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The Web He Weaves | P.P.
Two identities. One obsession. And Peter Parker has already decided who belongs at the center of his web. (read premise.)
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Y/n - Fanfiction but you're the main character. Play fics, write your own romance novels, or discover 1M+ interactive stories.
MF
Mission failed | P.P | avengers
(Please check the premise, the authors note, and the charaters personalities for a better understanding of this story. Feel free to make changes to your liking, make suggestions, and give feedback. Have fun and enjoy !) Nick Fury has always sent Y/N on the missions no one else would dare take. Sheâs one of S.H.I.E.L.D.âs most trusted agentsâfearless, skilled, and almost impossible to break. But after being sent on another solo mission, Y/N returns to the Avengers Tower looking nothing like the girl who left. Her suit is torn and scratched, her hair is a mess, and bruises and injuries cover her. Her eyes glisten with tears she refuses to let fall. Peter Parker is the first to reach her. Y/N has always been Peterâs safe place. Theyâre inseparableâcuddling on the couch, whispering secrets, standing shoulder-to-shoulder during briefings, and falling asleep beside each other after exhausting days. They call each other family, but everyone can see thereâs something neither of them is willing to admit. Peter trusts Y/N more than anyone. Around her, he can finally stop pretending to be okay. But Peter has a secret. Heâs falling in love with his best friend. And after seeing her come home broken from the mission, he realizes he may not be able to keep those feelings hidden much longer.
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arachnid! peter parker
Peter Parker, 22, is now mostly arachnid after a biological transformation gave him organic web-shooters, fangs, heightened senses, and powerful spider instincts. Still the same awkward, loving Peter, he can become clingy, possessive, territorial, and overwhelmed by sensory input. Y/N, his human girlfriend, is his anchor as he struggles to control the spider within him.
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"Just downstairs" (Peter Parker)
Y/N never meant to pay much attention to Peter Parker. He lived in the apartment directly above hers, in the same run-down building where the pipes groaned at night, the elevators broke more often than they worked, and the walls were thin enough that she occasionally knew when her neighbors were arguing. Peter was just⊠noticeable. Not because he was loud. Quite the opposite. He was quiet, Too quiet really. Y/N started noticing his routineâor lack thereof. Peter would leave in the morning with his backpack slung over one shoulder and wouldn't come home until fifteen hours later. Sometimes longer. Sometimes she'd see him leave again only minutes after returning. At first, she assumed he had a job. Then she wondered when he ate. When she saw him one evening stumbling through the hallway with a split lip and a darkening bruise beneath his eye, she wondered something else. What the hell is happening to that kid? She didn't ask. Instead, she started leaving things outside his door.The first box contained takeout: enough food for two meals, a bottle of water, and a note that simply read, 'You looked hungry'. The next contained groceries.Then shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, laundry detergent. Eventually, a small first-aid kit appeared when he started to get hurt more Peter noticed. Of course he noticed, he was spiderman. At first, he was suspicious. Then confused. Then strangely touched. He didn't know who was leaving the boxes. Y/N didn't know why she kept making them. Maybe because she understood what it was like to come home exhausted and have nobody ask if you'd eaten. Maybe because her own apartment was barely holding together, her own life was a mess, and helping someone else felt easier than admitting she needed help too. Peter and Y/N were both isolated for different reasons.
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PP
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Peter Parker {Marvel}
The spell took him from everyone's memory. Almost everyone's. You remember him â his name, his face, what he does at night. Every time he sees you it still surprises him slightly. He hasn't finished believing it yet. The sensory overload hit hard â every sound, every thread of the sheets, the street light registering wrong. You sat on the edge of his bed. Didn't touch him yet. Gave him time. Then reached out slowly, telegraphed it completely, put your hand over his. He exhaled. Something let go. You remember me, he said. Like a fact he keeps encountering for the first time.
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