she knows he's teasing her because his eidetic memory is working perfectly. It also hilarious to see him freaking his boss out.

"Please, if you're going to come with me." He flirts.

She shakes her head with a little smile, pulling away from him. "Sorry, I've got other patients to see. Do you need anything else?"

He stops short of asking for a kiss. "Just some jello, please."

"Because you used your manners, I'll bring you two." She agrees before leaving the room.

"You don't need jello for one stitch and a few bruises," Hotch tells him once he's sure she's out of earshot.

Spencer shakes his head. "I mean, I should at least stay to say goodbye."

Morgan catches everyone else up as they walk through the hospital and towards Spencer's room. "He was flirting with her. Like actively hitting on her, trying to get her to go out with him."

"We've got to see this." JJ agrees, nods coming from everyone else.

"Wait." Morgan stops them, gesturing to Y/n, who's talking to a nurse. "Her."

They look more surprised then than they did when Morgan informed them of Spencer's odd behavior. "She was flirting with Reid?" Rossi asks in disbelief.

"I'm going to go check myself in," Emily declares, earning a chuckle from the rest of them.

They watch as she walks toward Spencer's room with jello cups. "He's not even getting admitted," JJ says, shaking her head in disbelief. "She's definitely into him."

"Go and watch them flirt. It's disgusting." Morgan says, and the irony is not lost on any of them.

She's spoon-feeding him the jello when they walk into the room like he's got broken hands. "Hey, guys, this is Doctor L/n." Spencer introduces them.

"And I'm guessing she doesn't treat all of her patients like this," Hotch mutters loud enough to have them all laughing.

I know requests are closed but I’m obsessed with this Olympic ice dancing duo, they’ve been skating for 20 years since they were 7 and 9 and the guy is always saying she’s his favourite person and how beautiful she is and their chemistry is so intense and their body language just says they’re in love but it was announced that he is engaged to another woman and I’m sad and waiting for them to realise they’re in love! I was wondering if you could write something along these lines with Tom? Ily 💙

I love this idea. I pulled inspiration from Scott Moir and Tessa Virtue interviews and from Little Women.

One Man Cult

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: You and Tom are inseparable ice skating duo who aren’t as inseparable as you thought

Masterlist

“This unrequited love, to me it’s nothing but a one man cult.” - Frank Ocean

Tom had been your ice skating partner for 20 years now. You’d come a long way from the frozen pond behind your house to an Olympic ice skating rink. The way you two skated was pure art. You moved impossibly in synch as you floated over the ice together, winning competition after competition together. Tom had never once dropped you or let you down due to your powerful connection to each other. He was always there to lift you, dip you, spin you, and you carry you around the ice as you danced to the music. Your undeniable chemistry and endearing friendship made you and Tom the most popular team in the Olympics on social media, but it was your powerful skating that made you the most decorated skaters in history. 

Keep reading