a + writings

summary: you had thought peter would always love you too, but it seems you were wrong. and you’re stuck missing him.

a/n: wow it’s been so long. everything is so hectic and when i have time to write, i lean towards writing my book!! that’s right, i’m writing a book! anyway, enjoy this lil request, even though it’s so bad

masterlist

You stare at the picture on your phone, watching two people whom you don’t quite recognize anymore smile happily together, their arms around each other and cheeks flushed pink. It’s hard to believe that once that was what Peter and you looked like when you were together, happy and so in love. It’s also hard to believe that that has changed—that Peter has most probably moved on and you should be on your way as well. So, why is it so hard?

   You want to call him. You do, oh so badly. You want to pick up the phone and tell him how much you miss him and that even if he doesn’t miss you, you’ll always miss him and always be there. But you shake your head when you realize how pathetic that sounds and how he’s so unattainable in his far off vacation in Europe. How, even if he was in New York, he’d still be unattainable. With Ned and Betty—who, together, make an adorable couple, you think—and Peter and MJ.

   MJ. Beautiful MJ who no doubt has Peter wrapped around her pretty little finger by now, who no doubt by now has Peter forgetting all about you. Beautiful, perfect MJ who seems to be everything you think you’re not. Beautiful, perfect MJ who brings out this horrible fire in you. This horrible fire that you can keep contained, lid on tight and never to be led out. A sweet enough girl, surely she’d have to be for Peter to choose her company, but aggravating all the same. You know you wouldn't feel this way if they were simply friends, but evidently, they're not, and you wish it didn't hurt you as much as it did. But, pathetically enough, there’s nothing to do about it, except try to extinguish the fire.

You watch as the four of them post pictures of their grand time, heart panging with unrequited love and longing. You begin to wonder if it’s worse to love and to lose than to never love at all. If you had never loved Peter, and he had never loved you, it would’ve just been a sad crush you could've gotten over. But after loving Peter Parker for all these years, after two years of cherishing and loving and appreciating him, to have him slip your fingers—the bare thought of it is painful. It hurts and it’s like your heart is in a knot, completely unattainable and tied and wound so tightly that even the most skilled of fingers couldn't undo. Nothing could undo what Peter’s love did to you.

As sad as you are, you know Peter Parker deserves to move on. You know he has when Ned begins to ignore you in the hallway and he himself  doesn't wait for you after your class like he did even before the two of you began dating. It’s over. All of it. But you get a slight twinge of hope when you realize that he hasn't told Aunt May, realization hitting you when your phone dings with a text from her. Of course he wouldn't tell her, she loved you two together more than anything, she did. You shut your phone off, sighing. Your lock screen comes up once again.

Your lock screen is one of the only pictures the two of you have together. Peter isn't the biggest fan of pictures. Or, at least, you thought. Until you saw all of them he’s been taking with MJ. People change, you tell yourself. It’s alright. It has nothing to do with me.

And since you didn't have many pictures, you relished in memories and texts. Good morning ones, goodnight ones. All of them, affection seemingly seeping from every word. Ones that brought smiles and pink cheeks.

Good morning, I love you. Good night, you looked so pretty today.

Good morning, excited for school today. School is great everyday because I get to see you. Good night. Your chem presentation was impeccable. Beautiful and smart. I got a good one.

Good morning, sunshine. You outshine every star in the sky. Good night. I miss you. Even though I saw you a couple hours ago.

Good morning. Can’t wait for our date today. Good night. You look more beautiful every single time I see you.

And then, the more simple ones. Filled with just as much sweetness.

Good morning. Make today great! Good night. I love you.

And the last text from him you received. Right after he broke up with you. I’m sorry. And that was that. Just like that. Over. Nothing left .

You suppose there’s a time when you’re supposed to let go, when seeing him with another girl doesn't make you feel the way it does. It makes you said, so sad you want to just cry forever and hole yourself up in your room in a blanket burrito, but there’s also melancholy happiness. Maybe she’ll bring him the kind of happiness and love I never could. Because, after all things, he deserves that at least. A hero deserves someone they love to come home to and kiss. You only wish that person was still you.

The text from Aunt May nags at you; it feels rude to ignore her, but what is there to do? It’s Peter’s choice when to tell his family. There’s no way you can make that choice, can you? Temptation gives in and you open it.

How’s Europe, sweetheart? Enjoy yourself and your time with Peter! Send pics!

Hi, Mrs. Parker, you type, I actually stayed back! Surprise, I’m still in New York! Peter seems to be having a lot of fun, I’m sure his pictures will be epic!

Not a lie, but sparing the truth.

this year, i made this blog, just wanted to spread my writing and not knowing where it would go.

from day one, from idolize, you guys have given me so so so much love and support. i am currently writing my own book due to the spark you guys have given me within my writing. i owe my dreams to you.

i love you. next stop writing, dreaming, doing what makes you happy.

all my love forever,

summary: for as long as you’ve known peter parker, he’s loved halloween

a/n: IM RUNNING OUT OF GIFS!!! also this is a request uwu thank you

masterlist

For as long as you’ve known Peter Parker, he’s loved Halloween.

Not just the day of, no, but the whole season—the pumpkin patches, the movies, and activities, and yes—the day of. But you’ve never really been with Peter on the day of, only having meet him in January of this year and only having started dating in June. You’ve never experienced a true Parker Halloween Season.

Ned swears it’s the best thing in the world—that Halloween with Peter is always his favorite thing, always what he’s looking forward to. May says the same, although you assume she may have a small bit of bias, being his legal guardian and all. You don’t mind.

“Peter, I’m not really a fan of haunted houses...” you trail off, glancing at the big tent, stretched out for half a mile in front of you.

He grabs your hand. “Me neither.”

“What?”

“Well, I like them. A lot. But I’m scared of them, ya know?” explains Peter, grabbing your hand and standing in line.

It’s quite eerie. There’s a man with a chain saw standing out front, bloody face dripping onto torn, black shoes. He’s backed by the screams inside the haunted house, those of both the actors and current victims. You’re not quite sure you want to go in, but soon you’re at the front of the line, Peter handing the creepy-chainsaw-man your tickets, and walking in the entrance.

You grip Peter’s upper arm as hard as you can, not noticing the smile that lights up his face in the dark. You don’t notice the look of adoration he sees you with, and you don’t see the pink color lapping itself over his cheeks.

“It’s alright, babe,” Peter whispers, gently pulling you closer. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

“Uh huh,” you mutter, completely unconvinced. “Uh huh.” And he laughs.

“Seriously, I really don’t think this is that bad. It’s not like— AH!” He’s interrupted by a demon-like figure, who puts his untamed claws on Peter’s shoulder.

“Not that bad?” you tease, turning a corner of the house that leads to what seems to be a butchery—a human one, at that.

You shut your eyes tight. “Nope. Not happening. Abso-freaking-lutely not. Nuh uh. In your dreams, Parker.”

The two of you keep walking for a moment, somewhat horrified and somewhat excited. It’s always been hard to tell with Peter.

“You can open your eyes, sweetheart,” Peter reassures, prying your hands from your eyes. “We’re our of the butchery. Into a winter wonderland—of horror.”

Opening your eyes slowly, you notice that your boyfriend has lied, and you are, in fact, still in the human butchery. “Peter, you ass!” You slap his arm, before yanking it back towards you and grabbing it rather tightly once again. “I’m traumatized. I’m sending you my therapy bill. That—that’s happen— holy freaking shit I’m going to slap the next person, demon, whatever that scares me!”

“Sorry, she’s— she’s never done this before,” he mutters to the girl dressed as a bloody ragdoll. “It’s her first time.”

You’re more angry than scared. Angry with yourself for agreeing to go to this stupid horror fest with Peter, angry with yourself for not being braver, for being scared. Angry with yourself for it all.

And terrified. You know these people are only actors, only doing this for fun or a quick buck—maybe both. You know they’d never hurt you, or Peter, or anyone else in the haunted house. It’s all just for fun. But for some reason, it haunts you and it hurts you and you just want to leave.

The two of you go through the next, and last, couple of rooms; your eyes are still shut and your arm grips Peter’s.

“That was...” your words die on your tongue as your eyes meet the sun. “Icky?”

“I’m sorry,” he opens the car door, getting in on the other side. “I feel bad.”

“No, no, no, don’t,” you put your hand on his. “You liked it. So I did.”

“You hates it,” deadpans Peter.

You nod. “Yes I did.”

The two of you end up at a little ice-cream shop, adorned with fake webs and little chocolate coffins for the holiday. It seems they’ve changed all their flavors to Halloween names—Jack-O-Lantern Jelly, Scary Cinnamon Spice: the works. The two of you sit at a small table, hands a little tangled in the fake spider-webs but enjoying it nonetheless.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have fun,” he apologizes as you swirl your spoon in the cup of ice-cream.

You shrug. “I was with you. Which means everything to me. I’d do it again if that means I got to do it with you.”

“Really?”

“If I really, truly, had to. Because I love you.”

“Good, because—because I love you, too.”

“Glad to here it.” The two of you go back to your ice-cream.

It’s a peaceful walk home, deciding to walk and go pick up Peter’s car later, wanting to enjoy the crisp breeze. The two of you hold hands, swinging them back and forth between you and watching the streets.

It’s the time of year when no building looks normal. Cotton spider-webs are slung across doors—to which you give Peter a knowing nod and wink—and fake witches are hung from roofs. Plastic spiders are found in the bushes, and witches hats in the windows of stores. There’s a Spirit Halloween that’s opened, as well as a wig shop and other season stores, soon to be replaced by Christmas trinkets and trees. It brings a smile to your face just thinking about it.

“I had a really fun time today,” you say, before adding, “Except the human butchery. Never—“ you point an accusing finger. “Ever take me to another human butchery. Or else that will be the last place you go.”

Peter laughs, brown eyes twinkling in your favorite way—little eye crinkles, dimples. “Deal.”

It’s silent for a moment, until he begins to speak again. “Was that really so scary?”

“You were scared, too!”

“Pft,” he looks around. “I’m Spider-Man. I’m not scared,” whispers Peter.

“Uh huh. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Happy Halloween, Peter,” you squeeze his hand.