summary: you’re tony stark’s first child and peter parker’s best friend. at least, you were. or in which peter finds you again. you may have forgotten everything, but he hasn’t. he remembers everything.
pairing: peter parker x reader, gn reader, stark! reader
content: mentions of blood, injury, and death, reader is a little mean in this one, no mentions of y/n, though this is basically just my take on y/n stark post tony death, no movie spoilers for bnd, fluff, angst, deep emotional intimacy between peter and reader but not a lot of physical touch, lowk not proofread
word count: 8.8k words (phew!)
a/n: first fic in a long time! Essentially my take on peter parker x y/n stark. i'll probably write more about this specific peter/reader pairing in the future :3
edit: full stark!reader masterlist here! :D
Peter recognizes you, waiting for the subway- the 7, to be exact- after leaving flowers at May’s grave. He finds it odd- you’d been so snobby the last time he saw you, outright refusing to take the subway with him and telling him you’d meet up later while you dialed Happy on your phone. And that’s not the only thing that’s changed. You’re dressed, quite frankly, plainly. At least compared to how you used to. Normal clothes, beat-up backpack. Cheap headphones covering your ears. Head turned down to the dirty concrete platform.
Peter can't help but stare. You're so…different. Different from that spoiled kid who would push him around the Avengers Compound, whom he would sneak into Midtown High so you could see what public school was like. Different from the person he'd run to when his nights as Spider-Man got too tough. You’d always leave your city apartment window open so he could sneak in.
“Come on, you big baby,” you'd murmur under your breath while you stitched up one of his wounds (a skill your father Tony had taught you). “If you keep moving, it’s only going to hurt more. Aren't you a superhero?”
Peter would shake his head and scoff, “Why did I even bother coming here?” but let you continue to work on him anyway.
You'd tease him as you patched him up, poking at his bruises and making snarky remarks. Though in the end, you'd always cover him in Hello Kitty band-aids and hand him a pack of Oreos you'd kept under your bed.
“For being such a good patient,” you'd smile as you handed him a cream-filled cookie. “And for coming back alive.”
One time you'd even kissed a scrape on his knee, declaring it would make his “boo-boo go bye-bye”. Peter hoped you couldn't tell how red the action made his ears.
But those days are gone. It’s been over four years since everything changed. And it seemed like you'd changed too.
“Can you stop looking at me?”
Your voice- the voice of the current you, that is- snaps Peter out of his nostalgia. He averts his gaze away from your glaring form. He didn't realize he'd been looking at you that long.
You give him an ice-cold glare, pulling your hoodie tighter over your shoulders.
“Asshole,” he hears you whisper.
“Sorry,” he quickly murmurs back.
A part of Peter’s heart cracks. He knew you wouldn't know him, but that didn't stop a small part of him from believing that if he just stared at you long enough, willing you to remember him, remember everything, you'd look back at him with a wide, toothy smile as you'd always done.
The familiar sound of the 7 trailing down the tracks grabs his attention.
“Stand clear of the closing doors, please,” the train's automatic announcement blares.
When he glances back to where you’d been standing, you’re gone.
Peter lets out a heavy sigh, blowing his curls away from his forehead. Figures, he thinks to himself. He’d been too scared to say anything to MJ, so why would it work out with you? His ride back home feels even longer than usual, the 7 leisurely humming along the track as memories of you flood his mind.
Peter still remembers the first time you met. Tony was giving him a tour of the Avengers Compound after declaring him his intern and unofficial Avenger post-Germany and post-Vulture.
Tony was proudly showing off the sprawling expanse of the compound’s living room when your voice cut through his bragging explaining.
“Daddy! Happy won’t take me into Manhattan for that new Japanese restaurant.”
Peter’s head shot up to meet your pouting face as you leaned over the staircase above them, swinging your legs impatiently.
Chuckling, Tony shook his head and pointed at you.
“Don’t be alarmed, Parker. This is just my spawn. Or I guess the more socially acceptable term is child.”
You rolled your eyes at your father’s sarcasm (they had that same mischievous glint as Tony’s, unmistakably his kid, unmistakably his) as you skipped down the stairs to meet him.
“Daddy,” you groaned.
“Angel,” Tony nodded back, pulling you into a hug and kissing the top of your head. “I’ll get Happy to take us to that restaurant you’re talking about later, okay? I’m giving this guy a tour of the compound first. Just one more hour.”
You nodded, shifting your focus to Peter, who suddenly felt small under your intense stare. You narrowed your eyes at him, tilting your head as if there was some familiarity about him.
Peter opened his mouth to introduce himself with his semi-fake intern alibi, but you beat him to the punch.
“Oh hey. You’re that Spider-Kid person from Germany, right?”
Peter blinked, stumbling over his words and scrambling for a cover-up like usual. “W-well, I don’t know about that-”
You interrupted him before he could even defend himself.
“Oh yeah, Daddy showed me that vlog you made. It was pretty cool when you stole Uncle Steve’s shield. Though it was less cool when Daddy made that comment about your aunt-”
Peter winced at the thought of you seeing that video.
“Um, how did you know about that-?”
Tony raised a hand.
“It’s okay, kid. My spawn-”
You elbowed your father in the side, frowning.
“-my angel here knows everything that goes on in that part of my life. Including you.”
You turned away from Tony to extend your hand to Peter and introduce yourself, the Stark surname proudly attached to your name.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Spider-Boy,” you grinned.
“It’s, uh, Spider-Man. But you can call me Peter. Peter Parker,” Peter sheepishly replied, giving you a firm handshake.
“Peter…” you tested the name on your tongue. “I like that.”
That was the first time you gave him that wide, toothy smile he’d become familiar with, the one that made his heart race just a bit faster and made his ears burn red.
Tony eyed Peter, then you, then back to Peter with crossed arms and a displeased expression.
“Hey, Parker?” Tony called, not even bothering to look at the boy.
“Yeah?” Said boy chirped.
Tony’s face turned dark as he pointed a finger at Peter’s chest, a look Peter had only ever seen him give to his enemies.
“You better not do any funny business with my kid. Or I swear, every single Avenger will be on your ass.”
“Mr. Stark, I swear I was not thinking about doing that-” Peter threw his hands up in surrender as Tony backed him against the walls of the compound living room.
“Yeah? Don’t think I didn’t see that stupid grin on your face; how do you think I ended up with them in the first place-”
“Daddy.”
Your stern tone is enough to have Tony immediately off Peter, his usual carefree expression returning to his face as you gave him a disappointed look.
“Angel, I wasn’t actually going to do anything to him, you know how I get-”
“I do,” you swiftly cut off Tony, which Peter gawked at; you’d cut off your father, Tony Stark, for Gandolf’s sake!
Walking past Tony, you casually looped your arm through Peter’s. Peter swallowed at the action, praying his ears wouldn’t turn red again.
“Do you like sushi, Peter?” you asked with a sweet expression, as you guided him away from your irritated father.
Peter nodded.
“Yeah.”
Your face lit up at that.
“Daddy, Peter’s coming with us to dinner tonight!” you yelled over your shoulder to Tony, who could only groan in response.
And that’s how Peter ended up at a Michelin-star omakase restaurant with you and Tony. You’d eagerly pressed him for the details of his life (well, the details you didn’t already know) while Tony watched carefully. At the end of dinner, you forced Peter and Tony to take a selfie with you. “Smile!” you’d said as you took the photo. Peter did. Your father did not.
Ned hardly believed him the next day (“What do you mean you met the Stark heir? Were they cute?”) and May scolded him for coming home past curfew (“Does Mr. Stark really need to keep you so late? Surely he knows you have school tomorrow, hon.”)
But most importantly, that was how Peter ended up with your number. A crumbled-up sticky note you’d passed to him under the table when Tony wasn’t looking.
Text me! We’re friends now :) The note declared, and Peter’s heart swelled when he read it under the safety of his bunk bed.
In his current, semi-depressing studio apartment, Peter turns your note over between his fingers as he lies in his half-made bed. Your handwriting was now faded, time wearing away at the black pen ink.
He wonders if he texts the number you’d written, if you’d answer. If it was even your number still. He half considers the idea before pushing it aside, shoving the note back into his nightstand drawer along with his other memories of the past.
You didn’t remember him. You shouldn’t remember him. It was for the best, for you and for him.
Still, a nagging part of Peter wonders. Wonders why you seemed so…sad. Broken down, more like. He’d thought making you and everyone else forget him would make everyone happier. But now, you seemed like even more of a stranger to him than he was to you.
Peter sees you again the next week on the 7 train platform. You’re in another uncharacteristically plain outfit like the last time he’d seen you, headphones still firmly on your ears. He decides he won’t look at you that long this time, but you’ve already noticed him.
“You seriously have a staring problem,” you call out to Peter, eyes still focused ahead.
“And you have unusually good catching-people-staring instincts,” he instinctively counters, still used to the banter he’d have with you all that time ago.
You peer at Peter from the corner of your eye, the slightest hint of curiosity in your expression.
“Funny,” you say dryly. “But could you tell me why you’re still looking at me like a creep when I told you to stop last time?”
Scrambling for an answer and not wanting to lose this moment with you, Peter blurts out the first thing that he can think of.
“I, uh… you have cool clothes on?”
His comment makes you pause, your icy wall coming down for a moment as you stare down at what you’re wearing. One of your dad’s old band tees from his youth, a random pair of jeans you’d dug through a thrift bin for, and a well-worn pair of sneakers your adoptive mom, Pepper, had gotten you a while back when she decided you needed “practical shoes” over your designer ones, which were slowly getting holes in the bottom. In your eyes, you looked like a mess. But this guy somehow thought you still looked cool. You can’t help but snort.
“You tell every person on the subway that?” you ask the mousy-haired stranger, smirking wryly.
“Only the cool-looking ones,” he answers without hesitation, looking at you with his big brown eyes.
There’s something in his gaze you can’t quite place. He’s staring so deeply at you, straight to your soul like he can see the core of your very being. Like he knows something about you that you don’t. Your instincts are telling you to be hesitant, like always, that strangers are nothing but trouble to you. But there’s this nagging part of you that won’t stay quiet, asking what it is about this guy? Again and again and again until you let yourself relent.
“What was your name again?” you find yourself asking before you can ponder more, your mouth moving before your brain.
Peter brightens up at that, quickly extending a friendly hand out to you.
“It’s, um, Maynard. Maynard Reily,” he bites back an eager smile as he introduces himself to you for the second time (though you don’t know that).
Slowly, you take his hand, giving it a light shake and introducing yourself back. Peter waits for you to proudly append the Stark name to yours, as you’d always done with a puffed chest, but you don’t.
“...Pots,” you say instead, using the surname of your mother.
Peter’s breath hitches at that. You’d always been a proud Stark, no matter how much your family’s name got dragged through the mud. Though he supposes he can’t blame you. After all, he’s using a fake name as well. Touché.
“...it’s nice to meet you, Maynard,” you continue, hand still shaking Peter’s.
“Yeah. Nice to meet you too,” Peter nods and offers you a friendly expression that makes you think he looks like a puppy wagging its tail. “So, uh-”
The sound of the 7’s arrival interrupts him. He watches the train roll into the station, watches the busy passengers file off. When he looks back to where you were standing, you’re still there. Almost like you’re…waiting. For him.
“Come on,” you beckon to him as you step onto the train car. “Are you getting on, or not?”
Peter grins at that, nearly tripping over himself as he follows after you.
When Tony had finally agreed to buy you that midtown apartment you’d been begging for (it was closer to your private school, and you were getting sick of being upstate), it became Peter’s new crash spot as Spider-Man. He got hungry on patrol from swinging too much? He arrived at your apartment window, and you already had a pot of instant ramen ready for him. He had to pee really badly but didn’t want to go in a cafe or bodega? You opened your window without question and gestured to the bathroom without another word. And of course, you were his safe space when he was too hurt and too afraid to go to a hospital, or Tony, or May, always waiting and armed with Hello Kitty band-aids and teasing remarks.
Sometimes, he’d just lay around your apartment in his suit, telling you he was taking five before going back into action.
“Should I be worried that Spider-Man is lying on my bean bag instead of saving the day?” you asked him one of those times, prodding at his side with your foot as you ate one of the shawarma you’d ordered for the two of you.
“No,” Peter’s voice was mumbled as he spoke through mouthfuls of shawarma, mask only half pulled up due to laziness. “Besides, you’re the one who got food.”
“Only because I knew you’d complain if I didn’t,” you fired back with a sly smirk.
“‘S not my fault you like to spoil me so much,” Peter grumbled as he chewed.
You didn’t have a comeback for that. He was right, and you both knew it.
“Scoot over,” you told Peter, waving your free hand at him. He did, making enough room for you to plop down next to him on the bean bag.
“Look, Peter,” you spoke again, tone serious enough to make Peter look at you rather than the ceiling. “I can’t do anything for my dad. Not when he’s off Avenging or dealing with company politics and shit.”
Peter sensed the uncharacteristic waver in your tone. He scooted closer to you on the bean bag, just enough so your shoulders touch.
“He won’t let me do anything to help him. And I know, I know it’s because he’s afraid of me getting hurt or caught up in something I’m not supposed to, but…it hurts, alright?”
“Yeah,” Peter responds hoarsely. “I get it.”
Tony had done the same to him. It was his version of tough love, as May would call it.
“But I can help you.”
You turned your head to meet Peter’s gaze, finding his familiar brown eyes through the mask's lenses. He swallowed nervously as you did.
“Are you saying that Spider-Man stuff is easier to help with because it’s less important than Avenger stuff?” Peter questioned you, half-teasing and half-serious.
You snorted at that, playfully smacking his arm. Peter feigned hurt, with a dramatic “ow” that had you smiling ear to ear.
“No,” you insisted. “What I’m saying is that you’re important to me, Peter.”
Your words had a weight that Peter rarely heard from you. Most of the time, you were filled with the same sardonic sarcasm as your father. But this. This was different.
“...and if letting you piss in my toilet and ordering you takeout on my dad’s card is what keeps you coming back to me alive, then I’m going to keep doing it.”
Shawarma long forgotten, Peter let himself scoot closer to you on the bean bag again, until he could feel your breath tickling his chin.
“Yeah?” he whispered, trying to hide the sappiness he was feeling. “I’m important to you?”
“Obviously,” you swiftly answered. “Of course you’re important to me.”
Peter felt something in his chest jump at that. He hadn’t felt like this- clammy hands and fidgeting fingers- since Liz. He’d told himself that after Liz, he’d wait a little to get a new crush. Perhaps, make sure their parents weren’t supervillains first. But now. Now, Tony Stark’s only child was toying with his heart like a cat pawing a ball of yarn.
“Your dad’s right,” Peter murmured absentmindedly. You tilted your head in confusion.
“You really are an angel,” he elaborated. “My guardian angel.”
Your lips curved up at that. Peter could feel his ears burning red again. Before you could reply, police sirens blared outside your apartment.
The noise had Peter shooting up from the bean bag, back on high alert.
You sat up with him, glancing out the window to see NYPD flying by on the street below.
“That’s your cue, Spider,” you told him with an elbow to his side.
Peter nodded in agreement, finishing off the last of his shawarma before pulling the rest of his mask down the lower half of his face. You followed him to the window, watching as he opened it and jumped on your fire escape.
“I’ll leave it open for you,” you said as he cracked his knuckles in preparation to swing away.
“You really should lock it. What if someone opens it and it’s not me?” Peter reminded you as he scanned the streets below.
You grabbed Peter’s shoulder, forcing him to look back at you. Your eyes were earnest and sweet as you spoke without a single hint of hesitation.
“I know it’ll be you, Peter.”
Peter’s heart skipped a beat for the second time that day. He was only able to stare at you for a moment, voice failing him. You searched the white lenses of his mask, waiting for his response.
“I’ll come back to you, okay?” Peter finally managed to whisper, only loud enough for you to hear. “Alive.”
That makes you beam.
“I know you will,” you let go of his shoulder. A signal that he could get back to saving the city. “Bye, Spider-Man.”
Peter gave you one last nod before swinging away. You watched him go until he was only a flicker of red and blue in the distance. Shutting your apartment window, you collapsed on your bean bag with a sigh. A part of you still worried about him, like you worried about your father or any of his allies. But you knew he’d come back to you- he always did.
It’s been a few weeks since Peter had somehow slipped his way back into your life. He’s learned a bit about your life since he last saw you, with you dropping small tidbits every time he rides the subway with you. For one, you’d majored in mechanical engineering, just like your father. And at Oxford, of all places.
“Must be smart,” Peter compliments you after you tell him. The subway clanks along as the two of you speak. “But why so far?”
“I wanted to get away from the city,” you tell him with a shrug. “And Oxford was away.”
“Away from what?” he prods further. He can’t help himself. The you he used to know would never leave New York.
“Getting nosy, today aren’t we?” you quip sharply. “You know- I don’t even know why I tell you all this stuff. You’re just some guy.”
“A trustworthy guy,” Peter corrects you with a nudge that makes you roll your eyes.
“Sure,” you huff, trying to sound annoyed, but Peter can see the glimmer of amusement in your eyes. “Whatever you say, Maynard.”
Maynard. That name still sounds so wrong coming out of your mouth. He just wants you to say Peter, Peter, Peter.
“Besides,” you continue. “I barely know anything about you. Besides the fact that you think my dad’s dusty old tees look cool. You’re just my subway buddy.”
“We could be more than subway buddies,” Peter blurts, not wanting to lose the little he barely has with you. You raise a suspicious brow at that. “Oh, not like that. No, no, no. I meant we should progress beyond the subway. Like how about…dinner buddies?”
“Dinner buddies,” you repeat in disbelief.
Peter nods.
“Dinner buddies. We can go somewhere near your place. My treat.”
That’s how you ended up at the shawarma restaurant near your apartment, tucked away in the back corner at a two-top. The fluorescent lights gently hum above the two of you as you eat.
“I haven't been here in forever,” you tell Peter as you chew on your food. “I used to get-” you pause to lick your fingers, “-takeout from here? Like, all the time. Funny you picked this spot.”
“Lucky guess,” Peter lies as he takes a bite of his own shawarma. “I used to get takeout here too. With a friend.”
“A friend,” you parrot as you watch Peter with that intense stare he’d grown accustomed to. “Sounds nice.”
Peter can sense your bitterness. How could he blame you, though? With your memories of him gone, all those days you ordered takeout to share with him became days spent eating alone in your apartment.
The two of you continue to eat in silence for a moment, Peter occasionally stealing glances at you, still not believing that you’re sitting across from him. He’s trying to rememorize your face, burn every drip and curve into his mind so he’ll never forget.
Maybe, he thinks. Maybe things can go back to normal.
“Be honest with me, Maynard,” you break the silence, bringing your attention back to Peter. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
Peter feels himself short-circuit at that, hope bubbling inside of him. Did you know, did you remember?
“What…do you mean?” he questions cautiously, heart racing so fast he could feel it in his whole body.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, looking around the restaurant before leaning close to Peter, close enough that only he can hear you speak.
“Don’t play dumb,” you say just loud enough to hear over the fluorescent buzz of the lights. The suspicious look on your face makes Peter want to shrink into his seat. “I know you didn’t fall for that ‘Pots’ bullshit I gave you. You’re a terrible liar. You know who I am.”
Ah. That’s what you meant. Not that you remembered. That he knew you were a Stark. His heart sinks with a hint of disappointment. But you were still here. Still with him, and he couldn't lose that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Peter replies to you with attempted nonchalance, but you just raise your brows and tilt your head knowingly.
“Fine,” he relents. “I know who you are.”
You let out a huff, crossing your arms in victory, a familiar smug look crossing your face.
“Everyone does,” you hum. “Who wouldn’t want to be friends with Tony Stark’s kid?”
You spit the last words out like they’re dirty, cynicism tinging them. Peter can’t really believe it. What happened to the pride you’d held yourself with? You used to crave the press and attention, almost as much as Tony. He’d say you were almost a shell of your former self, but who is he to talk? He was the same. You were the same.
You’re practically stewing in your own angst, picking at the tin foil wrapper of your shawarma with a scowl. Peter hates seeing you like this. He used to be able to make you laugh so hard you cried, your smile lighting up the whole room. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to do that anymore. But still, he tries. Tries to get your spark back, get the you he knew back, even if you don’t remember him.
“Listen,” he says, trying to get you to look back at him. “I really do want to be your friend.”
You stubbornly stay quiet, scowl still firmly on your face as you try to avoid eye contact.
“I want to be your friend,” he repeats. “Stark or no Stark. Promise.”
The honesty in his voice rustles something in the back of your memory. Something, someone, from long ago. You don’t remember who. It’s the same feeling you got when he first introduced himself to you on the subway. That feeling of conflict, your instincts telling you not to trust but your heart telling you to trust this one guy for reasons you can’t place.
You finally meet his gaze and his big, brown eyes are full of a sincerity that makes you shiver. You hadn’t seen a look like that in a long time- but when was the last time you saw it? You didn’t know.
“Hey, I’ll walk you home, okay? It’s getting late,” Maynard Peter calls after a moment, drawing you out of your scrambled thoughts.
He pulls out his chair, standing and rounding the small table to offer you a hand up. You nod and take it, still half in a daze of your own mind. What was it about this guy that had you feeling so crazy? He was like an itch you couldn’t scratch, looking forever and forever on your skin until you were ripping it off your bones.
You remain in your daze as Peter walks you home (he’s relieved to see you’re still living at the same place he knew. He wondered if it was lonely without his visits). You wave weakly at him as he watches you enter your apartment building.
As you ride the elevator up, you keep thinking about your mysterious subway, now dinner buddy. You ran through all the possibilities of his peculiarity to you. Was he an alien doing weird alien-shit to you? No, you would’ve immediately caught onto that. And besides, he’s a bit too human to be an alien. Was he using technology to manipulate your brainwaves? No, he was smart but seemed too nice for that.
You pause to think again, the elevator slowly going up floor by floor.
Could he have cast a spell on you?
You were familiar with magic through hearing your father’s encounters with Loki and Stephen Strange. You knew magic could manipulate the heart and mind. But what you were feeling didn’t feel like manipulation.
It felt like you were trying to unlock something in your head that you weren’t supposed to. A key jammed in a door. Like you were remembering something. Remembering, remembering, remembering. As far as you were concerned, you had a damn good memory. You were the child of a supergenius, after all. But…what if you did? What if you forgot something important?
You feel the itch again. Closer, closer. But then it goes. Back into the darkness of your memory, back behind the locked door. The elevator opens on your floor, but you don’t step out.
What did you forget?
At Tony’s funeral, you kept a strong front. For Pepper, for your new sister Morgan, who you barely knew. For Happy, for Rhodey, for everyone. Everyone who had come to the Eco-Compound knew- they all knew Tony had fought out of that damn cave for you, his child, his angel. Happy used to tell you that you were Tony’s first love- the first real one, at least. And now he was gone. One day you were praying for your father’s safe return from space, and the next you were donning black to mourn his loss from a battle you had never witnessed. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye.
You kept your front on for the entire funeral, not letting a single tear fall as you watched Tony’s final recorded message with your family and his closest circle. You held Morgan’s hand as you walked with her and Pepper down the back porch steps, the wreath containing Tony’s first arc reactor balanced on your palm. You watched as you let the wreath go onto the lake. Letting it slip further and further away until you couldn’t see it beyond the horizon. Until it was gone.
You had excused yourself not long after the funeral ceremonies had ended, dodging everyone’s attempts to wish you well as you slipped away to the front porch of the Eco-Compound, away from everyone and everything. But there was someone who knew you too deeply to let you go like that.
“Hey,” Peter cut through your melancholy as he sheepishly approached you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress pants.
You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a once-over.
“That suit fits terribly on you,” you dryly responded with your usual snark.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Peter half-heartedly chuckled, sidling up next to you on the front porch railing. Digging into his pocket again, he pulled out a ziplock baggie filled with what were Oreos. They looked more like a pile of cookie shards and cream now.
“These were, uh, supposed to be for you,” Peter bashfully admitted as he handed you the bag.
“Thanks,” you mumbled hoarsely as you opened the bag, popping a cookie piece in your mouth.
Peter watched as you silently ate the broken Oreos, chewing his bottom lip in anticipation.
“I’m not dumb, Peter,” you finally said. “I know you didn’t follow me back here just to give me cookies.”
“I just-” Peter paused, trying to find the right words, brows knit in concern. “Are you okay?”
That was enough to break you. Gritting your teeth, you swung your head around to face him, tears welling in your eyes, all the emotions you’d been holding in throughout the day spilling out of you at once.
“You tell me, Peter,” you spit, anger burning in your throat. “I turn to dust one day, wake up five years later, only to find that I missed my parents’ wedding, I have a new sister who barely knows me or wants to know me, and my father is dead from a battle I never got to see.”
Peter reached out for you and murmured your name softly. You slapped his hands away.
“Don’t,” you hissed. “Don’t act like you know what I’m going through. At least you got to say goodbye to him. I didn’t even get that.”
“Look,” Peter tried again. “I know losing Tony was hard, especially for you. But we’re all here for you, okay? I’m-”
“Shut up!” you yelled loud enough for the other funeral guests to hear from the other side of the house. Fat tears fell from your eyes, and you hurriedly tried to wipe them away. The shaky breaths falling from your chest grew faster and faster until it felt like you were suffocating. You thought you were going to die from how hard you were heaving, and a small part of you thought that if you did, you’d be able to see your father again.
“Hey, hey, hey,” you heard Peter call.
Before you could snap at him again, you felt his strong arms wrap you in an embrace. You protested with tepid kicks and hits, but your body wouldn’t obey your mind. Slowly, slowly, your breathing calmed down. Your flailing against him turned into you holding onto his lapels as tight as you could, anchoring yourself back to your body. Peter rested his chin on top of your head and rubbed soothing circles into your back until your sobs lessened to quiet whimpers.
“You okay, honey?” A familiar, calming voice asked.
You peeked over Peter’s shoulder to see Pepper walking towards the two of you. Peter nervously let go of you, but you stubbornly clung to his arm, keeping your nose buried in his shoulder.
“‘M fine, Mom,” you lied, muffled by Peter’s tear-stained jacket.
“Oh, baby,” Pepper sighed, reaching out to brush some hair out of your forehead. “Why don’t you say goodbye to everyone and then go back to your room? It’s been a long day.”
You nodded slowly at her suggestion, looking anxiously at Peter for reassurance.
“I’ll come with you,” Peter answered your wordless question, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry.”
His sweet words were enough to give you the determination to see everyone again. Wiping the last of the tears and snot off your face with your knuckles, you gripped Peter’s hand and dragged him back to the backyard, putting on your brave face. Pepper watched you two go with a knowing smile.
Peter stood by your side as you said your farewell to Steve, who pulled you into a hug and kissed the top of your head like he did when you were little. He watched in worry as Thor pulled you into a crushing embrace that had you off the ground. Rhodey ruffled your hair to your dismay; Bruce patted your back in comfort. You hugged Clint, whispering that you were sorry about Natasha before high-fiving all of his kids. You made sure you shook hands with every other Avenger who came.
Finally, you gave your longest hug to Harley, who whispered something in your ear that Peter couldn’t hear. He knew jealousy wasn’t an appropriate emotion to be feeling at a funeral, but he couldn’t help himself. As soon as you were done speaking to Harley, Peter quickly came to your side, guiding you back inside and up to your room.
Your bedroom looked exactly the same as the one you had at the Avengers Compound- nothing out of place or touched, like Tony knew you were going to come back to it one day. And he was right.
Sighing heavily, you walked over and sat on your bed, which still had the same sheets as your old room. Peter sat next to you, silently offering you his hand again. You reached out, slowly tracing over the wrinkles and lines on his palm, touch so featherlight it made him shiver.
“Are you going to be okay?” Peter asked his previous question again, softly so as not to break the stillness in the air.
“Peter,” you turned to him, eyes still red from your crying. “Promise me you won’t leave me, too.”
“That’s not answering my question,” he objected with an incredulous shake of his head.
“Peter.”
Your fingers stilled on his palm, instead pressing your hand on top of his. You held his gaze in yours, the gravity in your words clear.
Peter was your best friend, your closest confidante. The only one who knew the real you, who could see beneath all your sharp smirks and quips to the softness inside. He was bound to be yours the moment you saw him from the top of the stairs at the compound. Your Peter. Yours.
Weaving his fingers with yours, Peter held your hand firmly as if to tie himself to you.
“I promise,” he swore to you, rubbing circles on your knuckles with his thumb. “I won’t leave you. I told you before, I’d come back to you, yeah?”
His promise was a vow that bound him to you. Proof of his dedication and affection. It was enough to soothe you for now, and Peter saw you smile, actually smile, for the first time that day. He felt his heart relax. Your smile made him feel so warm.
“I’m going to hold you to that, Peter,” you murmured as you leaned your head to rest on his shoulder. The first sense of peace you’ve felt since waking up from the snap washed over you as you took in Peter’s familiar scent. The first time you’ve felt like you were home since you woke up.
“You better,” Peter hummed, and you could feel his voice rumble through his strong body. “If I forget, you have to remind me.”
“Oh, I will,” You said proudly, your usual confidence gradually returning. “And believe me, Peter, I don’t forget.”
You wake up the day after you had shawarma with Maynard, confused. Your head hurts- burning in the back of your skull like you’d been thinking too hard. But you had been thinking too hard. Peeling through memory after memory, trying to find the itch in the back of your mind.
You let out a groggy groan, turning over in bed and throwing your arm over your eyes. You didn’t have the energy for this. But you had gotten yourself into this mess, agreeing to be friends with some guy on the subway to the point where it had you spiraling over what you thought was nothing. Turns out that nothing was driving you insane on a Saturday morning.
You knew that if you didn’t figure out what was bothering you so much, you would regret it for the rest of your life. But why? Why so much guilt over something you didn’t even know?
You clumsily reach for your phone on your nightstand, turning it on and scrolling through your old photos, hoping something would jog your memory.
Most of your old photos are of you at parties, or galas, or on vacation with your dad when he got a break from Iron Man and avenging. You find yourself captured by nostalgia for a moment, reminiscing on old times, back when things were simpler. You laugh at a particularly funny photo of you and your father, a selfie at a Japanese restaurant where Tony is scowling as you beam. You zoom in on his face, snorting at his displeased expression. But something else catches your eye.
You zoom into the photo again, noticing what seems to be a third figure sitting behind Tony. A boy. But your hand is covering his face. Suddenly, you get that feeling again. The feeling of the itch coming closer, closer than it’s ever been, as you can finally see what it is- a face, a name? And then it’s gone again.
You drop your phone on your bed, defeated.
“Shit,” you curse out loud to no one in particular.
Sitting up, you look at the photo of you and the mystery boy again. Who was he? Why would he be at dinner with you and Tony? An intern, maybe? But Tony rarely ever had interns, besides Harley, who was more an unofficial intern than anything.
With a grumble, you pick up your phone again and dial Pepper’s number into the keypad. She immediately picks up.
“Hello, honey? Everything good?” your mom greets. You can tell she’s driving- probably on her way to drop Morgan off at her summer science camp.
“I’m good, Mom,” you reply, fiddling with the collar of your sleepshirt that reads “I survived my trip to NYC” (a gift from- someone. You can’t remember who). “I just had a quick question.”
“Okay, but ask it quickly,” Pepper says, and you sense the urgency in her tone. You smile as you hear Morgan yell from her car seat, something about wanting to talk to you too. “I’m almost at Morgan’s drop-off.”
You bite your tongue for a second, not wanting to sound crazy in front of your mother, who was already constantly worried about your mental health and well-being.
“Did- did Daddy ever have any interns?” you carefully ask.
Pepper stays quiet for a second, and you hear the gentle clicking of her turn signal.
“...no, not that I can remember. Why?”
Your heart sinks with disappointment. Of course you were wrong. The boy in the photo must’ve been some other rich kid who ended up at the restaurant on his own.
“Oh, nothing. A friend just asked me about it. I was just wondering,” you lie.
“A friend!” Pepper hums, clearly pleased. “I’m glad you’re making friends again, sweetie. You’ll have to tell me about them when you visit us upstate- oh, I’m at Morgan’s camp now; I have to go-”
“I wanna talk too!” Morgan yells again. That gets a small chuckle out of you.
“I’m so sorry, hon, I’ll call you later, okayloveyoubye-!” Pepper blathers quickly before hanging up.
You stare at the “call ending” screen of your phone for a moment, shaking your head with a slight smile. Your sister was getting to be a handful, that was for sure.
But you still didn’t have answers. In fact, you were even more confused now. Maybe you were going crazy because of some weird alien-shit.
Or maybe Maynard was a wizard casting some crazy spell on you. You mull over calling Dr. Strange for a second. You decide not to. Something inside you is still telling you to trust Maynard. But why?
Who was he?
It’s been a rough night for Spider-Man.
He’d finally managed to capture The Hand, but they’d beaten the lights out of him. DeWolff insisted he go to the hospital, just a hint of motherly worry in her concern, but Peter denied. Most of the time, he was able to take care of himself. But it seems he’d misjudged tonight. By a lot, actually.
As he swings through Manhattan, Peter can feel himself growing weaker and weaker by the second. Vision spotting, blood pooling out from the gash on his abdomen. The pouring rain slowly soaking into his suit and weighing him down. He needed to get home, and fast. But his apartment was nowhere near where he was- in fact, he’d forgotten where he was in the first place.
Shit, shit, he curses to himself. Spider-Man is going to end up dead in a ditch.
But something out of the corner of his eye catches his attention mid-swing. The familiar neon signage of the shawarma restaurant. Even in the storm he was in, it was as clear as day. That could only mean one thing.
You were near.
After a moment of deliberation, which actually isn’t a moment at all, Peter unthinkingly finds himself swinging towards your apartment. The soft place he used to land. He can practically taste the Oreo crumbs on his tongue.
Peter stumbles onto your fire escape and peers into your window. No sight of you, for now. He half-heartedly attempts to pry the window open, expecting it to be locked, but it isn’t. His breath catches. Why would you leave it unlocked? You had no reason to, not anymore. Hesitantly, he opens the window just enough to slip into your apartment without letting the rain in.
He stays silent as he looks around the familiar space, a familiar nostalgia and warmth filling his body. You still had the same posters of your favorite bands messily plastered on the wall, the same mugs in your kitchen sink. Your oversized bean bag still lay on the floor.
Peter feels himself relax. Which is actually a bad thing, he realizes, as his one moment of decompression has him stumbling to the floor with a loud thump and groan.
As Peter lies on the floor, gripping his side in pain, trying to put pressure on his wound, he hears shuffling coming from your bedroom. His foggy mind tries to scramble for an excuse, any explanation that would make sense of why the local vigilante was bleeding out on your floor.
You come into the main room just a moment later, fiercely examining for any threats, the Iron Man Gauntlet on your wrist glowing a bright blue light.
Peter involuntarily lets out another whimper from his place on the floor. That instantly has you aiming your gauntlet at him, and Peter is sure you are going to blow his face off.
“Wait!” he helplessly yells at you before you can blast him. “It’s me, Spider-Man!”
You pause and take a moment to study the figure in front of you. Recognition flickers in your eyes, and you let out a soft gasp, dropping your gauntlet back to your side. Peter sighs in relief.
“I can explain. I feel really bad about breaking into a normal citizen’s apartment but-”
Before he can finish his words, he hears a loud crack and feels a sharp pain against his masked cheek. It takes him a second to realize what just happened. You had slapped him.
“You asshole.” You seethe between your teeth.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that coming through a stranger’s window and bleeding on your floor is an asshole move-”
“I don't care about that,” you hiss in reply, firmly gripping Peter’s shoulders and rolling him onto his back. He watches you stand and disappear from the room again, returning from your bedroom a moment later with a familiar box. He can’t believe it. It’s the same med kit you used to use on him.
Saying nothing, you open the box and find a pair of scissors. Before Peter can ask anything, you’re confidently cutting open his costume, revealing the gash on his side.
“W-what are you doing?” Peter asks dumbly as you quickly apply pressure to the wound with gauze.
“I’m helping you, dumbass,” you grumble, clearly unpleased. “Maybe you forgot what that was.”
“Normally people don’t cut open the costumes of superheroes,” Peter mumbles feebly in response.
“Well, you aren’t just some superhero to me, Spider. Or did you forget that too?”
Peter stares at you, dumbfounded and confused. You’re paying him no mind, annoyance and anger and something else clearly on your face. Then it hits him. You remembered him. Well, not “Peter” him. But a part of him. You remembered Spider-Man.
“You left your window open,” Peter realizes in shock, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths as he tries to stay awake for you.
There’s a flash of something soft in your gaze before you go back to holding down the gauze.
“Of course I did,” you say, and Peter can hear you choking up. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past four years?”
Through his darkening vision, Peter can see the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He realizes then that he is an asshole. You’d been waiting for him- waiting for Spider-Man- all this time, and he’d been too busy rotting in his own regret and grief that he had forgotten about you. He’d forgotten his promise. He didn’t come back to you, as Spider-Man or Peter Parker.
How many days had you left your window open, hoping he’d arrive to crack jokes or have a bruise for you to take care of? How long did you hopefully wait for him before hope turned to resentment? All his justifications of why he should stay far away from you now fell flat. How could he have avoided you for so long when you had been waiting for his return this whole time?
He opens his mouth to say something, maybe a half-conscious apology, but you cover it with your hand.
“Save your breath,” you tell him as you blink the tears from your eyes. “You can give me your excuses later.”
Peter can only bob his head slightly, energy leaving his body and darkness entering his vision until everything melted away into nothing. The last thing he hears is the irritated sound of your voice, complaining about how much blood he was getting on your carpet.
You sit on the floor next to your bed where Spider-Man is safely resting, foot restlessly bouncing. You glance back over at your nightside clock. 3:00 AM, it reads. Spidey had been out for about an hour and a half at this point. You’d managed to stitch him up while he was asleep, but now it was a matter of him waking up. Your heart raced with anxiety, all the worries you had that morning forgotten. After all, Spider-Man somehow came back into your life after ghosting you for four long, lonely years.
You wonder if you shouldn’t have patched him up. If you should have just left him to fend for himself, for dead, as he left you. The kinder, more forgiving part of your soul pushes that idea down. He was Spider-Man, after all. You’d been close. You think you were close. It seems that every time you search your memory today, you’re met by another wall. Maybe you should try to get more sleep like Pepper had told you to. Try melatonin, while you’re at it.
The sound of Spider-Man weakly keening your name snaps you out of your thoughts. You rush to stand, worry against your brow once again, and your resentment washes away. Spider-Man says your name again, reaching up to you. You take his hand in yours right away, giving it a light squeeze.
“Shh,” you shush him gently, rubbing your thumb into his costumed hand. “It’s me. It’s me. You just need to rest up, okay? I’m going to take care of you.”
You can tell that one comment makes Spider-Man smile from underneath his mask.
“I missed you,” he croaks roughly. “So much.”
You don’t have a response for that. Not now, at least. You wordlessly check on his stitches again instead, setting his hand back down at his side. Spider-Man watches as you do, and you swear the lenses of his mask droop in dejection. Once you’ve confirmed they seem to be healing okay, you turn back to him, coldness returning.
“With your healing factor, I give you about two to three days to heal. You should stay off your Spider-Man activities for now, and-”
“I’m sorry.”
Spider-Man grabs your wrist, as if to beg you not to leave him.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I broke my promise.”
There’s an earnestness in his voice that has you pausing. You feel the itch reappear.
“What promise?” you ask him quietly and full of suspicion.
Carefully, Spider-Man reaches up for the edge of his mask. Your eyes widen. You never remember him doing that. Right?
He lifts the mask, revealing his sharp jaw and lips. Then his cheeks. Then his eyes. Then-
“Maynard?!” You gawk at the familiar face. “You’re- you’re Spider-Man?!”
No, that didn’t seem right. Maynard as Spider-Man? That didn’t seem right at all, something was wrong, and you knew it, and the itch was getting stronger and stronger and stronger. Something is very, very wrong, and you didn’t know why, what did you forget, who did you forget?
You feel yourself mourning. Mourning that your subway buddy is Spider-Man, that you’d lost something that you didn’t even know you had. You don’t even realize you’re crying until Maynard is wiping away the tears from your cheeks.
“No,” Maynard murmurs tenderly. “Not Maynard. It’s Peter.”
Peter.
Peter, Peter, Peter.
The name rings in your head until you discover you’ve finally scratched your itch. That’s the key to the door. Peter. Your Peter. But still, something was missing. You couldn’t remember why or how he was yours. But a part of you knew that he was. You knew he was yours like a bird knew the wind, like a tree knew the soil, like a Hello Kitty band-aid knew a wound. He was yours. Peter.
“Peter,” you gasp, the name not sounding real to you. “Peter.”
Your tears of fear turn into relief as you collapse onto him. Peter pulls you into his arms, his embrace somehow so familiar to you. The way he holds you reminds you of a moment in time you can’t recall as you cry quietly into his shoulder, your mourning transforming to exhilaration and disbelief.
“Peter,” you echo again. You wanted to say that name until you couldn’t speak anymore. It sounded so warm and safe on your tongue.
Peter nods, laughing with relief, his own tears filling his brown eyes.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he reassures you. “It’s me. Your Peter.”
“I- I don’t remember,” you hiccup through choked sobs. “Why don’t I remember you? Why did you lie to me on the subway?”
He holds you tighter with every whimper and cry you let out, tracing circles into your back with the palms of his hands.
“I promise, I will explain everything to you,” Peter swears with unwavering truth.
And he will. He’ll tell you about your past with him, the spell, the four years he spent missing and craving you. But for now, he silently swears a second vow to you.
He wouldn’t leave you again like this, ever. He’d come back for you, just like he promised you on the fire escape, just like he promised in your bedroom. He’d fight his way back to you this time and the next, not letting anything or himself get in the way of his promise to you.
And he wouldn’t forget it this time.
He’d be your Peter, for as long as you remembered him, for as long as you wanted him.
Yours.
OOOOOO, I really like your writing and u asked for prompts. So, maybe u could do a really shy!reader or mute!reader with peter? I think that be cute! Or you can do it with tom since u said once that you like writing for tom more :)
secret language
Pairing: Peter Parker x Mute!Reader
Synopsis: a study in the silence that comes when two people understand each other
Masterlist
You sat alone at on a bench on your first day of kindergarten, feeling intimidated by the noise and spectacle of it all. You hugged your backpack to your chest, wishing the day could go faster so you could fo home.
Then he came up to you.
“Hi. I’m Peter.” A curly haired boy pulled the seat out next to you and sat down. You waved at Peter and put your backpack on the table, deciding to give him a chance.
“Do you have a name?” Peter asked, and you nodded your head. You took his hand and laid his palm flat, carefully writing your name with your finger.
“Wait, do it again.” Peter requested, watching your every move intently. You wrote your name again on his palm and he titled his head, staring at his hand like the word would be written there.
“Y/n?” He looked up at you once he figured it out. “Am I saying it right?”
You nodded happily and pointed to yourself before giving him a thumbs up. Peter smiled proudly and looked at his hand again.
“Do you not talk?” He wondered, making you shake your head no.
“That’s okay.” Peter shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t like to talk either.”
Peter began to swing his legs, looking around the classroom in awe before his eyes fell on Aunt May, who was talking to the teacher.
“Is your mommy still here?” He turned to you to ask. You nodded and pointed to your mom, who was laughing with one of the single dads.
“She’s pretty. Her shoes are so tall!” Peter exclaimed as he pointed at her high heels. You laughed silently, smiling to show that you agreed. Peter smiled back at you, several teeth in the front row missing. His smile faded suddenly as he looked down at his lap.
“My parents just died.” He confessed to you. “Uncle Ben said they’re in heaven. I tried to look for Heaven on the map on the subway, but I couldn’t find it. Do you know where it is?”
You shook your head and Peter sighed.
“Me either.” He said, pouring a little as he slumped in his seat. You sat in silence for a moment until you heard a little noise from Peter.
“I miss my mommy.” He said quietly, his voice sounding weak.
Your eyes filled with sympathy for Peter as you stuck your bottom lip out. Peter watched you curiously as you reached out your hand, taking his little one in your own and squeezing it three times. Peter gasped a little, looking up at you with wide eyes as you gave him a gentle smile. It reminded him of what his mother used to do when he was scared, three squeezes to say three words.
I. Love. You.
Aunt May didn’t know about their little ritual, so when Peter squeezed her hand three times as they lowered his mom into the ground, she didn’t squeeze back. It made Peter wonder if anyone would tell him they loved him in the secret language ever again. But here you were, squeezing his hand to let him know it was okay.
“Thank you.” He smiled, his eyes no longer glassy. “I love you too.”
You smiled at him and he noticed that were missing teeth too. Peter pointed to your mouth and laughed before pointing to his own. You both doubled over on the bench (I was over on the bench) in a fit of laughter, as if you had reached the very apex of comedy with missing teeth and gaps in your smiles.
You and Peter spent the day together, communicating though words written on his palm or on a piece of paper. He found it very easy to understand you, even when you didn’t speak. He liked your quiet company far better than the loud children in the class, knocking over blocks and crying over toys. You were different, and Peter liked different.
At the end of the day, Peter saw his family and grabbed your hand, running towards them with you in tow.
“Aunt May! Uncle Ben! I made a friend. She’s a mule.” Peter proudly presented you to his aunt and uncle. You smiled politely at them as they shared a confused look.
“What sweetie?” Aunt May asked as she crouched down a little. In the mean time, your mother had spotted you holding hands with Peter and made her way over.
“Mute. Y/n is a selective mute.” Your mother explained as she came up behind you. “Hi, I’m her mother.”
“Like on a remote!” Peter cheered as the adults shook hands. “Can she come over?”
“Is that alright with her mommy?” Uncle Ben looked at your mother for permission.
“Sure.” Your mother complied. “If you give her a piece of paper, she can write some words down. I’ll give you my number just in case.”
“She doesn’t need paper.” Peter shook his head. “We can already talk, look.”
Peter held you your enjoined hands and squeezed yours three times. You squeezed back, making him grin.
“See? She said she loves me.” He exclaimed, letting your hands drop back to your sides.
“That’s so cute. I was so worried about her making friends. She stopped speaking after her father passed.” Your mother quietly explained to May and Ben.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Peters parents just passed as well.” May said sympathetically while Ben watched the two of you. A complicit smile sat on his lips as he saw his nephew genuinely smile for the first time since his parents died.
“My condolences.” Your mother touched May’s arm kindly.
“Thank you.” May put her hand over your mother’s. “It’s been really difficult for him. It’s been so long since he-“
She was cut off by Peter laughing loudly at something you didn’t say, but conveyed. Tears brimmed in her eyes as you wrote something on Peter’s palm, something that made him light up like the forth of July.
“Since he’s been happy.” She finished.
“Lucky they found each other, huh?” Your mother smiled fondly as she watched you and Peter play, earning a nod from May.
And lucky you were.
Over the next few years, you and Peter developed a secret language entirely comprised of soft touches, expressive looks and squeezes. It was a dialect that only existed between the two of you, and that was how you liked it.
“Welcome, students, to your first day of high school. My name is Mrs. Ingrid, I’ll be your english teacher this year. I’d like us to go around the room and say your name and what you did this summer.”
You looked at Peter with panicked eyes as tired groans echoed around the classroom. It was your very first period of your very first day and you were already freaking out. Peter gave you a gentle smile as he reached across his desk and took your hand, giving it three solid squeezes.
“It’s okay.” He assured you. “I got you.”
“Mr. Parker.” Mrs. Ingrid said suddenly. “Since you’re talking, would you like to go first?”
“O-Okay.” Peter stuttered as he stood up from his desk. “My name is Peter Parker. This summer I watched all the Star Wars movies in a row without breaking to sleep.”
“Thank you for sharing.” She nodded curtly and turned to you, as you were seated next to Peter. “Ms. L/n, you can go next.”
“This is-“ Peter began.
“I believe she can speak for herself.” Mrs. Ingrid snapped, narrowing her eyes at Peter. You looked at Peter with eyes full of guilt as you unintentionally made him get off on the wrong foot with the teacher. You expected Peter to be scared, but his face showed that he was perfectly calm.
“Actually she can’t, ma’am.” Peter said politely. “This is Y/n L/n and she’s mute. She also spent her summer watching the Star Wars movies but she fell asleep sometime between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith.”
Surprised murmurs swept though the crowd at the mention of the word “mute”. It was something the students hadn’t been exposed to yet and you felt the individual pricks as they sunk their teeth into it. Knowing the pantomime spotlight was being shone on you, you turned to the class and gave a weak smile.
“My apologies.” Mrs. Ingrid said shortly. “I forgot we had a disabled student this year. Thank you, Peter. And welcome Y/n.”
She turned her back to the class to hide the flush of embarrassment as a student called her out, but Peter had more to say.
“It’s not a disability.” He spoke up, shrinking in his seat when everyone’s eyes went to him.
“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Ingrid turned around with an unamused grin.
“Well, Y/n is mute because of an anxiety disorder.” Peter explained. “She physically has the ability to speak, but she mentally feels like she can’t. She doesn’t see it as a disability.”
“Did she tell you that?” Flash, a boy with his name stitched onto the pocket of his shirt, asked from somewhere behind the room, making the whole room laugh at you.
The whole room except Peter
Peter turned around in his seat and glared at Flash, armed and ready to defend you if needed.
“Yes, she did.” Peter stated. “She tells me everything.”
Flash snickered and rolled his eyes as Peter turned around in his seat. Other students continues to gawk at you, as if your mutism could be seen on the outside. Your face flamed red until you felt Peters hand on your shoulder, squeezing it three times to calm you down.
“I apologize, Y/n.” Mrs. Ingrid smiled at you. “Would the next student like to go?”
You walked home once the day had ended with Peter by your side, quietly thinking to yourself as he talked about his science class.
“Anyways.” He paused time catch his breath as he finished his story. “How was your day?”
You looked at him sideways before grabbing his hand and writing an “E” on his palm.
“Come on. English wasn’t that bad.” He insisted, grimacing a little when you glared at him. You made a gesture of a circle before sharply pointing at yourself.
“I know. But I bet everyone had a moment today where they felt like everyone was staring at them.” Peter tried to assure you but you rolled your eyes.
“Tomorrow will be better.” Peter said decidedly. “That Flash kid is so annoying though. How many classes do you have with him?”
You held up three fingers and Peters eyes widened in sympathy.
“Three?” He gasped. I’m so sorry. Hopefully he was just trying to show off for the first day.”
You shrugged a little and pantomimed popping your collar, to which Peter laughed.
“Right?” Peter exclaimed. “Why does he dress like a mobsters son?”
Your shoulders moved up and down as you silently laughed with him, nearing your apartment building now.
“We should do something to celebrate our first day.” Peter decided. “What do you want?”
You looked at him and raised your eyebrows, a smile appearing on his face as he caught your drift.
“You read my mind.” He sighed happily and he shifted the weight of his backpack to his other shoulder. “Coffee ice cream and Impractical Jokers it is.”
You put your hands over your heart and made a dreamy expression, to which Peter let out a groan.
“Stop it.” He laughed though a whine. “You’re the only one who thinks Sal is hot.”
You shoved him playfully as you entered the lobby of your building, making a face he knew all too well.
“I’m not having this argument with you again.” He wagged his finger in your face as he pushed the elevator button. You pouted and took his hand, writing out an expletive on his palm.
“Don’t use that tone with me young lady.” Peter feigned a gasp as he held his hand to his chest. You gave him an unamused look as he laughed at his own joke.
“Hey. “ He said suddenly as he took your hand. “Happy first day.”
You reluctantly smiled at his newfound sentimentality and squeezed his hand three times, for for each word.
~
“Mrs. Ingrid.” Flash’s hand shot up one November morning. “When we present the projects tomorrow, can Brian present mine?”
“No, Eugene.” She sighed, a snicker coming from the class as he used his first name. “Every student must do their own presentation.”
“Then how come Y/n doesn’t have to do one?” He asked spitefully, making everyone look at you. You looked to Peter for help, who was already turned in his seat to face Flash.
“You know why she doesn’t.” He said dully, tired of Flash’s unjustified vendetta against you.
“Well I don’t think it’s fair that she gets special treatment.” Flash short back, making some students “ooo” and agree.
“It’s not special treatment. Y/n is mute, Flash. You, on the other hand, have made it very clear that you are not.” Peter sassed, making the class laugh. Flash’s face turned red in embarrassment as he looked around the room for help.
“Selective mute.” He emphasized. “That means she can talk if she wanted to. You said so on the first day, Penis Parker.”
“It’s not like a light switch she can turn on and off, Flash. She doesn’t feel like she has a choice. Leave her alone.” Peter barked, getting up out of his seat now.
“If she wants me to leave her alone, she should tell me herself.” Flash snapped, getting up as well. You looked between the two boys with fearful eyes, tugging on Peters sleeve to get him to back down.
“What’s your problem?” Peter asked angrily. “What are you, jealous because she’s never spoken in this class yet still outperforms you?”
The class laughed at Peters insult, only making Flash angrier.
“I’d like to see how well she’d do without you as her interpreter.” He yelled as he pointed a finger at Peter.
“That’s enough.” Mrs. Ingrid slammed her hands on her desk. “Both of you, sit down. Y/n will be doing a power point presentation. End of discussion.”
“Yeah, that’s enough Eugene.” Peter hissed as he took his seat.
“That’ll be all, Peter.” Mrs. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at your best friend. “If this continues, I’ll have to request that the three of you be separated and put into different classes.”
“Why should Y/n and I be separated just because Flash is a dick?” Peter asked, eyes widened when he realized what he said. The students laughed at the sound of a curse word, even if it was one the uses on a daily. You looked at Peter scornfully and tapped his desk twice, communicating with him to calm down.
“Mr. Parker. I’ll be seeing you in detention.” Mrs. Ingrid stated. “Everyone, take out your textbooks and turn to page 117.”
You put your textbook on your desk and looked at Peter, giving him a sympathetic pout for getting him in trouble. You reached over and took his hand, squeezing it twice to apologize.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He whispered to you. “Detention is a small price to pay for getting to call Flash a dick to his face.”
You squeezed his hand again and tilted your head to the side, making him shake his head at you.
“No, it’s not your fault.” Peter insisted.” It was mine. I interrupted the class, not you. Don’t worry about me.”
You sighed and brushed the side of your nose with your thumb, causing Peter to smile.
“I know.” He said softly. “I always worry about you too.”
~
You found Peter waiting for you at your locker at the end of the school day, bouncing with excitement to tell you a story from his algebra class. You listened intently as you collected your books, linking your arm through his once you were done. You walked past Mrs. Ingrids classroom and heard someone clear their throat, making you both stop in your tracks.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Parker?” She asked as she appeared in the doorway, arms folded and glasses perched on the lower part of her nose bridge.
“Shoot. I forgot I have detention.” Peter groaned before turning to you. “Do you mind waiting?”
You pointed behind you with your thumb and shrugged as Peter chewed his lip nervously.
“Are you sure? What if somebody asks you for directions?” He worried, not liking the idea of you walking home by yourself. You looked at him like he was silly and pointed your finger in both directions, signally that you could just point someone in the right direction of the asked.
“Well what if the directions are really complex?” Peter added, coming up with any excuse he could think of. You made a gesture that Mrs. Ingrid didn’t understand, but seemed to make all the sense in the world to Peter.
“You’re right. You don’t need a babysitter.” He agreed. “Do you want to meet back in my room at 4?”
You nodded and took his books from him so you could drop them off in his room.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He promised as you took his hand and squeezed it three times.
“I love you too.” He smiled, giving you three squeezes before walking in the direction of the detention room. Mrs. Ingrid watched him until he disappeared around a corner, turning to you once he was gone.
“You and Peter, are you two together?” She questioned, making you shake your head. She smiled a little, looking amused as she took off her glasses and rubbed them on her shirt.
“Someone should tell him that.” She chuckled, sliding her glasses back on her face. You put your hand over your heart and rubbed it in a circle, the first gesture Mrs. Ingrid understood.
“I see.” She nodded. “You have a nice day now, Y/n. Get home safe.”
You smiled in appreciation at her before waving goodbye, walking out the doors of the school and towards your building.
You tucked your thumbs under the straps of your backpack as you walked, taking every precaution to step over the cracks in the sidewalk as you approached them.
“Hey, Hellen Keller, wait up.”
You froze for a moment when you heard Flash’s voice behind you before quickly picking up your pace. Unfortunately, he had the same idea and ran to catch up with you, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn around when he got there.
“I was talking to you. Are you deaf too now?” He snickered devilishly as you pulled your arm out of his grasp. You kept walking, but he fell into a stride right beside you.
“So how does it work? Can you and Peter read each other’s thoughts? Does he ever think about me?” Flash batted his eyelashes but you ignored him. You swallowed nervously as you began to wish you had just waited for Peter.
“Come on, Y/n. You should take my interest in you as a compliment.” Flash smirked, making you roll your eyes. “I wanna hear you speak.”
Your unbreaking silence woke up something animalistic in Flash, making him grab both your arms and pushing you into a vacant alley. He pressed you against a wall, gripping both your arms so tight, you were sure they’d bruise.
“Didn’t you hear me? Say something.” He bellowed, getting right in your face as he screamed. You turned your face away and grimaced, fidgeting to get out of his grasp.
“Fine.” He laughed in a way that made your blood turn cold. “You don’t want to talk? Then I wanna hear you scream.”
Your eyes widened as he threw you to the ground, your body skidding on the pavement as you moved. He stalked up to you like a Brute, towering over you as you held up a hand.
“Where’s your little boyfriend now?” He asked, raising his fist above your head. A scream ripped through your throat as his fist came down, never making contact with your face. You opened your eyes slowly and saw him wiping his hands, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
“That’s what I thought. See you tomorrow. Can’t wait to see your PowerPoint.” He quipped, spitting on the ground next to you before leaving. Once you were sure he was gone, you sat up. Your hands went to your elbow first, as you felt blood tricking from an open wound. It wasn’t anything serious, just a scrape and a friction burn. Your hands then traveled to your neck, fingers resting over your vocal chords. You hadn’t heard a sound come from your mouth in 10 years, not even a laugh. The scream that came from your mouth was different from screams you’d heard in movies. It was deeper and hollow, as if it came from an animal. Tears stung your eyes as you got up, body aching from hitting the ground. You looked around the corner before continuing your way home, looking over your shoulder every so often out of fear.
You cleaned your elbow up in Peters bathroom, sticking a few Paw Patrol bandaids to the cut as you waiting for him to come home. You ended up falling asleep on his bed, only waking up when he came in a quarter last five.
“Hey sleepy head. I’m sorry I’m late.” He spoke in a hushed tone as he knelt beside his bed. “Mrs. Ingrid made me write on the board 100 times like Bart Simpson. Did you get back okay?”
You nodded as you sat up, slowly opening your sleep heavy eyes. Peter smiled as he smoothed the hair that was sticking up on either side of your part, smile fading when he took a closer look at your face.
“What happened? Have you been crying?” He worried as he cupped your face, turning it slightly to get a better look. Taking a deep breath to brace for Peters reaction, you held out your arm. He caught sight of the bandaids almost instantly, looking at you in disbelief before gently examining your arm.
“Who did this to you?” He demanded as he carefully twisted your arm to see the full extent of the wound. You weakly pantomimed a popped collar, seeing the anger in Peters eyes grow as he understood.
“Fucking Flash.” He stood up abruptly and slammed his hand on his wall. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you walk home alone.”
You got up and went over to him, shaking your head sympathetically.
“I did too have a choice.” He disagreed. “People skip detention all the time. How could I let this happen?” He asked, more so to himself as he sat on the bed. He put his head in his hands, hiding out of the shame he felt. You took a seat beside him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders while resting your head on his body. You tapped his leg four times, making him bring his head out of his heads to shake it.
“It is my fault.” He told you. “I provoked him in English and that’s why he went after you. I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.”
You pouted and took his chin between your fingers, squeezing his arm twice with your free hand.
“It’s not okay!” He yelled. “He’s been targeting you since day one. I bet he planned this. He’s probably been waiting to get you along. Did he hurt you anywhere else? Oh god, did he touch you?” Peter could barely see past his disgust long enough to get the words, turning a little green as the worst case scenario played in his mind. You frantically shook your head and Peter calmed down just a little.
“He’s lucky. He’d be a dead man if he did.” Peter stated assertively. You tilted your head and gave him a disapproving look that he read in seconds.
“How am I overreacting?” He asked. “You’re hurt! He hurt you! Screw this - I’m gonna kill him.” He got up again and heading towards the door. You sprung up from the bed and threw your arms around him from behind, stopping him in his tracks. You squeezed his tightly, resting your chin on his shoulder as you held him back. He struggled to break out of your grasp until he heard a strangled sound emit from your throat. As distorted and muffled as it was, Peter knew was you were trying to say.
“Stay.”
He hung his head in shame, knowing it scared you when he raised his voice. He put his hands over yours, which had been resting on his chest.
“I’m sorry.” He sighed, keeping his eyes down. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I worry about you.”
You slowly withdrew your hands and turned him around, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.
“I know you don’t need me to protect you. Is it wrong that I still want too?” He smiled weakly as he leaned into your palms. You shook your head and moved your hands down to his shoulders, shrugging a little to tell him you didn’t mind.
“I’m walking you home tomorrow.” He promised as he pulled you into a hug. “And everyday for the rest of my life.”
You patted his back four times, making his body shake with laughter.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Sounds good to me too.”
~
You entered Peters room a little over a year later after receiving a frantic text. The text contained exactly one word, “ouchie”, and the rest was gibberish. Peters wise eyes met yours and you smiled at him, smile fading as your eyes trailed down his body. He was clad in nothing but his boxers and one single sock, glistening with sweat from head to toe. Your best friends lean and scrawny body that you has seen hundreds of times since your childhood was replaced with broad shoulders and solid muscle, features that made your face burn all the way to your ears. That wasn’t what shocked you, though. What shocked you was the series of papers, pens, shirts, and granola bars that were sticking to his body as if adhered with glue.
“Whats happening to me?” He screamed, tugging at a Nature Valley bar sticking to his nipple. You held back a laugh when you saw how scared he looked and approached him slowly like a deer in the woods. You reached out a hand but he backed away as if you might burn him.
“Don’t.” He croaked. “You’ll stick too and I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”
You waved your hand in dismissal and reached out again, placing a cool hand on Peters burning cheek. His eyes shut in tranquillity as he leaned into your hand, letting your touch calm him as it had done so many times in the past.
You peeled a shirt off his shoulder and plucked a pencil off his thigh as his breathing slowed down. You cupped his face in your hands and looked at him, wordlessly asking him to tell you what happened.
“I went to Oscorp yesterday and this spider bit me and I woke up really sweaty - and I mean really sweaty - and then I got super hungry so I went ham on granola bars - and I’m talking ape shit Y/n I didn’t even chew I just went feral on those crumbly bitches - and then things kept sticking to me and I don’t know what to do and-“
You acted on a whim and pulled Peters face towards yours, kissing him firmly on the lips. The only noise in the room was the sound of pens and granola bars hitting the ground as they slowly unstuck from his body. Peter places a gentle hand on your face as he kissed you back. You pulled away, feeling his eyelashes tickle your face as his eyes fluttered open.
“And you just kissed me.” He laughed slightly, pace significantly slower now. You gave him a knowing look and shrugged a little, making him laugh.
“You’re right.” He realized. “You didn’t stick.”
You wrapped your arms around Peters neck and pressed your forehead against his, letting silence fill the room as he held you.
“I don’t know what this means. I’m…I’m scared.” He whispered as he nuzzled against you. You shook your head a little, telling him he didn’t have to be scared. Moving your head up to look at you, you took his face between your hands and kissed his lips three times in a row. After the third kiss, a cheeky smile lingered on Peters lips.
“I love you too.” He told you, grinning widely before kissing you again.
~
You laid on Peters chest, a few years out of college now. His shirt was riding up a little, exposing bare skin that served as your canvas. A shy smile made on a home on your face as you traced letters on his skin.
“What was that?” He asked when he felt your touch but couldn’t make out your words. “Say it again.”
You chuckled a little at his phrasing, and he did too. In accordance to his request, you wrote your sentence again, taking your time with the curve of each letter. Peter furrowed his eyebrows a little as he propped himself up on his elbows, a little annoyed with himself for not being able to decipher what you were saying. He prided himself on being fluent in your secret language, so the only possible answer was that whatever you were writing now was something you had never written before.
“Wait, do it again.” He asked, determined to crack the code. You sat up on your elbow as well, looking at him through your lashes as you traced the words again.
“I’m convinced this is gibberish.” Peter shook his head through a chuckle, looking at curiously to see if you were messing with him. You let out a tiny whine as you stuck your bottom lip out, patting his chest twice to tell him to try harder.
“Fine, fine. Try again. But go slowly.”
You sucked in a breath and held your fingernail to his skin, slowly tracing the first word.
“Will?” He asked, grinning when you nodded and continued to write.
“You?” He looked to you for confirmation. “Will you?”
You nodded again, feeling butterflies now and you moved to the next word.
“Many?” He questioned. You shook your head repeatedly, anxious for him to figure it out. You wrote it again and saw it click for him.
“Ohh. Marry.” He smiled, proud of himself for getting it. His eyes met yours and all at once, he understood why he couldn’t figure it out before.
No one fault really, you just never proposed to him before.
“Wait.” His lips curved into a smile as he cupped your chin with his hand.
“Do it again.” He asked, unable to contain his excitement as you repeated your actions.
“One more time.” He pleaded, eyes filling with tears now. “I know what it is, I just want to feel it again.”
You wrote it again, writing it on every exposed part of his body now. You proposed on his arm, his chest, his leg and his bicep, a man excited squeal leaving his throat each time you did it.
“Give me your hand.” He fully sat up now, wrapping his arms around you and taking your hand in his. He opened your hand and flattened your palm, bringing his finger to your skin.
“Y-E-S.” He spelled out loud as he wrote on your palm. “Yes. I will marry you.”
~
Smoothing your dress with a shaking hand, you turned to your mom for last minute adjustments before you walked down the isle. She smiled widely as she touched up your hair, handing you your bouquet once she was satisfied.
“Are you ready?” She asked. “That’s a dumb question. You’ve been ready for this since kindergarten.”
Nodding at your mothers words of encouragements, you nervously clutched your bouquet of sunflowers and roses, yours and Peters favorite flowers.
“You’re so lucky to have found each other.” Your mother smiled fondly as she dusted off your shoulders. “To understand someone the way you do, it’s rare. Your father would be proud.”
Emotion overcame you as you pulled your mother into a hug, thanking her the only way you could for getting you that far. The vamping of the organ signaled to you that it was time to go, all your nervously butterflies turning into petals of excitement. Your mother gave you an assuring smile as she slipped her hand into yours, both of you facing forward now as the doors opened.
Everyone turned to look at you, a welcome gesture this time around, as you made your way down the isle. You made eye contact with Peter, who had a hand clamped over his mouth to hide his emotions. He wiped tears from his eyes as Ned patted his back, silently willing you to come faster down the isle. In his mind, you couldn’t walk fast enough. He was not interested in spending one more minute as just your boyfriend. As you got closer to the alter, you waved at the Avengers who had put on their best suits to attend your big day.
And finally, you made your way to Peter.
You whole life had been about making your way to Peter, and now, dressed in white, you had arrived. You handed your bouquet to your mother and accepted Peters hand to help you step onto the alter. Peter sniffled a little as he took your hands in his, overwhelmed in the moment by your beauty.
The priest began to speak, but you didn’t hear much. All you could focus on was your childhood best friend, soon to be husband. Your palms sweat as the vows approached, an unfamiliar tickle resting in your throat.
“And now, the vows.” The priest handed the baton to you and Peter.
“Sunsets, flowers, and you. Three beautiful things that don’t make any noise. I believe some of the most wonderful things a human being can experience happen in silence. I believe that because of you.” Peters voice cracked momentarily. “I stand before you today as someone who is permanently subscribed to your silence. I look forward to a lifetime of knowing looks and written messages on the palm of my hand. I never knew how much could be said through three simple squeezes of my hand, but it feels like my entire life has happened since the first time you touched me and the last. Though your voice has never fallen on my ears, I’m confident I could identify it anywhere. You and I have created something incredible rare, a silence that only comes when two people truly know each other. And I know you. I am blessed to say I know you. I have never heard you speak, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear you. I hear you in the early hours of the morning when the birds begin to chirp. I hear you when the blood rushes to my face because you looked at me in a certain way. I hear you when the music swells in my favorite song, and I hear you in every beat of my heart. I won’t tell you I’ll love you until death do us part, because even the jaws of death couldn’t end my love for you. I will just find you in the next life, and the one after that. Nothing could keep me away.”
You touched delicate fingers to your under eyes as you dabbed away tears, squeezing Peters hands three times to thank him for his beautiful words. Now the spotlight had once again returned to you and this time, you were ready.
“Peter.”
Peters eyes widened in astonishment before brimming with tears as your voice fell on his ears for the very first time. It wasn’t perfect after so many years of being unused, but it was yours. That’s what made it Peter’s favorite thing in the world. He bent over and rested his forehead on your enjoyed hands, almost like he was bowing to you. He stayed there for a moment before standing up again, his face full of emotion. You knew he was composed enough for you to continue, so you did.
“I shut my mouth when I was 5 and I didn’t think I was going to open it ever again. But then I met you.” You broke into a smile. You spoke slowly, taking deep breaths every few words. “There is no other way I would want to use my voice than to tell you that I love you. I have always loved you.” You sucked in a deep breath as you got emotional. “My mom worried that I wouldn’t make any friends my first day of school, and I didn’t. I made a partner for life. It is one thing to be loved and another thing to be understood. You give me me both in three small squeezes. I love you, Peter.” You finished, punctuating your vows with three squeezes of his hands.
“I love you too.” He whispered, a steady flow of tears streaming down his face now.
“I love you more.” You said, verbally for the first time.
“Peter Parker, do you take Y/n L/n to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” The priest asked.
“I do.”
“Y/n L/n, do you take Peter Parker to be your lawfully wedded husband? To cherish and honor, for better or for worse?”
“I do.”
“Oh my God.” Peter gushed, making the crowd laugh. Peter was still recovering from the fact that your first word was his name, and now you had said the two sacred words he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.
“By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.” The priest smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”
Peter wasted no time in taking your face between his hands and kissing you, smiling with joy into the kiss as you officiated your marriage.
“You did so good baby.” He whispered against your lips as the crowd clapped for you.
“Thank you.” You giggled, proud of yourself for what you did. “I’ve been practicing with my therapist since the proposal.”
“It was amazing. That’s was the greatest surprise anyone’s ever given me. Even if it was just for today, I’m so happy I could hear your voice. I love you so much.” He told you before pulling you into a hug. You rested your head on his shoulder and held him tightly, thanking God that he came up to you that first day of kindergarten.
Summary ⟅ In which Peter tries to sneak into your room without waking you up but is met with a surprise.
Peter Parker x Reader / ⟣ FLUFF / 0.9k ⟢
Contains: Technically bnd!peter cause he has organic webs, sickeningly sweet fluff, a bunch of kisses, they're sooo adorable I—
Lily's note — 🪷 Finally some happy peter because ive been in a fluffy mood
Peter pressed his face against your window, twisting himself at an angle to try and see whether or not you were sound asleep in your bed.
He could just barely make out the outline of your body beneath the sheets. He gritted his teeth, lowering his forehead to the window to mentally prepare himself to sneak in your room without waking you up.
Usually you'd wait up for him, but Peter didn't like how much your sleep schedule had suffered because of his late nights fighting crime. You thought you were hiding the dark circles and yawns well enough, but he quickly took notice.
He was able to convince you to go to bed without him, reassuring you that he'd be there when you woke—and he always was, but not without great struggle.
With a deep breath, he pressed his fingertips to the glass, applying just the right amount of pressure to slide it open. He paused when it creaked, his face scrunching as he waited for any sign that you’d woken up. When nothing came, he exhaled a shaky exhale and slid it fully open.
He carefully climbed through, dropping to the floor as silently as he could, stilling to listen to your even breaths. He pulled off his mask with a sigh of relief when the cool air in your room met his flushed face.
He was doing well peeling the suit off his body until his foot caught on the leg when he tried pulling it out. He stumbled forward, seconds away from falling when he shot a web out behind him, using the wall to catch himself.
His heart hammered hard in his chest as he pulled himself back up, cursing under his breath while kicking the suit away to the corner of your room.
He tip-toed back to your bed, slowly pulling the covers back to slide in behind you. He laid still for a moment, his body stiff as he debated on whether or not he should slide closer to you.
Eventually the scent of your intoxicating shampoo drew him in closer. He lifted his arm, subtly shifting over, inches away from slipping it around your waist.
Your head turned on the pillow, eyes wide and alert in the dark room.
“Welcome home.”
Peter flinched back with a surprised yelp, his hand instinctively darting out to release a powerful web that shot across the room, connecting with your dresser mirror with a loud crack! The glass shattered as shards trickled down to the table top.
Peter clutched a hand to his chest, gulping in deep breaths. “What the hell was that!”
“I hope you're gonna replace that,” you said, your voice calm in comparison to the chaos you'd just caused.
He gave you a bewildered stare, his face illuminated only by the moonlight casting in from the window. “You’re awake?”
You nodded, turning on your side to face him fully. “I’ve been awake this whole time.”
“Oh…” He arched a confused brow at you. “Why didn't you say anything?”
You only shrugged with a playful smile growing on your lips.
He scoffed, sinking back down to the sheets as his heart finally settled, the tension in his body melting into exasperation. “Well thank you, for the heart attack. And sorry for—um that…”
His voice trailed off when you leaned in closer to him with wide, careful, assessing eyes. Your fingers reached out to brush over the dark purple bruise below his eye. “This looks like it hurts,” you murmured with a frown.
Peter swallowed with a tiny nod, his heart that had calmed down picking back up under your attention.
The corners of your lips turned up at how shy and nervous he still got with you. You leaned in to press a featherlight kiss to the bruise, so soft and careful, causing Peter’s eyes to flutter shut with a drawn out sigh of contentment.
You kissed the scratch over his nose bridge next, then forehead, then his other cheek, and over the corner of his mouth. You peppered his whole face with tiny, healing kisses, each one relaxing his body until he was biting back his own giddy smile.
You giggled at the sight, your laughs growing louder when he slipped his arms around your body, flipping you over until you were laid out beneath him, cocooned in his warmth. He gave you a few short pecks that gradually slowed to a deep, languid kiss, his lips warm and slightly chapped against yours.
“Thank you,” he whispered, rubbing his nose against yours, voice clouded with exhaustion. “For staying up for me.”
You cradled his cheeks in your hands, your eyes sparkling as they stared deep in his. “This is my favorite part of the day.”
His cheeks heated under your palms, the pink flush barely visible in the low light. You couldn't resist kissing him again, your lips a magnet to his.
You gently guided him down until his head was resting on your chest, his body settling over yours like a weighted blanket. You ran your hands through his already messy curls, scratching at his scalp.
He nuzzled deeper into you with a loud, satisfied groan.
“And this,” he mumbled, his words slurring together, “Is my favorite part.”
You smirked, tugging lightly at the strands to draw out a breathy whine from him. “If only the world could see their Spiderman now.”
You waited for a witty response but were only met with his light exhales, followed by soft snores a few moments later.
↳ Warnings/Themes: CONTAINS BND SPOILERS / DIALOGUE. PG. Minor Angst.
↳ Pairing: Peter Parker x F!Reader
↳ Words: 1495
↳ Summary: You find the words that Peter hid from you.
☁️: angst comes before the fluff. my attempt a drabble ❤︎
General Masterlist here. Peter Masterlist here. First Part here. [can be standalone]
The door knocked three times before your brain even registered what it was, dragging you out of the thoughts swirling endlessly through your head. Still, you sat perfectly still on the sofa, not trusting that your legs would hold you if you tried to stand.
Between the last message you'd exchanged and the sound of his knuckles against your door, you'd read over the letter so many times that the words have begun to blur together.
'Hi, my name is Peter Parker, and you don't remember me, but I have something to tell you...'
'But the truth is, I love you. And I hope that deep down, something inside you remembers you love me too.'
The first time you read it, you laughed, just your luck to find someone crazy enough to think that they were Spider-Man.
But the more you read over how he recalled your time together, the more you saw the small, intimate details of yourself that you barely noticed yourself. Little things that no stranger could have known.
And suddenly, it all made sense. The headaches, the images you couldn't place, the empty feeling in your chest.
He knew you, and you had known him.
Another knock.
You drew in a shaky breath, shaking your head as if that could clear your thoughts, and finally stood. The apartment felt too quiet without MJ and Ned here, but they couldn't be here for this conversation. Not for this.
Making your way towards the door, each reluctant step seemed to echo through the silence. By the time you reached it, your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your throat. You paused, hand hovering over the handle.
For a brief, immature, second, you considered pretending you weren't home. But, if he really was Spider-Man, he'd probably be able to hear you anyway.
So, you opened the door.
Peter stood in the hallway, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other clutched a flower bouquet, your favourite flowers.
His eyes softened the second they found you, the nerves in his face melting into something warm and familiar. It was a reaction that had your stomach turning.
"Hey," he said, letting out a long breath. "I'm sorry I'm late. I-"
His voice cut off when his eyes dropped to the jacket in your hands. You were shaking, fingers curled tightly around the fabric. His gaze moved back up to your face, brows furrowing at the glassy look in your eyes.
"Are you okay?"
"You left something in the pocket."
Peter's expression changed, the realisation hitting his chest deep and immediate.
"I'm sorry."
The apology came so fast it almost felt like a reflex.
You pulled the letter free.
"Is it true?" You raised the letter between you both. "Or are you just crazy?"
In this moment, you weren't sure which option you would have preferred.
His head dropped, brown curls falling over his forehead.
"Yes."
"Prove it."
"What?"
"Prove to me that you're who you say you are here." You waved the letter at him.
Peter looked around the hallway before there was a sharp thwip, a web shooting from his wrist and hitting the kitchen counter behind you.
You stared at it for longer than should have been necessary for your brain to process. Every word in that letter was real.
"Oh my god."
The tears begun welling in your eyes so fast it nearly startled you, blurring the edges of his face.
"Take it," you huffed, pushing the jacket and letter into his hands before turning on your heel.
"Wait," he called behind you.
The door closed softly as he followed you into the apartment. He set the things down on the kitchen counter before following you deeper into the room.
"I'm sorry."
"You wanted me to find it?"
"No," he said, holding his hands up, eyes immediately pleading. "I swear, I- I- forgot it was in there."
You let out a laugh so sharp that it barely sounded like one. "You expect me to believe that?"
His eyes fixed on the letter on the counter.
He said your name in a way that was too familiar, too strained, as if you'd had arguments before and he knew how to plead with you. You had, you supposed.
"I'm really sorry."
You whirled around to face him so fast that you felt slightly dizzy. "I don't really need you to keep telling me that you're sorry."
"What do you need?" He asked, moving closer. "Anything, please?"
"I need you to tell me why you'd do this to me."
Peter blinked, caught off guard. His mouth opened and closed as he searched for the right words.
"I lost someone," he said finally. "Someone close to me and it was my fault. I couldn't- I couldn't have that happen to you. I couldn't lose you."
The way he looked at you, genuine and pleading, made your head swim.
You pressed the palms of your hands to your face, willing the stupid tears to go away. It only made it worse, your palms becoming damp as your breathing turned uneven. "That wasn't your choice to make."
"I know."
"Then why did you make it?" Your voice rose and cracked all at the same time.
"I'm sor-." He stopped himself, swallowing. "Because I thought it would be best. And I tried to live my life without you but I can't. I love you. So bad that you're all I think about every day."
Your weight shifted to the other foot. It was hard enough to believe that some guy named Peter loved you, but trying to process the hero Spider-Man telling you he couldn't live his life without you felt all too much.
"Okay." Was all you could say.
He shoved his hands into his pockets; eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.
It took some time before you could find your voice again.
"When you did whatever you did, did I know that I would lose you?"
"Yes."
"And did I ask you to make me remember you?" When nothing came out of his mouth, you knew the answer. Your throat tightened, the words catching painfully as you continued to press. "I feel like if we were as in love as you said we were, I would have asked you to make me remember you. Did I?"
"You did."
"And did you say you would?"
"I did."
At least he had the decency to sound guilty. He continued actively avoiding looking at you.
"How long?"
"What?"
"How long did you keep this from me? How long did you lie to me?"
"Four years."
Something in your chest pulled tight. Four years. For four years he was alone, no Ned, no MJ, no you.
And some small, bewildering part of you wanted to reach out, to pull him into your arms and wipe away the tears that had collected on his face, because seeing him cry felt wrong in a way you couldn't explain.
But the other, stronger, part of you broke down. He had lied to you for four years.
The tears ran freely down Peter's face. "I was trying to protect you."
You swallowed against the ache in your throat. "Protecting me isn't the same as choosing for me."
The sob wracked through you before you could stop it. Peter rushed forward, stopping just before you, his arms opening instinctively.
"Can I?"
"No," you cried. "I don't know you."
The words came out as bitter and cold as you meant them, but when Peter flinched, you immediately wanted to take them back.
"I understand." He stepped back, arms dropping to his sides. "I should go, then?"
He turned slowly, moving slowly to the door as if he could slow down time.
"Peter," you called as his hand hovered over the door handle. You didn't want him to leave just yet.
When he turned back, his face was full of hope, and something horrible twisted beneath your ribs at the sight of it.
"What were the last four years like for you?"
"Lonely," he admits, a laugh that's not really a laugh escaping him.
You nod through the tears, shoulders rising with a shaky breath.
"I know why you did what you did. And I'm grateful that you loved me enough to do something unselfish."
"Love," he mumbled.
You ignored that. "Would you like to say hi to Ned and MJ?"
He looked up at you. "Really? Yeah, I'd love that."
"Maybe not today, we're kind of..." You gestured between the two of you. His face was red and puffy from the tears, and yours probably looked the same, lips raw where you'd been chewing on them.
"Thank you." He turned to leave again before stopping. "Can I ask you something selfish?"
"Yes."
"I know you don't remember me, but could you think about it? About me?"
You looked at him for a long moment, dried tears staining your face.
↳ Warnings/Themes: CONTAINS BRAND NEW DAY PLOT POINTS! PG. Fluff. Barely!Angst.
↳ Pairing: Peter Parker x F!Reader
↳ Words: 4012
↳ Summary: 4 years after Dr.Strange's spell, Peter finds himself face-to-face with you again.
☁️: i LOVED these requests!! very challenging but fun to get out of my smut comfort zone. there are plot points from the movie, but they're not used in a linear way and are not exact scene matches.
Requested: here. General Masterlist here. Peter Masterlist here. Continuation here.
The headache started before you were even fully awake. A dull pressure that built somewhere in your skull until it settled just behind your eyebrow. It was a familiar enough situation that you weren't at all surprised.
At first, they had been easy to ignore, a fleeting headache every couple of weeks that could easily be attributed to life at MIT. But two years ago, something shifted. The headaches became more insistent of being recognised and acknowledged.
They began to be accompanied by fragments of images that you couldn't place flashing through your mind; a laugh that wrapped around you; a hand that fit perfectly in yours; the feeling of rising and falling through the air without fear; and the worst, places you didn't recognise but somehow missed.
Every scan had come back normal. "There isn't anything medically wrong with you," the doctor had gently insisted. She had smiled in a way that you knew was an attempt to be encouraging but it had missed its mark. At least if there was something medically wrong, you would have some sort of an explanation.
You pinched your eyebrow tightly and stayed where you were for another minute, staring at the ceiling whilst you waited for it to pass. Most of the times, that was enough. This morning, however, it wasn't.
Letting out a slow breath, you pushed yourself upright. Outside was a normal day, car horns echoed somewhere below your apartment, followed by the sounds of arguments. The familiar rumble of the subway beneath the street sounded through the air.
Today was a normal day, and so yours would be too.
By the time you were dressed and made it to the kitchen, the headache had dulled into something more manageable.
MJ was perched on the kitchen counter, sipping a hot drink while watching Ned wrestle with a string of fairy lights that had somehow tied itself into an impossible knot.
With a genuine attempt at a smile and a grumbled good morning, you moved through the kitchen almost on auto-pilot. Pulling out breakfast ingredients without a thought as to what you actually wanted to eat.
“I hate decorations,” Ned muttered sometime later.
The snort that came from you was louder than intended and two pairs of eyes turned to look at you. MJ had a shit-eating grin on her face, while Ned's eyes narrowed.
“My sympathy is very low,” you shrugged. “You're the one that brought them.”
“I know.”
“You also suggested the party,” MJ added helpfully.
“I know.”
“Plus, invited half of the population of our graduate class,” you added, mouth full of toast. “So, our home has to look presentable.”
“I know.”
MJ took another sip from her mug to hide her smile. “So... whose fault is this?”
Ned sighed dramatically, his head dropping. “...Mine.”
“Bingo.”
Turning his attention back into the project before him, Ned continued untangling the fairy lights. It only took five minutes of silence before he was sighing again.
“You're hanging those back-to-front,” MJ called out.
Ned's eyes widened as he looked between you both. “Fairy lights have a front?”
“They do,” you smiled, Ned made it too easy sometimes.
Ned's eyes continued to move between you both, waiting for one of you to break. It was always you. The laugh slipped past your lips before you could contain it.
“I swear,” Ned muttered, shaking his head, “we need another person to balance this...” Ned gestured between you both “...out.”
For a few seconds, everything went quiet, like someone had turned the volume down on the world.
An image flashed in your mind, you, MJ, Ned, and a fourth figure that was there, but not really. You could see where they were supposed to be, where they'd fit if they were actually there. It was like someone had taken a pair of scissors to the picture, leaving behind nothing but the outline of a person.
Before you could focus on it, it was gone.
The headache arrived a heartbeat later, sharp enough that you instinctively reached for the edge of the counter to stabilise yourself.
“You okay?” MJ's voice cut through the haze.
The apartment rushed back into focus as you blinked, willing the image away. Ned was already looking at you. It was irrational, and you knew it, but the look of concern only made you feel the sudden urge to shrink until completely invisible.
“Yeah,” you said. You straightened to quickly and your words came out too snappy to be the truth. “Fine.”
Ned ignored it. “Headaches getting worse again?”
“Not worse. Just...” You searched for the words, finding it harder when two pairs of eyes looked at you with a pity that rested uncomfortably on your skin. “...I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“Try us,” Ned said, untangling the fairy lights from his arm to move next to you. He rested his hand on your forearm.
When you offered no more words, MJ set her mug down and turned to you. “You know, Governments like us to think what’s going on in our heads is stupid, keeps us compliant.”
You would have laughed if you thought MJ was joking.
Fingers drumming against the counter, you swallowed the lump in your throat and began trying to pull non-coherent emotions into something logical. Your eyes remained fixed on the counter as you stumbled through your words.
“It’s like... not worse because it’s more painful. It the feelings that come with it. And... like...the images. It’s a lot.”
There was so much more that could be said, “My headaches make me feel like there’s something I left behind.” “They leave me searching for something I can’t name.” But they barely made sense to you and, despite their reassurances, you knew it was something you’d have to try to explain, so you trailed off.
“You’re seeing things?”
There were probably nicer ways that Ned could have asked that question. He clearly noticed it too, because he immediately winced.
“Harsh, dude,” MJ said.
“It’s okay,” you said quickly, stopping Ned’s response before it could even form. “It’ll pass, I think it’s just stress or whatever.”
MJ watched you with that same unreadable expression she always wore when she was thinking something she wasn’t sure she should say aloud.
The resulting silence stretched over the three of you in a way that made you shift on your stool. You glanced around the apartment, grounding yourself with what you saw. The unpacked boxes that still lined one wall despite having moved in nearly a month ago, the ragged sofa that you’d watched Ned and MJ argue over, and the clock, that flashed a time that told you you were boarding on lateness.
“I’m with Dr. Banner today... I should go.” The words came out quieter than you intended. You cleared your throat, forcing a warmth back into your voice. “I hope those decorations will be ready for later.”
Ned dramatically stood, straightening his spine and raising his arm in a salute. “I will make it my sworn mission.”
Dr. Banner’s lectures always followed the same pattern.
He’d make a genuine attempt to impart years’ worth of knowledge, while at least half of the lecture hall made equally genuine attempts to steer the conversation towards his time as an Avenger. Every so often, the guy that always turned up in green body paint would shout, “Hulk smash.” And, every time, the lecture hall would descend into a fit of giggles and cheers.
By the time the lecture came to an end, you were fairly certain that everyone knew more about what an Avenger had for breakfast than they did about the actual topic.
You smiled to yourself as you zipped your bag shut and made your way down the steps.
Dr. Banner was already talking to a student by the time you reached the front.
He had his back to you, but even with his back turned, there was something strangely familiar about him. You didn't mean to listen in to the conversation, but it happened so naturally as if something declared your attention was needed.
“My name's... Ned.”
The hesitation caught your attention before the name did.
“Ned?” Dr. Banner sounded unconvinced.
‘Ned’ shifted awkwardly, his hand finding the back of his neck. “...Yeah.”
“Well, Ned,” Dr. Banner said, folding his arms, “what you’re talking about is dangerous. If you were going to target specific strands, how would you decide which ones are the ‘bad’ ones?”
You hadn't heard enough of the conversation to know what they were talking about, but you’d never heard Dr. Banner sound as serious as he did now.
“Just... theoretically,” ‘Ned’ responded.
Dr. Banner held his gaze for a moment, looking deep in thought as if he was considering whether or not to answer the question.
“Theoretically,” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else.
“Please, sir.”
Whatever he found in ‘Ned’s’ expression seemed to reassure him. “Yes. In theory... it’s possible.”
“Thank you.”
Before you could try to piece together the conversation, Dr. Banner glanced over ‘Ned’s’ shoulder.
“Ah, there you are,” he smiled, all traces of seriousness gone from his features. “Would you mind meeting me in my office in about ten minutes?”
Banner barely waited for your response before making his way out of the lecture hall.
“Of course,” you replied anyway.
At the sound of your voice, ‘Ned’s’ shoulders stiffened. He turned around slowly, eyes finding yours immediately. No words came out when his mouth opened, and then closed, and then opened again. He just stood there, brown eyes wide and slightly glassy.
Without thinking, you smiled at him. It wasn’t the polite smile usually offered to a stranger who happened to make eye contact, but something warmer and more familiar. Like seeing someone you'd forgotten you were looking for.
Something shifted in his expression, a flicker across his face that you might have missed had you not been looking at him. It was replaced by a small, tentative smile of his own.
Neither of you looked away, even after the socially acceptable length of time for staring had long passed. His gaze wandered over your face, lingering on your eyes before dropping to the smile you'd barely realised you were still wearing.
His hair fell in soft brown curls in a way that made him look like the kind of person who had their life together, but there were faint shadows beneath his eyes, the kind that only came from too many late nights.
Under your gaze, he swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the straps of his backpack. When he finally spoke, his voice was somehow softer than it had been before.
“Hi,” he murmured, the word tentative, as if testing whether he was allowed to say it at all.
“Hey,” you replied. “Do I... know you from somewhere? You look really familiar.”
“No,” he said softly. “No, I don’t think you do.”
That should have been the end of the conversation. You could laugh it off, wish each other a nice day, and walk away. But the desire to know more about the boy with the familiar soft brown eyes and a curious mind who felt the need to lie about his name consumed you.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “What’s your name?”
He pointed to himself, eyebrows lifting. “M-my name?”
The corner of your mouth twitched, a smile threatening to break through. “Yes, your name.”
He looked caught off guard by the question, lips parting, and then closing again. It was like you could see the lie forming on the tip of his tongue.
“And don’t say Ned,” you added, unable to hide your smile now. “I’m pretty confident that’s not it.”
A breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh escaped him. “You caught that, huh?”
“You weren't exactly convincing.”
“I've never been very good at lying.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The words slipped out of you so naturally that neither of you questioned them.
He rubbed his thumb along the frayed edge of his backpack strap as he drew in a deep breath. For a moment, he looked like he was working up the courage to say something far more difficult than his name.
“It’s Peter.”
“Peter,” you repeated.
The name vibrated against the walls of your mind like it was a word that you had thought of a thousand times.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
You tilted your head slightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter.”
“You too.”
Silence settled over you both again and you found yourself trying to think up ways to start the conversation again. Your eyes drifted past him, towards the hallway where Dr. Banner had disappeared. The question came to you almost immediately. “Are you a fan of the Avengers?”
Peter blinked, his hands shifting nervously on his backpack straps. “Uh... what? Why do you ask?”
You smiled slightly. “Why else would you be pretending to be one of Dr. Banner’s students?”
“I just wanted to pick his brain about something,” Peter admitted. “He’s... kind of brilliant.”
“I mean I agree, but why do you think so?”
The way Peter’s face changed when the topic of science came up was almost unfair.
He spoke with an enthusiasm that was impossible not to get caught up in, his hands moving just as much as his words while his thoughts raced just ahead. More than once, he caught himself drifting off-topic, only to circle back again a heartbeat later.
You found yourself smiling, a warmth spreading across your chest.
“...Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kind of talked your ear off there.”
“I enjoyed listening to you,” you said easily. “Now I understand why you risked committing identity theft in front of a literal Avenger.”
Peter groaned, his head tipping back for a moment. “When you put it like that...”
“It sounds unhinged?”
“Very.”
“Good. Just so you’re aware.”
He laughed again, this one a little louder. “What about you? Are you a student of his?”
“No, I’m doing project work with him for my PhD.”
Peter’s face lit up, his eyes crinkling deeply around the corners with a pride that felt entirely too big for someone you'd only met less than ten minutes ago. “I’m happy for you. You’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Yeah, I have actually.” You tilted your head, eyes narrowing on him. “How did you know?”
“Would you believe me if I said that was supposed to be a question?”
His question earnt a small laugh from the both of you, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. Peter had a dangerous ability to disarm you, you realised. Even more dangerously, you weren’t sure you were bothered by it.
Students drifted past in the hallway, heading towards their next lectures as you and Peter settled into another round of silence and stares.
“So...” Peter said eventually, shifting his weight to break the heavy silence. “I should probably let you get to your meeting.”
“You probably should.”
Peter rocked back on his heels, but made no attempt to move. It was such a small thing, but the fact he seemed just as reluctant to leave as you were sent a pleasant tingle through your body.
Sighing, you opened your mouth to say goodbye, but instead, you heard yourself ask, “are you doing anything tonight?”
A woosh of air left Peter’s mouth, as if he’d been holding his breath. “...Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Um... I don't... think so.”
“My roommates and I are throwing a party. You should come.” The silence from Peter was long enough that you wondered if you’d completely misread the situation. “If you've got other plans-.”
“I don't,” Peter interrupted. He let out a quiet breath through his nose. “I'd... I'd like to come.”
A grin spread across your face before you could stop it. “Really?”
He mirrored it, smaller than yours, but no less genuine. “Really.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
You reached into your bag for your phone, then paused. “Actually...” Holding out your hand, you nodded towards the phone sticking out of his hoodie pocket. “Give me your phone.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, even as his hand slowly moved towards his phone.
“I mean, unless you're planning on memorising my address.”
“Oh.”
He fumbled the phone out of his pocket so quickly it nearly slipped through his fingers. Once unlocked, he held it out to you.
Your thumbs flew across the screen, typing in your number and name before shooting yourself a quick text.
“There,” you said, sliding the device back into his hand. “Now you have my name too, since you forgot to ask.”
Peter looked down at the contact for a long moment. When he looked back up, there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place.
“Thanks.”
You smiled. “I’ll see you later?”
“You will,” he promised.
You’d changed outfits five times before finally deciding that the first one had been fine. The apartment was already loud by the time the first wave of guests arrived and you found yourself glancing towards the front door more often than you cared to admit.
By the time the party was in full swing, you’d convinced yourself you weren’t waiting for anyone even though your eyes kept scanning over the crowd.
The disappointment that settled in your chest was irritatingly disproportionate for someone you’d only known for a few hours and had one conversation with.
You were halfway through a conversation you weren’t really listening to when the front door opened. Without thinking, you looked over. The relief that washed through you was immediate.
Peter stood just inside the doorway, a red cup in his hand, looking around the apartment like he was still deciding whether he belonged there.
You excused yourself before you could think better of it and crossed the room.
“You came.”
Peter smiled softly when he saw you. “I promised.”
“Good to know you keep promises.”
It took less than thirty seconds for Ned to spot the unfamiliar face. He appeared seemingly out of nowhere, all smiles and unnecessary enthusiasm, a half-eaten slice of pizza in one hand.
“Hey! I don't think we've met.”
A look flashed across Peter’s face; one you’ve become all too familiar with in the short time you’ve known him.
“I'm Peter.”
“Ned.”
As they shook hands, Ned turned to you, his eyes twinkling. “You invited him?”
“Evidently, Ned.”
“Wow. Good for you.” He nodded slowly as he disappeared back into the crowd.
“Sorry about him,” you said, turning back to Peter. “He gets overexcited.”
“I know,” Peter laughed softly, the words a little too confident.
You spent the next few minutes introducing Peter to people and trying to coax more information about himself out. But as the party grew, so did the tension in his shoulders.
“Do you want to go up to the roof?” you asked. “It’s less crowded there.”
Peter looked back at you. “Yes, please.”
You set your drink down on the counter. “Come on.”
A rush of cold New York air met you the second the door to the roof opened. You stepped out first, pulling your sleeves over your hands as the breeze caught against your skin. You rested your arms against the low brick wall and looked out over the city. The noise of the party faded behind the door, replaced by the distant hum of New York.
“I forgot how nice it is up here.”
Peter moved beside you. “The view is always nicer from above.”
Glancing over, you caught him staring at you. The second you caught him, his eyes shifted away.
You smiled slightly. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure, Peter.”
You let out a soft huff of laughter, turning your attention back to the city in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him shift his weight, his shoulder brushing against yours before he pulled back.
The contact was brief, but the warmth of it lingered through the fabric of your top, leaving a strange, electric tingle in its wake. You kept your eyes fixed on the traffic below, suddenly hyper-aware of the distance between his arm and yours, waiting to see if he’d move closer again.
Instead, the wind picked up, sharp enough to cut through the quiet and make your shoulders shiver. Peter looked at you, his jacket was already coming off before you could stop him.
You immediately shook your head, waving your hands. “No.”
“It's fine.”
“You'll freeze.”
“I'll survive.”
“Peter...”
“I promise,” he said, holding the jacket out to you.
You hesitated, looking from the fabric to his earnest face. Then, quietly, “thank you.”
It was still warm from him as you put it on. You pulled it a little tighter around your chest, eyes closing as you buried your face slightly into the collar, and breathed in absentmindedly.
“Mhm, your aftershave smells good.”
The smell of the jacket brought a dull pressure behind your temples, like something was gently gnawing at the back of your head.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
Your eyes opened as you turned to face him. He was much closer than you’d realised. Close enough that the rest of the city lights seemed to blur out of focus. Peter's hand came to cover yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You weren’t sure if he even noticed he was doing it. But maybe he had. Maybe that's why he looked as though he was trying very hard not to breathe.
Your eyes drifted, just for a second, to his lips. When you looked back up, he was already looking at yours.
Peter couldn’t seem to stop himself from taking a small step forward, crowding into your space. Your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his jacket.
His hand lifted slowly, hesitating for the briefest moment before reaching you, as though he was giving you one last chance to pull away. You didn’t. His fingertips brushed against your chin, his skin warm against the chill of the night.
“Can I?”
When you nodded, Peter tilted your face up slightly. His breath warmed your lips, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he titled his head.
He was so close now, less than half an inch away when the heavy rooftop door swung open. Your entire body flinched, and you practically fell into Peter’s arms.
“There you are.”
Ned's voice carried across the roof before you’d even had time to register what had happened.
Peter let go immediately, dropping his hands to his sides and taking a step back. The cold air rushed back into the space between you where his warmth had just been.
You cleared your throat. “Hi, Ned.”
“MJ sent me,” he explained, narrowing his eyes slightly at Peter. “She’s deeply mistrusting of people and we don’t know you.”
“She is,” you admitted, looking up at Peter. “We're alright,” you called back to Ned, surprised by how steady your voice sounded.
Ned looked between the two of you, his eyes lingering on the jacket. “MJ said to tell you there's cake.”
You managed a small smile. “I suppose we can't ignore that.”
“No,” Peter murmured, his voice quieter than before. “I suppose we can’t.”
Before anyone could move, Peter’s phone buzzed. The smile disappeared from his face as he looked down at the screen.
“I have to go.”
You tried to hide the sudden drop of disappointment in your voice, but it leaked through anyway. “But you just got here.”
“I know.” Peter looked at you and for a moment, he looked almost as disappointed as you felt. “I’m really sorry. I have to.”
“Okay.” You immediately started to slip your arms out of the sleeves to hand his jacket back. “Thanks.”
He hesitated, his hands resting on top of yours to stop you from taking it off. “Why don’t you keep hold of it?”
“Won’t you need it?”
“I’ll come back for it.”
You bit your cheek to stop the smile from showing too brightly. “Is that your way of saying that I’ll see you again?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, words heavier than you knew. “It is.”
I genuinely only seem to be capable of writing smut, so I'M SORRY THIS WAS SO BUNS AND THE PACING IS BAD. I TRIED OKAY!! xx
if i may, id like to request a fluff or angst/comfort with arachnid!peter parker.
nothing too major, I just want a fic of reader looking after the poor guy in that state, but i cannot find any of it that don’t involve smut!
(please forgive me if i sound like a prude lmao, but oh my god there’s a massive surplus of it and so little fluff 😭)
how reader takes care of him is totally up to you, just don’t put any explicit smut (suggestive stuff is completely fine :D)
absolutely no pressure on you to write it, i just had to ask :p
all my love to you, and thank you for the work you do!
🕷 Friendly Neighbour 🕷
↳ Warnings/Themes: just fluff + no bdn spoilers.
↳ Words: 1292
↳ Summary: When Peter’s senses overwhelm him, you’re the one he turns to for comfort.
General Masterlist here. Peter Masterlist here. Reqs are open!
The first thing you think when the sound of Evie's artificially worried voice rings through your bedroom at two in the morning, is that Peter must have done something stupid.
Like he's forgotten to eat again. Or he's run out on patrol after deciding that three hours of sleep technically counts if you closed your eyes hard enough. Or that he's fallen outside of the window in nothing but his boxers.
It has become a regular occurrence recently, Evie needing to contact you in the middle of the night because Peter has, in one way or another, managed to get himself into some kind of trouble.
You're halfway through a sleepy and irritated, "what did he do now?", when Evie says very calmly,
"Peter is experiencing significant sensory overload."
A cold dread washes over you, forcing your brain immediately alert and your body already moving to sit up.
"What?"
"He is currently displaying elevated heart rate, respiratory distress, and heightened sensitivity to auditory stimuli." There's a pause. Then, because Evie apparently has no concept of subtlety when she's concerned. "He's also crying."
You're out of bed before she's even finished the sentence, dragging on the first hoodie you find and shoving your feet into slippers without bothering with socks.
The hallway is dark and quiet in that weird middle-of-the-night way where every sound feels amplified. You rush to the elevator, pressing the up button repeatedly as if that will help it to understand your rush.
"Evie, what's happening now?" You ask into your phone.
"I believe he is attempting to suppress the arachnid DNA, leading to significant distress."
Of course he is.
"Tell him I'm coming."
The elevator doors stall as they open, then shudder again as they close, the machine shaking as it carries you the three floors up. The door opens on his floor and the immediate smell of damp fills your nose.
There's no natural light up here either, so you fumble with your phone, turning on the flashlight and carefully stumble over the junk littering the cramped hallway on the way to his door.
You knock once, and there's no reply.
"Evie?"
"Peter has stated that your presence will not be necessary. He says he is okay."
You frown at the door. "Is he okay?"
"No."
At Evie's bluntness, the pit in your stomach grows. You knock again, louder this time and more insistent.
You wait a few seconds, listening. There's no movement on the other side, not even a sleepy 'I told you I'm fine.'. Which makes it so much worse.
Trying the handle, you ease your way into the apartment. The only light comes from the moonlight filtering through the windows.
Peter's sitting on the floor beside his bed. His knees are pulled against his chest, his face buried against his knees and fingers tangled into his hair. His shoulders are tense enough to look painful, and every few seconds, they jerk.
"Pete?"
He jerks at the sound of his name and his head lifts too quickly. Bloodshot eyes find yours immediately.
You freeze, trying to control your facial expressions before he see the depth of your concern. He's not even particularly dishevelled by Peter standards, but he looks awful, pain lines etched into his face in a way that makes him look way older than he is.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I'm here because you need me."
His eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches before he responds. "I'm honestly fine."
"You're sitting on the floor, in the dark, alone."
"I happen to like the floor."
The situation is too serious for the snort that leaves you, but you've woken up too many times to Peter handing upside down from your ceiling to believe that lie. "You prefer ceilings."
"I'm going for a change in scenery."
For a moment, you consider leaving him alone, but then his fingers curl into the fabric of his sweatpants and you remember the worry in Evie's voice.
Moving closer, you keep your voice gentle. "Stop being so stubborn."
His mouth twitches, it's small, but you take the victory.
"...It's quieter down here," he admits. You glance around the apartment as though you might suddenly be able to see what he's hearing.
Rain thuds against the window. The refrigerator hums from the kitchen. Pipes tick somewhere behind the walls. A car passes on the street below, tires hissing briefly over wet pavement.
If you can hear it, Peter must be hearing it ten times louder.
"Oh, Peter."
"It was smell at first, then sound, and then everything else." He cracks one eye open to look at you, fresh tears welling in his eyes. "I've been trying to supress it but it hurts."
You come to a seat next to him, not too close, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiate off of his body. "Then maybe you're not supposed to."
"Hmm?"
"Maybe you're not supposed to fight it, Pete." You hold out your hand, fighting the urge to pull back when he just stares at it. "These senses are a part of you. I think you have to learn to work with them."
"I- I can't," he sighs. "It'll be too much."
"I know," you swallow. "But I'm not asking you to do it alone."
Slowly, reluctantly, he reaches for your hand. The second your palms meet, his fingers close around yours. Harder than he probably realises. You don't comment on it, instead, you curl your fingers around his.
Peter's thumb drags over your knuckles.
"Your hand is cold," he grumbles.
"That's because you're so hot."
"Mhm."
A slightly more alert Peter would have turned that into a quip. The fact that he hasn't sends another wave of nausea through your stomach.
You squeeze his hand, "just focus everything on me."
Peter's rests his head on your shoulder as you begin to speak, rambling on about every single thing you can think of to give him something to focus on.
After a few minutes, Evie's voice cuts through. "His heart rate is returning to normal. However, I recommend that he remain with you for another twenty-five minutes."
You glance towards Peter's workstation. Then back towards Peter. For the first time since you walked through the door, some of the tension is gone from his face.
"Come on," you murmur. "Bed."
"Don't leave me," he mumbles.
"I'm not going to."
He doesn't argue then, letting you help him up and guide him onto the unmade bed. He crawls over the blankets, and you climb beside him.
It's a situation you haven't found yourself in before, and you find yourself lying stiffly on your back in the bed next to him.
"Can I...?" He asks quietly as he gestures vaguely.
You open your arms, and he moves into them without another word.
His head settles against your chest; his face tucked beneath your chin. You wrap one arm around his back and gently scratch your fingers through his hair with the other.
Beneath his ear, your heartbeat thumps steadily. You keep scratching lightly through his hair, over and over again, until his breathing begins to match yours.
"Peter's vitals have returned to normal," Evie announces softly sometime later.
Your eyes close as you smile faintly, relief flooding through you. "Good."
You half expect Peter to move off of you, but he doesn't. If anything, his arms tighten around you as though some part of him is afraid that the moment you know he's okay, you'll leave.
He doesn't know that you have no plans to and now doesn't seem like the right time to broach that subject. So, you don't. You just keep your fingers moving gently through his hair as his soft snores begin to fill the loft.
If you enjoyed, please consider leaving an ask, comment, reblog etc xx
summary: peter’s been acting weird since your conversation, and you want to know why.
wc: 1.2k
an: i just got back from seeing bnd and it was amazing!!!! def go watch it if you haven’t yet. alsooo pt. 2 was requested by @gh0stdyn
dividers: @toastray
ever since you told peter you knew his secret, things had been… easier.
the morning after your conversation, he slipped out early without waking you.
you didn’t see him in any of your shared classes that day, which was unusual for peter. sure, he would show up late or rush out early, but he never missed a full class.
you assumed that he wasn’t feeling well, pushing any other possibility to the back of your head.
your suspicions were somewhat confirmed when, the next day, you saw peter in class and he sat next to you as he usually did.
although you were relieved that he was okay, you were still worried. why wasn’t he here yesterday?
a few minutes passed until you eventually spoke up.
“are you okay?” you whispered.
“uh, yeah,” peter responded, keeping his attention glued to the class.
“why weren’t you here yesterday?” you insisted.
he then turned to you. “i had,” he lowered his voice. “spider-man stuff.”
“spider-man stuff?” you repeated quietly.
“yeah, there was this thing in brooklyn, i couldn’t make it back in time,” he explained.
you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling you. you had more questions, but you let it go. “okay,” you sighed.
after class ended, you spent the rest of your day thinking about what it was peter had been hiding. that is, until your overthinking was interrupted by a knock on your window.
you crept towards the closed window, slightly pushing the curtains open. your senses were flooded with relief to see peter, only for it to morph into panic when you got a good look at his face, which was littered with cuts and bruises. you rushed to open the window so he could crawl through.
peter stumbled through the window and sat at the edge of your bed. “hey,” he waved.
“peter? what happened to you? are you okay?” you questioned, examining his face.
“i’m fine, really, you should see the other guy,” he joked, trying to play it off.
you shook your head. “don’t do that, peter, don’t make a joke out of it. you’re hurt.”
“i just- i didn’t know where else to go. you’re the only one that knows…” he trailed off.
“your secret.” you finished for him.
“yeah,”
you sat in silence for a few beats until you broke it, patting peter’s knee. “okay, come on,”
“what?” he asked, clearly confused.
“i’m gonna patch you up. can’t have you walking around like this.” you elaborate, gesturing to his bloody face.
“o-oh! okay, thanks,”
you lead him down the hall towards the bathroom. “okay, sit down. i’ll be right back.” you instructed. peter did as you said and sat down on the closed toilet seat.
you soon returned with a comically large first aid kit and a washcloth. peter’s eyes widened as soon as he saw the huge box you were holding. “what?” you giggled. “gotta be prepared,”
there was a comfortable silence as you cleaned his face, with the occasional wince from peter and a hushed “sorry” from you.
ten minutes later, you finished helping peter and realized he was starting to drift off. you got up and tapped his leg in an effort to gently wake him. “done. are you sure you’re okay?”
peter fluttered his eyelids open, processing what you said. he gazed into your eyes and for a split second, you thought he was going to open up. but, he brushed it off once again. “yeah, i’m good. thanks again!” he rushed towards the window before you stopped him. “peter, wait.”
“yeah?” he asked.
“i feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“w-what? no! i just… i gotta go. i’ll see you monday!” he said, swinging out of your window.
you were left.. confused to say the least. as soon as you drifted off to sleep, though, you forgot all about it.
it became a routine. every night, peter would show up outside your window beat up, you’d patch up his face, and he would leave the way he’d entered. you’d eventually gotten used to it, staying up at ungodly hours of the night, waiting for him to knock at your window.
and he did. every. single. night.
you never complained about it, you were all he had. you were the only one that knew.
there was one thing though. peter would always act weird while you patched him up. there was no other way to put it. he’d get all quiet and just look at you. you thought maybe it was exhaustion from his fights, but it just didn’t seem right. you didn’t say anything, hoping he’d do it for you. and if you were being honest with yourself, you were hoping for something else too.
one night, the routine changed. it was late. or early, depending on how you looked at it. your phone screen read 3:28 am when you heard the familiar pattering on your window.
you stood up and wordlessly pushed it open, inviting peter in. he climbed in, mask already off. you took in his injuries, a bruise forming on his left cheekbone, tiny cuts on his forehead, and a split lip.
“you can-“ you started before peter interrupted.
“yeah, yeah, i know the drill.” he laughed breathily.
you sat him down in his usual spot, the closed toilet seat, and approached him with the first aid kit. you then got to work, dabbing the cuts on his forehead with antiseptic. he winced but didn’t pull away. the bathroom lights casted a warm shadow on his face. he was quiet tonight. well, he always was, but tonight was different. he was almost silent.
you focused on his wounds, trying (and failing) not to notice how close you were standing, how his tired brown eyes were boring into yours.
“there,” you said softly, pressing a bandage on a particularly large cut. “all done.”
he didn’t move.
“peter?”
he grabbed your wrist gently.
“i think i’m falling in love with you,” he whispered, barely audible.
the words hung in the air of the small bathroom. you felt your heart skip a beat, then race.
there were thousands of thoughts whirling around in your head, but you settled on, “you think?”
he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “no. i- i know i am. i know i love you.”
this time, when he looked into your eyes, you looked back into his own. you didn’t ignore it.
before you knew it, he was kissing you. it was soft, careful, and cautious of his split lip. his hand moved from your wrist to your fingers, lacing them together.
when you pulled back, his eyes were still closed.
“wow,” he breathed.
you laughed softly, pressing your forehead to his. “yeah. wow.”
he opened his eyes, and they were bright. he was smiling. not a tired smile like the ones he normally gave you after a fight, but a real, genuine smile.
“can i stay tonight?” he asked. “maybe.. not on the couch this time?”
“oh, you’re pushing it, parker,” you joked, playfully rolling your eyes.
“i’m injured,” he said, pointing to his face.
“you’ll live.”
he smirked and pulled you into another kiss before climbing into bed beside you.
hi can you write a peter parker one shot, uni au. we know he’s spiderman but we don’t want to pressure him into telling us, so we wait until he admits it
FIGURE YOU OUT
summary: you know peter’s spider-man, but you let him keep his secret until he’s ready to tell you.
wc: 814
an: hihi this is my first request so i’m kinda scared to post this one 🙈 also i’m so so excited to see bnd 🥹 feel free to leave requests and lmk what you think of this one! part 2
dividers: @toastray
peter parker is spider-man. you’ve known for months. well, you’ve suspected it for seven months, but you’ve known for two. you just haven’t told him yet.
you first grew suspicious when peter would practically run out of lectures, spider-man showing up on the news minutes later.
you knew when you saw spider-man through peter’s window. more specifically, when you saw peter take off the spider-man mask. you just hadn’t gotten to telling him you knew yet.
you didn’t mean to see it. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. it was just.. peter had been acting so weird lately and you knew something had to be up.
one night, you couldn’t sleep. your eyes drifted to the fire escape across the alley. peter’s fire escape. peter’s window. you saw him take off the mask and run his fingers through his hair, damp and disheveled with sweat. he just stood there in the red and blue suit, looking nothing like the hero the news made him out to be. he just looked like your classmate, your friend. he looked like peter.
you looked away and blinked quickly, as if that would undo what you had just seen.
you never told him.
not the next morning when he showed up to class with a split lip and black eye claiming he “fell.” not the week after that when you caught him napping through a whole lecture because he’d been up all night stopping a car chase in queens. not the time when you saw a bruise blooming across his ribs when you saw him reach for a book on the top shelf in the library.
you stayed quiet.
because what would you even say? hey peter, by the way, i know you’re spider-man. no big deal though, your secret’s safe with me! just thought i should let you know. you couldn’t. so you waited.
you let him keep his secret, believe he was pulling it off. you stopped asking about his injuries. you brought him coffee when he looked exhausted without saying anything. you sat next to him in every class, a constant, so that at least one part of his life felt easy.
and then, on one gloomy march night, you heard a knock on your window.
you opened the curtains to find peter, out of breath, mask in hand.
you stepped aside and let him climb in fully.
he stood in the center of your room, dripping rain on your white shag carpet. he opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“i know you know,” he finally said. you knew immediately what he was talking about. “i’ve seen the way you look at me. nothing shocks you anymore.”
your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest, but you kept your voice steady. “i was waiting for you to tell me.”
“why?” he looked confused.
“i didn’t want to pressure you into it,” you whispered.
he let out something between a laugh and a sob, “i don’t know how you waited so long.”
“me neither,” you chuckled.
“can i ask you something..?” peter questioned, sounding nervous all of a sudden.
your eyebrows furrowed, “yeah, of course peter.”
he paused for a bit, then finally asked, “how did you figure it out?”
you let out a breath, “i saw you. through your window. not in a creepy way or anything! i just.. saw you take the mask off,” you shrugged. “i didn’t want you to feel rushed to tell me.”
“thank you,” he said. “really.”
“of course,”
after a few seconds of awkward silence, you spoke up. “peter.”
“yeah?”
“your suit is dripping all over my rug.”
peter freezes. he looked at you. then down at the dark patch forming under his boots.
“i-i can clean it,” he stutters, wiping the rug with his suit.
“peter, you’re just spreading it,” you gently grabbed his wrist to get him to stop.
“peter. stop.”
he paused.
“take the suit off,”
his eyes went wide.
“w-what? i-“ he stuttered
“ew, no, not like that! your suit, it’s drenched,” you said , handing him an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. “take these and change, the bathroom’s down the hall to the right.” you instructed.
peter took the clothes. “oh-okay, thanks,”
he emerged from the bathroom two minutes later, wearing the dry clothes you gave him. “can i stay here tonight? i mean, it’s late and ned would kill me if i woke him up.”
you smiled softly before tossing him a blanket, “get some sleep. you’ve got a city to save.”
he caught it, a tired smile on his face. “yeah. i guess i do.”
you watched him settle in, the city’s hero finally being able to rest. you flicked the light off.
⭐︎ warnings: pre-brand new day canon compliant, fluff, huge idiots in love, hurt/comfort, typical depictions of violence (fighting, blood, guns, injury), near death experience, angst, light banter, suggestive themes, abandonment issues, touch-starvation
⭐︎ word count: 9.6k
⭐︎ a/n: there are no major spoilers for bnd in this fic !! i've only mentioned/alluded to things that were already shown in the trailers, so you do not need to watch the movie to understand.
synopsis:
You have been Spiderman’s communicator—his eyes for crime and the voice on the other end of a staticky little radio that took him less than an hour to build. He doesn’t know your name, or what you look like. And you don’t know a single thing about him. Peter tells himself it’s better this way, that keeping you at arm’s length is the only way he can keep you safe. But the longer he speaks to you, that promise slowly begins to fray.
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“Alright, Spiderman. There’s a bank robbery going on at 30th Avenue. Suspect is—uh, hello? Is this thing on?”
Peter laughs, already swinging through the tall buildings of New York City, zipping and flying through them faster than you can even say ‘Spiderman.’ While one arm is busy slinging out webs from building to building, his other arm holds onto a thick communications radio that looks like an amateur concoction of a walkie-talkie accompanied with old thick wires he found in a junkyard.
“Yep, I hear you loud and clear,” Peter says from his end. “I’m already a few blocks away. What does the suspect look like—”
“Spiderman? Hellooo?” Your voice cuts him off in a burst of static that makes his ears ring. “Ugh—is this radio even working? Are you still there?”
He needs to make a mental note to figure out a way for your voice to come through clearer—and preferably not through a brick of what feels like a tenth-century sad excuse for a cellphone that he has to clutch every time he wants to talk to you.
“I’m here!” Peter shouts through the mic, swinging around a corner.
“Ah! There you are!” you say, sounding like you’re smiling, if only Peter could picture what you looked like. “Missed your voice for a second.”
Peter’s face flushes under his mask.
“Detecting a sudden increase in body heat—specifically around the facial region—and a spike in heart rate despite no intense physical activity being performed—”
“Shut up, Evie,” Peter mumbles, hoping you didn’t hear him from the other end of the line.
He hadn’t gotten around to fixing the background noise integration yet, so the shitty microphone attached to the radio picks up almost everything. He hears you laugh on the other end, and he has to force down the rapid thumping of his heart before Evie calls him out on it again.
“Are you blushing, Spiderman?”
“What—no!” Peter immediately interjects, landing on top of a tall building on 30th Avenue. His eyes scan the windows of the bank directly across the street. “Just tell me what the suspect looks like, alright?”
You chuckle again. “Okay, the suspect is tall, wearing dark clothing, and probably handsome—if it weren’t for the ski mask covering his face.”
Peter rolls his eyes underneath his goggles.
“Now’s not the time to play around,” he says, already swinging through the entrance as innocent bystanders and employees run out in a panic.
He swings above the crowd in a perfectly prone position mid-air until he lands on his feet in the center of the bank. He doesn’t need your comms in here—he can handle whatever gets thrown at him at this point. His ears tingle with a warning that tells him the enemy is to his left. He turns his head to that direction, and…
“Spiderman!” A tall man in dark clothing and a ski mask holds up a rifle, pointing it directly at Peter. “You’re dead, kid!”
“Oh, jeez,” Peter says, slowly raising his hands in surrender.
“Oh, and I forgot to mention,” your voice statics through. “He’s heavily armed.”
“Yeah, good comms,” Peter scoffs sarcastically.
“Who the hell are you talking to?” the man shouts, pointing at the radio in Peter's hand. “Is that a bomb? Drop it!”
Peter furrows his brows, glancing at the object in his hand. A bomb? Seriously? The radio really looks that bad?
The man’s grip on the gun tightens, holding it in a way that lets Peter know he has clearly never held a gun before in his life. The panic among the people remaining in the building surges at the sight of the weapon, everyone shoving past each other toward the entrance.
“Come on, man. Don’t shoot—there are innocent people in here!” he tries to interject.
“Innocent dead people soon, if you don’t put that weapon away!” the man barks back.
“The police are on their way,” you explain, serious this time, through the radio. “Take care of that gun now, or he’ll start shooting like a madman once he sees the sirens. You have less than two minutes.”
“Okay,” Peter says. “Time me.”
“Starting now?”
“Starting now,” he confirms before switching off the radio’s microphone input.
The man takes the loud clicking sound as a threat, his finger hovering over the trigger with every intention to shoot—but Peter moves faster.
Extending his left hand, a thick layer of web covers the muzzle, trapping any potential bullet in the barrel. The poor man doesn’t even have time to react before Peter webs the gun, yanked it out of his hands, and tosses it aside. Just as the man turns to make a run for it, Peter pins his ankles together with a thick strip of webbing, sending him face first onto the floor before securing his wrists behind his back with another band of webs.
From where he still stands in the center of the room, Peter unclicks the microphone. “You got it, Static?”
He can practically feel you rolling your eyes at the stupid nickname. “That was fifteen seconds. Good job,” you applaud. “And are you seriously still sticking with Static? I hate that nickname.”
Peter chuckles, scanning the area for any signs of injuries, but finds none. The police finally arrive, pulling up with sirens blaring as they assess the crowd and begin scouting the area with weapons drawn. Seeing the suspect already bound by webs on the floor, they immediately move in with handcuffs.
Knowing the police will take it from here, Peter zips out of the building as if the entire fight—if you would even call it that—was just a quick pit stop.
“Well, that’s just what I’m gonna have to keep calling you, because your voice always comes through staticky,” he says, the wind picking up through the microphone and making it harder for you to hear him. “Unless… you wanna give me your actual name. Then maybe I can call you that instead.”
You pause at the other end of the radio, the silence between you filled only by the harsh wind and the snap of spiderwebs on his end.
As Peter swings his way back to his apartment, his heart pounds wildly in his chest with anticipation.
This isn’t the first time he’s teased you to get you to give up your name, and you’ve asked for his name more times than he can count on his fingers.
“Very funny,” you muse from the other end, your voice drawing out with a teasing tilt. “I could say the same thing to you.”
Peter smiles, landing on his apartment rooftop with a huff. “I don’t know—I think I like the way Spiderman rolls off your tongue.”
For the very first time since you two found each other through a stroke of pure luck—when Peter spent a night building a radio to hijack police comms and accidentally connected to you, a woman doing the exact same thing—you find yourself completely at a loss for words.
He doesn’t even know where the sudden boost of confidence came from to blurt out a flirtatious comment like that. Maybe it’s the suit, or maybe it’s that flutter of excitement he gets every single time he talks to you.
But that confidence slowly teeters away the longer you stay quiet. He grimaces, feeling like he overshot his mark big time.
Finally, he hears a slow draw of breath from the other end.
“That’s a shame,” you tease. “I would’ve loved to hear the sound of my name in your voice.”
Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his body tensing as your words travel down his spine and straight to his heart. It was the way you said it—that sultry little rasp that even the static couldn’t mask. An awkward silence takes over the both of you, and for once, Peter is grateful for how poorly he configured this radio, since he can use it as an excuse for a faulty mic.
“Dramatic increase in heart rate detected. Body heat has increased an additional two degrees, and your suit—specifically around the groin region—appears to be tighter. I am also detecting a heightened state of arousal—”
“Evie!” Peter barks suddenly. He hears your laugh come through the other end, and the sound definitely doesn’t help his situation at all.
“Got you to blush twice today.” You taunt. “I think that’s a record, Spidey.”
“I wasn’t blushing,” Peter lies. “Anyway—enough of that. Are you seeing any other criminal activity in the area?”
You hum, and he hears a faint clicking noise on your end. “Nothing,” you say. “But what’s the rush? You’re given the opportunity to relax. You should take it, considering how hard you’ve been pushing yourself.”
Peter hops onto the ledge of his building and starts idly pacing back and forth, smiling under his mask as he holds the radio close to his ear. “Aw, you don’t have to worry about me. I have Evie for that.”
You blow a raspberry, and Peter’s smile widens.
“Yeah—well, Evie is an artificial intelligence. She can only care so much. Plus, she can’t make as many good jokes as I can.”
Peter’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he kicks a tiny stray pebble off the ledge, watching it fall ten stories to the ground. “Are you getting jealous of my assistant now?”
A garbled noise leaves your lips, and he chuckles as you stammer over your own words.
“God—you’re so full of yourself, aren't you?” you huff. “I’m your partner—so it’s only natural for me to look out for you.”
“We’re partners?”
“Haven’t we been this entire time?”
Peter pauses, glancing up at the sky, where the orange sun is starting to set behind several towers of buildings.
Partners. He hasn’t had anyone he could call a partner since everything happened—since he made the whole world forget who he was. He hasn’t had a real, caring partner since… them. Ned and MJ.
And now, after all that time spent in solitude, he’s finally found someone to call his partner again. Someone he’s never even seen, whose name he doesn’t even know. All he knows about you is that you’re smart—smart enough to build a radio and link up to his frequency—and that you live in New York. He could’ve passed you on his way to buy groceries, or seen you on the subway. Hell, you might even live in his building. Maybe you’re even that girl he accidentally swapped laundry with the other night.
“Spiderman? You still there?” you ask, snapping him out of his daze.
Despite your usual spunky attitude, in that moment, you sound so… small. Like you don’t want to hang up, even if there aren’t any crimes to report.
“I’m here,” he breathes, his voice coming out softer than he expected. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You smile at that. He can hear it. “Okay. Good.”
The microphone picks up shuffling noises on your end—judging by the sound, he pictures you rolling over in bed and getting comfortable.
“How about we play a game?” you ask before the radio falls into silence again.
Peter raises a brow under his mask. “A game?”
“Yeah—every time you complete a successful mission, we trade a fun fact about each other.”
He hums, taking a seat on the ledge and letting his feet dangle over the edge. “Okay, sure. And since I just finished one—does that mean the game starts now?”
You chuckle softly at his enthusiasm to play along. “Sure. Want to go first?”
Peter cranes his neck back to look at the sky. Although neither of you has ever brought it up, he has a feeling you’re both on the exact same page when it comes to secrecy. Neither of you wants to give away too much and blow your identity, but you share just enough to keep things interesting.
And by letting him go first, it feels like you’re giving him the chance to set the tone.
“Hm. Let me think.” He rubs his chin through his mask. “Okay—I’m ready. My favorite coffee is a hot Americano.”
You snort. “The first fun fact you want to share is your coffee order?”
“Hey—coffee can be fun!” Peter interjects. “Now tell me yours.”
A little laugh escapes you, and he can hear you shaking your head. “Fine. I get an extra-hot almond milk latte, with one pump of sugar-free vanilla, one pump of regular hazelnut, and two scoops of vanilla bean powder.”
The white lenses of Peter’s goggles widen, and he lets out a brief, disbelieving laugh. “Oh—so you’re pulling my leg because I started us off with a lame fun fact? Is that it?”
“What?” You giggle along. “I’m not! That’s my actual order—especially on chilly days. You should try it sometime.”
Peter imagines it: a girl—a pretty one, judging by your voice and personality—ordering that ridiculous concoction at a coffee shop while the barista rolls their eyes at how long it takes to recite. For some reason, the visual warms his chest.
“Sure. And I’d tell you to try a hot Americano—but based on the order you just gave me, I don’t think you’d like it very much,” he jokes.
You chuckle. “No, probably not.”
Silence fills the space again, and Peter kicks his legs over the edge of the ledge, trying to think of something to say before he loses you.
He clears his throat. “So, uh—”
“Can I ask you something?”
You both talk over each other, and his face warms with embarrassment. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Okay,” you continue. You let out a shaky breath, and he instinctively braces himself for whatever you’re about to ask. “I’ve noticed that your receiver is always on. Do you forget to turn it off?”
Peter pauses, confused by the question. “No. It’s on twenty-four seven—just in case something happens, you know?”
You hum softly. “I get that. But I guess what I’m trying to ask is… don’t you have other things in your life to worry about, instead of fighting crime behind a mask?”
Peter stays quiet for a moment.
In truth, there’s a bigger reason he keeps the radio on besides his duties as Spiderman. He could easily listen in on reported crimes just fine without your help, but he keeps it on twenty-four seven in the hopes of hearing your voice ring through—just in case you might… need him.
There have been several nights since meeting you where he tosses and turns in bed, reaching for the radio to see if your receiver is on. It usually isn’t during consistent parts of the day—meaning you’re either at work or in class. It’s usually off at night, but sometimes around three in the morning, he’ll see your receiver light up and you’ll call in, your voice completely wide awake, proving you can be a real night owl.
Ever since meeting you, it feels like he finally has a friend to talk to. The worst part of it all is that he doesn’t even know your name. And he can never meet you, no matter how badly he wants to.
Peter finally found someone he cares about—and he isn’t going to risk losing you.
“I… I guess I do,” Peter says, trying his best to tread carefully. “I always keep an earpiece in, just in case something happens. You can never be too careful.”
You hum again, and Peter knows that answer wasn’t enough to buy it.
“And I guess I also keep it on… just in case you ever want to talk.”
Shit, Peter curses to himself. If his half-assed answer just now wasn’t enough to make you switch off the line, this one definitely takes the cake. You’re quiet on the other end, and each passing second makes him want to do you both a favor and turn it off himself.
“In that case,” you speak softly, “I’ll keep my receiver on in case you want to talk to me.”
His heart stutters in his chest, feeling as though all the air has been sucked straight out of his lungs.
Peter hasn’t felt this way since high school. He’s grinning ear to ear—a smile so wide it hurts the muscles in his cheeks. He lets out a chuckle, a raspy, disbelieving sound at the realization that there’s a chance you might feel the exact same way about him.
“Don’t say that,” he says before he can stop himself, trying to inject some humor to cover up his flustered state. “You’re gonna get annoyed with me.”
“Who’s to say I’m not already?” you joke back.
And for the first time in a long time, Peter feels like the happiest man on Earth.
He looks up at the sky, watching birds fly across the orange hues as he kicks his feet like a high schooler who just scored a date with the prettiest girl in class. His heart is racing so fast in his chest and he feels so giddy that he’s actually surprised Evie hasn’t called him out on it yet.
He wants to make this last—to say something, anything, to keep this moment from ending.
Suddenly, a series of sharp beeps emits from your end of the radio. It's a sound he knows all too well, a reminder that duty calls before anything else.
“Oh, God,” you mutter quietly.
Every hair on Peter’s arms stands on end. He leaps to his feet, ready to launch himself toward whatever is happening. “What is it, Static?”
“There’s an alarm triggered at Grand Central Terminal,” you explain. “NYPD comms just flagged it—there are a bunch of hostages. It looks bad, Spiderman. Multiple armed men have barricaded the main concourse.”
Peter wastes no time, shooting a thick web line toward the nearest building and flinging himself into the sky. “How many hostages are we talking?”
“At least fifty. Commuters, staff—they were trapped during rush hour,” you answer, the clack of your keyboard clattering over the staticky connection. “I’m tapping into the security feed right now. They’re holding guns, and… it looks like there’s a heavy grade explosive right in the center, attached to the information booth.”
The wind roars through Peter’s mic as he accelerates through the air. “How much time is on the clock?”
“I’m trying to zoom in—eight minutes,” you say. “They’ve blocked all the major exits with deadbolts and wired the perimeter. It looks pretty half-assed, Spidey. If SWAT breaches the doors, or if even a piece of rubble hits that rig, the whole thing will blow.”
“Alright, no breaches,” Peter takes a mental note, his mind racing through entry points as the massive arched roof of Grand Central comes into view. “You’re my eyes in there, Static. Find me an entry point that skips the doors.”
“The skylight above the west balcony has an old grate,” you reply instantly. “It leads directly into the ventilations—high enough to keep you out of sight, but close enough to drop in.”
“Got it,” Peter replies, landing silently on the glass roof. He peers through the skylight, his eyes adjusting to the interior where dozens of terrified people are huddling on the floor, held at gunpoint by masked men with automatic rifles.
Right in the center, duct-taped to the information booth and blinking with a harsh red timer, sits the bomb.
“Okay, I’m in position,” Peter breathes through the radio. “Time me?”
He hears a soft click on your end, signaling that your timer is already running.
“Be careful, Spiderman.”
He tucks the radio against his thigh, securing it with a thick band of web.
Peter moves exactly in the direction you tell him to—he wedges his body into the dusty vents, moving with the practiced speed of an arachnid that takes him from point A to point B in the blink of an eye. He slowly lifts the grate, the poor thing held up by only a flimsy screw, and sets it down softly beside him to avoid any loud noises.
He lands gently right in the center of the terminal—but his plans for discretion don’t last when a hostage looks up and yells, “We’re saved, everyone! It’s Spiderman!”
Immediately, all the armed threats spin around, several barrels abandoning the hostages to point straight at the man in the red-and-blue suit.
“Oh,” Peter smiles. “Making my job a lot easier. Thanks.”
Before giving them the chance to shoot, Peter fires off thick strings of web into every single barrel, clogging up the firearms. With every weapon bound, he tangles the web lines together into one big knot and yanks them all out of their hands.
The guns crash into each other in a tangled mass of spiderwebs and steel. With the firearms rendered completely useless, he tosses the mess aside to focus on the men—who are now charging at him with combat knives and sidearms.
Peter quickly makes short work of the pistols, disarming the men with his webs before a stray bullet can even graze the bomb. One by one, he takes them down, firing webs with every intention of keeping them bound and completely immovable.
When Peter gets down to the last guy, slinging a thick web to pin him flat against the wall, your voice rings out from where the radio sits tucked against his thigh.
“SWAT is moving in—mind the doors and tripwires!”
“Shit,” Peter curses, whipping his head toward the exits—but it’s already too late.
The SWAT team breaches fast, shouting and gesturing for the hostages to run. Panic surges through the crowd, and every frantic step from the civilians echoes like thunder in Peter’s ears. One misstep, even one piece of falling debris, could set this entire place off. Peter snaps his head back to the bomb. Four minutes remain on the digital clock, but suddenly the numbers freeze—and a sharp high pitched frequency fills the room.
It’s quiet to everyone else, but to Peter's heightened senses, it might as well be an air siren.
“Wait!” Peter shouts, turning to vault himself away before the bomb sets off.
But it’s too late.
“Spiderman! Get out of there!” you cry out through the radio—right before a brilliant flash of red and white blinds the entire building.
Pressure and heat slam right into Peter’s chest, throwing him backward through the air and showering him in flying stone like a ragdoll. Glass shatters overhead, raining down thousands of sparkling fragments as the information booth detonates into a massive cloud of fire and smoke.
Peter crashes hard against the far wall, the impact knocking every last drop of air from his lungs. He coughs up blood, staining the inside of his mask, before sliding down a broken slab of marble. He wheezes violently as dense gray smoke fills the room. His ears ring loudly, drowning out the shouting SWAT officers, the screaming crowd, and the creaking support beams above.
Evie’s voice sings in his ear like a taunt.
“Detecting bone fractures near the lower hip. Internal bleeding. Labored breathing—”
Then, your voice comes cutting through the static.
“Spiderman! Answer me!” Your voice cuts in and out, and despite being crushed under rubble with smoke filling his lungs, he reaches for the radio at his thigh.
He lifts it with a trembling hand, and his heart stops. It’s broken, snapped open with electricity sparking near the wires.
“Please—are you there? Spiderman! Check in!”
“Time, Static,” he manages to croak out.
Even through the static, the sheer panic in your voice is unmistakable. “The ambulances are on their way. Just hold on for a little longer—”
“What’s the time, Static?” he repeats with a wet cough.
You suck in a sharp breath. “Four minutes and twenty-three seconds. Now save your breath and stop talking!”
“Peter,” he croaks, coughing up more blood.
“W-what?” you stammer through tears. The sound makes his chest hurt more than the slab of concrete resting heavy on his ribs. “You’re breaking out.”
“Our little game—remember? Every successful mission, we exchange a fun fact,” he wheezes, fighting for air. “My name is Peter Parker.”
A broken, sobbing gasp escapes you. He glances down at the radio, watching the little light that indicates his microphone is working flicker in and out.
“Static? Are you still there?”
“I can’t hear you, Spiderman.”
The blue glow of your television screen is the only source of light in your dim apartment. Outside your window, New York City keeps moving, but inside, time feels like it has been frozen for seven agonizing days.
On the screen, a news anchor stands outside Queens Hospital Center, her face grave under the studio-lit broadcast.
“…we return to our top story tonight regarding Spiderman,” the reporter’s voice echoes through your quiet room. “It has been one week since the explosive incident at Grand Central Terminal that left the vigilante in critical condition. Authorities and medical staff at Queens Hospital Center have kept tight-lipped about his recovery.”
You pull your knees tighter into your chest, your fingers trembling as they wrap around a lukewarm mug of tea you haven’t touched.
“In a shocking turn of events earlier this morning, hospital administrators confirmed that Spiderman is no longer in their care,” the reporter continues. “According to sources, when attending nurses entered his private room to adjust his IVs and monitor his severe injuries, they found the hospital bed empty. There is no security footage explaining how or when the injured hero managed to slip past guards, leaving NYPD officials baffled—and deeply concerned given the extent of his internal trauma.”
Your eyes widen, and you press a hand over your mouth as a shaky exhale spills past your lips.
He woke up.
He survived.
You keep watching, waiting to see if the reporter will expose his identity. A part of you is already annoyed that these attention-hungry journalists would stoop so low now that he’s been admitted to a hospital. But another part of you desperately wants to know—because you felt like that might’ve been what he was trying to tell you over the radio right before the line cut out.
A heavy breath escapes you when the reporter doesn’t mention a name, and the broadcast switches to a story about local stray animals. You’re not even sure if the sigh you let out is one of relief or frustration.
You glance over at the radio resting on the couch beside you.
Your receiver light blinks green—it has been on this entire time.
For the past seven days, you’ve been sleeping with the radio clutched in your hands in hopes that you’ll hear his voice one more time. Even as you walk through the hallways of your university, moving from lecture to lecture, you keep an earpiece tucked in your ear so you won’t miss him if he calls.
A few more days pass, and you’re sitting at your desk with heavy eyes. A lamp at the corner of your desk emits a warm glow over the pages of your notebook. You feel like you’ve been awake for days, running on far too little sleep and not nearly enough caffeine to keep you going.
Your head rests heavily in your palm. A quick glance at the clock tells you it’s 3:41 in the morning.
With a tired sigh, you start to push your chair back—but the sudden sound of familiar static stops you in your tracks.
A sound that is usually so grating to your ears suddenly sounds like heaven.
You quickly scramble back to your desk, your hand swiping up the radio and lifting it to your ear.
“Hello?” you say, your heart racing. “Hello? Is someone there?”
The static cuts out for a second, and you pull the radio back to check the lights. Both indicator lights are glowing green, showing that you—and whoever is on the other line—are connected. The static crackles through again, and you press the receiver tight against your ear, holding your breath as you wait for them to speak first.
“—atic?”
That voice—so familiar, so gentle—rings out. You feel your heart leap straight into your throat. You’ve been waiting for days to hear him again, but you aren't prepared for what to say now that he's actually here.
“Sta—t—ic,” Peter’s voice cuts in and out before suddenly coming through crystal clear—clearer than the very first time you ever connected with him. “This is Spiderman. Are you there?”
Your heart swells with a profound wave of relief. Tears prick at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks before you can even stop them.
“Oh my God,” you breathe, your hand trembling as you press the radio against your forehead. “You’re okay. You’re here. Thank God. I—I thought I lost you. I was keeping up with the news, and when they said you fled the hospital—I hoped you were okay. I’ve been waiting for your call all week. I—”
“Hey, hey,” Peter coos softly on the other end. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve been here the whole time. I’m not going anywhere.”
You hear him rustling around on the other line, the soft friction of sheets sounding like he’s lying in bed. The thought of him resting comfortably in his own room rather than trapped in a sterile hospital bed makes your heart melt.
“Where have you been?” you ask, your voice cracking as you wipe a stray tear from your cheek. “Why didn’t you call sooner?”
“I know, I know… I’m sorry,” Peter says softly, his breath catching in a faint, painful wince that he tries to cover up with a dry laugh. “My suit was pretty much trashed, and the radio got crushed in the blast. It took everything in me just to crawl over to my workbench, and a few more days to rebuild the transmitter from scratch.”
A shaky breath leaves his lips. “With the radio broken, I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to find you again. I spent all this time rebuilding it—I even fixed the signal integration so both our voices would come through clearer.”
You let out a wet, teary laugh. “So that’s why you sound like that.”
You can picture him grinning on the other end. “A lot better, huh?”
That familiar, teasing tilt in his voice sends a wave of butterflies straight to your stomach. A soft laugh escapes you, and he chuckles in return. Then, as if savoring the sound of your joy, he breathes out softly.
“I missed hearing your voice.”
Your feet carry you over to the comfort of your mattress, and before you even realize it, you’re collapsing onto your bed, kicking your feet like a giddy, hopeless romantic.
“I missed hearing you, too. You’d better not let that happen again. If I can barely handle losing you for a week, I definitely can’t bear losing you forever,” you say, trying to pass it off as a joke, but the tremble in your voice betrays you.
Peter’s grin widens where he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ll make sure to be extra careful from here on out, just so you don’t lose me.”
You smile into your pillow. “Good.”
A comfortable silence settles between you two—not the awkward kind from when you first met, but a warm one, wrapping around you both like a blanket despite the distance. You set the radio down on the empty space beside your pillow, and he does the same. With the microphone improvements, you can hear his steady breathing on your end, and he can hear yours.
“Were you able to hear anything I said... the last time we spoke?” Peter asks softly.
You shake your head, the friction against your pillow rustling over the mic. “You were cutting out too much.”
He pauses, the soft sound of sheets shifting as he pulls his blanket up over his shoulders.
“It was about our game—the fun facts one,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s walking on eggshells.
You couldn’t catch much before the line broke down completely. Pet... That was all you had managed to hear. But a deep feeling in your gut tells you that whatever he said was a precious piece of himself—a piece he wanted you to have in case he didn’t make it.
You hold your breath, waiting to see if he’ll offer it up again.
“And since I completed a successful mission,” he continues, swallowing hard. “I thought I’d continue with that trade.”
You brace yourself, your heart clawing in your chest as you wait for the confession—for him to finally drop his guard and lay his identity on the line, just like you plan to do with yours.
Peter draws a slow, quiet breath.
“Do you… have a boyfriend?”
You blink.
The silence stretches for a long second, the sudden change in direction catching you so off guard that your mind does a hard reset. Of all the things you expected him to say—a big secret, a superhero revelation, a tender confession about his life—that was not on your bingo card.
“What?” you squeeze out, your voice squeaking slightly.
Over the line, Peter clears his throat awkwardly, a sudden rustle of sheets betraying how fast he just sat up to bury his face in his hands.
“O-or girlfriend! Sorry—I shouldn’t have assumed! I mean, you don’t have to answer! It’s just—it’s a fun fact! A personal fact! That’s how the game works, right? You tell me something, I tell you something… or—”
A helpless, snickering laugh bubbles up from your chest, breaking off his ramble.
“Spiderman,” you giggle, burying your blushing face deeper into your mattress.
“Yeah?” he yelps, sounding like a man standing on trial.
“No,” you answer, a wide grin spreading across your face. “No boyfriend. No girlfriend.”
A long, almost dramatic exhale breezes through the speaker, followed by the soft thud of Peter flopping back down onto his mattress.
“Oh, thank God,” he mutters, trying to keep it quiet enough so the microphone doesn’t catch it—but you hear it anyway. “I mean… cool. That’s cool.”
You snort. “Okay. You know how the game goes. Now it’s my turn to ask.”
“Do I have a girlfriend?” he prompts.
You shrug, taking the opportunity to tease him. “Or boyfriend. I don’t judge.”
A playful scoff leaves his lips, and you can already imagine him rolling his eyes. He’s quiet for a few seconds, making you think he’s just too flustered to answer. But when his voice comes through shaky, almost hesitant, you feel an unfamiliar tug at your heart.
“I—um… I used to have this girl,” he murmurs. “We were dating for a while—but it didn’t work out.”
The tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. He speaks like a man who’s been broken again and again, carrying a profound heartache you couldn’t even begin to measure. A small, selfish twinge of jealousy tugs at you, but you know it’s not your place.
“What happened?” The words spill out before you can stop them.
Peter sucks in a sharp breath, and you wince with regret for pushing too far.
“Well, that’s something you’re gonna have to ask the next time I complete a successful mission,” he says, trying to ease the tension with a playful tone, and you’re more than happy to fall right back into it.
You roll onto your back, looking up at your bedroom ceiling. Across the city, Peter does the exact same thing.
“Deal. But let’s not jump back into all that too soon, okay? Whatever crime happens out there, let the police handle it,” you say, pulling your blanket up to your chin. “I just want to keep you all to myself tonight.”
You want to slap yourself for how ridiculous you sound. He just opened up about a painful past relationship, and you immediately turn around and sound like a clingy girlfriend.
But Peter laughs—a full, rich sound that doesn't sound at all like he just survived a traumatic experience a week ago. It’s a laugh that never fails to make you smile.
“Usually, I’d oppose the idea of ignoring crime,” he says softly. “But for you? I’ll stay. For as long as you want me to.”
You smile, nuzzling your nose into the soft fabric of your blanket. “Good. Goodnight, Spiderman.”
“Goodnight, Static.”
And for the remainder of the night, neither of you switches the radio off, letting the quiet and comforting sound of each other’s breathing lull you to sleep.
It’s a brand new day, and Peter is running around New York getting his errands done. Laundry run, check. Grocery run, check. The last thing on his list is to pick up some flowers for Aunt May.
Right next to the small bodega where he always buys his flowers sits a busy coffee shop.
The front window is large enough to see everything and everyone inside—which is exactly why he has to do a double take at the person standing near the cashier.
He stops dead in his tracks, causing a hurried pedestrian to bump into his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Peter mumbles, but the man just shoots him a dirty look and keeps walking.
Standing inside the coffee shop is a face that’s all too familiar—someone he hasn’t seen in a long, long time.
Ned.
Peter’s feet are moving before he even realizes it. He hovers near the entrance, stepping aside for a few exiting customers before pushing the door open. Slipping into an empty seat near the front, he watches Ned chat with the barista. But Ned isn’t alone.
He’s standing next to a girl—a pretty girl, at that. And one he doesn’t recognize.
Peter smiles to himself, a swell of pride washing over him seeing his best friend doing well, and scoring a pretty girlfriend to date.
“And for the missus?” The barista holds up a paper cup, pen hovering over the cardboard as she waits.
You glance up at the menu board, though you don’t really need to. You know your order like the back of your hand.
“Can I get an extra-hot almond milk latte with one pump of sugar-free vanilla—”
Peter’s heart stops.
“—one pump of regular hazelnut…”
That voice. That familiar, sing-song cadence he hears every night through a staticky radio. The last voice he listened to when he nearly died just a few weeks ago.
“And two scoops of vanilla bean powder,” Peter mumbles to himself like a mantra.
“…and two scoops of vanilla bean powder?” you finish, flashing the barista a harmless, innocent smile.
The barista gives you a disbelieving look, and you chuckle awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The movement gives Peter a clear view of a small earpiece nestled right inside. Everything playing out before his eyes matches the picture he’d built in his head—except for you. You being this stunning was far beyond anything he could have imagined.
The barista finally finishes jotting your order down, and you and Ned turn to search for an open table. Peter holds his breath, watching your easy smile and the natural way you interact with his once best friend.
The pang in his chest is a feeling he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. Two people he cares about more than anything... so close, yet entirely out of reach.
His heightened spider-sense gives him the ability to hear almost anything, even from across the room. Yet right now, the ringing in his ears and the heavy thumping of his heart drown out every other sound. You and Ned approach an empty table with only a single chair, but you glance around and spot the unused chair across from Peter.
“Hey,” you smile politely—a soft, courteous tone reserved strictly for strangers, not your partner in crime. “Are you using this chair?”
This is it.
Finally, for the first time, he can introduce himself to you properly. He could bring both you and Ned back into his life with a single, simple greeting.
Hi, I’m Peter. Peter Parker. The guy you’ve been talking to over a flimsy radio these past few months.
Peter looks up at you, completely frozen where he sits. Your smile fades into a faint frown when he hesitates. Then, your eyes flicker briefly to the earpiece resting in his ear—identical to yours, worn for the exact same reason.
Just in case either of you calls in.
Before he loses you, Peter clears his throat. His hand subtly moves up to scratch his ear, hiding the earpiece with his knuckles before slipping it into his palm. When he finally speaks, he deliberately drops his voice a few pitches deeper—adding a slight rasp for good measure.
“No, go ahead.”
That polite smile returns, and you pull the chair away from his table. “Cool, thanks.”
You slide the chair up to the table you’re sharing with Ned, and just like that—unaware that you’ve completely flipped his world upside down and inside out—you fall right back into conversation with him.
The barista calls out your order with your name, and the sound of it is like music to his ears.
He repeats it quietly under his breath. It sounds natural, like a name that was always meant to be spoken in his voice.
Peter squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t reveal his identity to you. Telling you his real name that night—when he was trapped under rubble and bleeding out—was just a lapse in judgment brought on by desperation. But now that he’s here, looking at you and his best friend in broad daylight, he knows he can’t risk letting you into his world.
Anyone who knows Peter Parker is Spiderman is a person bound to be lost. And Peter can’t afford to lose you.
Yet as he watches you sit across from him, tossing your head back with a laugh that is painfully familiar, it feels like he’s already lost you anyway.
“So, tell me more about this party.”
“Well, it’s a housewarming party,” you explain, tucking your hands into your pockets as you walk through the night streets of Queens. “Two of my friends moved into an apartment recently—so we’re celebrating tonight.”
Peter hums, leaning back in his chair and staring mindlessly at his screens. He folds a piece of paper, fiddling with it as his mind wanders to who those friends could be. Ned? And if so, he wonders who else he could be moving in with—if not him.
“That’s… cool,” he finally answers in an indifferent tone.
You round the corner, the sounds of the bustling city nightlife picking up on your microphone. “Yeah. And since I’ll be busy socializing, I won’t have my receiver on all night. But I’ll try my best to check in with you.”
Peter huffs a laugh through his nose. “I’m a big boy. You don’t need to check up on me.” He glances at the window. “I’m more worried about you, though.”
You step aside for a pedestrian who’s rushing past. “What for?”
Peter pushes himself out of his chair with a grunt, stepping up to the small window and looking down at the city street below. “Well, you’re a woman walking all by yourself at night. I hope your friends at least know where you’re at.”
You chuckle, pulling open the door of the small corner grocery store and being welcomed by a soft bell jingle.
“Don’t worry your head, Spiderman. If I constantly worry about my well-being just because I’m a woman, then I’ll never get anything done in this city.”
You’re greeted by a frail, older lady behind the counter, and you offer her a polite smile as you walk past. Making your way to the coolers in the back, you weigh your options between beer and seltzers.
“Do you think two cases of Budweiser is enough?” You ask Peter.
The bell chimes again, and a large man with a dark hoodie pulled over his face enters. You glance at him, and he holds your stare. You look back down.
Peter’s cackle draws you back in. “And you’re drinking?”
You can’t help but grin at the worry in his voice. Grabbing two cases—one in each hand—and shutting the refrigerator door, you head to the front counter. “Yes, because I’m an adult and should be enjoying myself. And you should be, too, Spiderman. It’s Friday night.”
A bitter smile dances on his lips. He should be enjoying himself—a night out with you, instead of being cooped up in his apartment, worrying about you getting wasted at a house party surrounded by men your age with grimy hands and bad intentions.
You set the cases on the counter, and the lady begins to ring you up. The man in the dark hoodie falls in line right behind you, holding just a pack of gum in his hand.
“Okay, I gotta head out. I’ll check in with you later tonight—”
The lady at the front counter has her attention locked on the man behind you, and she sharply gasps, ducking down immediately. Your head whips around, and you find yourself face to face with the black metal of a handgun.
“You know Spiderman?” the man before you asks in a deep gravelly voice, finger poised right above the trigger.
A pathetic, broken sound escapes you. You still have Peter on the line, and you hear the sudden panic in his voice the minute your microphone picks up your heavy breathing and whimper.
“Static? Who is that? What’s happening?”
“You must be mistaken,” you raise your hands in surrender, shoulders timid, as a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. “I—I don’t know Spiderman—”
“Bullshit!” the man shouts, backhanding you with the grip of the gun.
You cry out in pain, your body collapsing hard onto the floor as your hand flies to your cheek. Your earpiece falls out, Peter’s voice ringing out loudly in sheer panic. The man huffs an incredulous laugh as he crouches down to pick it up and lift it to his ear.
“Tell me your location—where are you? I’m coming—!”
“103rd Street,” the man answers with a grin. “That’s where your little lady is at—on the floor, bleeding outta her lip.”
The wind whips loudly through the earpiece, audible even from where you’re prone on the ground.
“Don’t lay a fucking hand on her,” Peter’s voice crackles through the wind and speaker. “What do you want from me?”
The man only chuckles, turning the small earpiece in his fingers, unfazed by the threat of a friendly neighborhood superhero.
“That’s the thing with people like you who try to play hero,” the man says, his tone dripping with bitter resentment. “You stop guys like us, but what you fail to realize is that we aren’t the bad guys at all, Spiderman. While you sit in your fancy little apartment, the rest of us are out here fighting for scraps just to survive—and it’s people like you who keep stopping us.”
He looks down at you, lying on the cold floor with a trembling hand pressed against your bleeding lip.
“We’re just trying to eat,” the man spits into the receiver. “So if a guy like me has to take a little collateral to get your attention, or to get a quick payday—that’s not evil. That’s just survival. There’s a lot of money on your head, Spiderman. Money that can help an average person like me tremendously.”
The sharp thwip of a web fires through the speaker, followed by the harsh gust of the open night sky.
If it were anyone else being held hostage, maybe Peter would extend the courtesy of hearing him out. But he’s not holding just any person. He’s holding you—the only person Peter has opened his heart to in years. The only voice he looks forward to, the one that gives him hope to push through to a brand-new day. Right now, there isn’t a single shred of restraint left in Peter’s mind—not when your life is on the line because of him.
“I don’t give a shit about your excuse,” Peter spits, whipping around a sharp corner as he flies onto 103rd Street. “If you hurt her again before I get there, I swear to God—”
“It’s too late, Spiderman.”
From high above, Peter spots the grocery store below. The white lenses of his mask widen as he peers through the large front windows, catching sight of you scrambling backward in fear, hands raised in surrender.
The man above you stands straight and lifts the gun. Peter’s eyes lock onto the finger resting against the trigger. With one launch off the side of a building, he catapults himself straight through the glass windows.
The explosion of glass shatters in time with the gunshot. As the bullet travels through the barrel of the gun, Peter collides into the man, sending him flying sideways and the gun tilting upwards. The bullet hits the ceiling, the fluorescent lights exploding with electricity as the roof panel falls. You quickly scramble away so it doesn’t hit you.
Peter sends the man flying from one window to another, rolling around on the pavement outside until he lands on top. There is no amount of webs he can use to convey his anger—so he settles with his fists.
One punch after another, one hit after brutal hit. Blood flies out of the man’s face, tainting Peter’s suit with red. It splatters across his knuckles, and he delivers a hit so violent that it sprays right over the white lenses of his mask.
“Spiderman, stop!”
You shout, but the ringing in his ears is louder.
Tears prick at his eyes behind the mask as he continues raining down punches. The man lost consciousness long ago, but Peter isn’t done. He can’t rest knowing anyone who threatens to hurt you is free to walk these streets.
He can’t rest until he knows, for certain, that you’re safe from danger.
He cocks his fist back one last time, with every intention of putting this guy down for good—until your body crashes into his, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. His arm freezes mid-air, suddenly weighing a ton.
“Stop! It’s over—it’s done,” you try to reassure him but your voice comes in a panicked and rushed tone. Sirens sound in the distance. “The police are coming.”
Peter looks around, his chest heaving.
Several bystanders have stopped to stare, hands covering their mouths after witnessing such a brutal act by a man who was supposed to be a savior to all.
He curses under his breath, one arm wrapping tightly around your body.
“Hold on,” he says, before slinging a web to the highest point of the building next to you and launching you both into the night sky.
You bury your face in his chest, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as you hold on to him for dear life. You’re too terrified to look down. So instead, you glance up at the man holding you—the very man you’ve dedicated your life to assisting these past few months.
He doesn’t look like the friendly Spiderman you see on television or in the newspapers.
Blood lays over his mask like a veil, and you can feel his heart racing against yours from how tightly you’re holding him.
He doesn’t say a word until he finds a discreet alleyway. Then, finally, he sets you down gently.
Your eyes don’t leave his face even as you release your grip on him. You stand in front of him, eyes wide and lips parted as you stare at the man you’ve been dying to meet for what feels like years. But while this is your first time seeing him, it isn’t his first time seeing you.
There are so many things you wanted to say, but none of them come out. You never expected your first meeting to be like this—under circumstances where he tarnishes his reputation and your face bloodied and bruised.
“I…” your voice wavers, desperate to say anything, terrified he might swing away at any second.
Peter swipes his bloodied hand against his thigh to clean it before stepping forward, gently cupping your face in both hands. The lenses of his mask are so expressive, shifting with every furrow of his brow. Even behind it, his expression is wrecked.
“Look at what he did to you,” his voice cracks, sounding so broken, like it’s all his fault.
You huff a soft laugh, resting your palm over his knuckles as you lean into his touch. “If I’d known I was going to see you tonight, I probably would’ve worn more makeup.”
You try to joke, but he doesn’t laugh. His thumb gently brushes over the torn skin at your cheekbone, then down to your busted lip.
“I can’t believe you’re right here,” he breathes. “And I’m holding you.”
Peter should get your injuries fixed up, take you somewhere safe, or even take you home, but doing that means he’ll have to say goodbye—and he doesn’t know when he’ll give himself the chance to be this selfish again.
For the first time in years, it feels like he’s found salvation. After everything, he tries to convince himself he deserves this—even if it's just for a few minutes.
“You know what I look like,” you smile painfully. “Yet, I still don’t know a single thing about you.”
Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking down. “I’m sorry.”
You step closer, your hands slowly finding the hem of his mask resting around his neck. With trembling fingers, you slowly lift it up—giving him every opportunity to pull away if he wants to—holding your breath as you raise it over his nose. Brown curly hair decorates the nape of his neck.
As you try to tug it up higher, his hands find your wrists, gently stopping you. “I can’t.”
With a quiet nod, your hands fall back down to his cheeks, cupping them softly. Your thumb traces the curve of his cheekbone, his jawline, and the plump of his bottom lip.
The press of your thumb against his lower lip makes his breath hitch. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch—the first grace of warmth he’s felt in forever.
His white lenses open again, and his gaze drops to your lips—bruised, bleeding, and parting softly. The tension between you two suffocates him, and without waiting another impatient second, Peter tilts his head down and kisses you.
His lips press against yours, gentle and soft. And when you return the kiss, he feels like he’s in heaven. He takes his time with you, his lips exploring yours and savoring the quiet sweetness of the moment. Your hands are warm against his cheeks, and his hand finds your waist, respectfully holding you close as his heart beats as one with yours.
You kiss until you both run out of breath, finally pulling away to rest your foreheads against each other.
Peter shuts his eyes, breathing in your scent. “I wanted to do that from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
“I am detecting a sudden increase in heart-rate and body warmth—”
“Shut up, Evie.”
You chuckle, your teeth catching your bottom lip while heart beats wildly in your chest.
“A successful mission,” you smile up at him. “You know what that means.”
He chuckles at that, the sound sending butterflies to your stomach now that you’re hearing it up close for the first time.
“You’re right. You go first.” He prompts.
You tell him your name, but he doesn’t react the way you thought he would after hearing it for the first time. He smiles—almost boyish, with kiss-swollen lips. It feels as though he’s known your name all along.
Peter repeats it softly. “It’s beautiful,” he says.
Warmth fills you from head to toe. You were right. You loved hearing the sound of your name in his voice.
You tilt your head, leaning in until your nose grazes against his. “What’s yours—”
Frantic footsteps echo just outside the alleyway.
Peter’s senses tingle and reverberate through his entire frame. Everything in his body is screaming at him to do one thing: run.
Two people turn the corner, and he freezes at the sight.
“Oh my god, there you are!” Ned shouts frantically, catching his breath. “We were wondering why you weren’t answering our calls—then someone at the party said there was an accident happening on 103rd Street—which is where you were going—and wait, is that Spiderman?”
Standing right behind him is MJ.
“You scared us!” she yelps, running to you with a hug. You turn around with a weary smile and a relieved sigh.
“I’m okay, you guys shouldn’t have left to come find me. It was dangerous back there, and yes,” you motion behind you, “this is—”
Peter doesn’t even let you finish. He pulls his mask down and, without another word, zips up and out, moving through the dark like a ghost in the night. All the warmth vanishes like the gust of wind he leaves behind as he disappears into the air.
“God,” Ned breathes, the three of you standing dumbfounded in the alleyway as you watch him disappear around the corner. “See! It’s like I told you, MJ! He’s like Peter Pan—if you really believe in him, he’ll show up!”
“Okay—you know, your fanboying really freaks me out,” MJ says, making a face. She looks back at you. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay—”
A shudder passes through your body.
My name is Peter Parker.
“Peter,” you whisper with a sudden realization.
📝 first time writing for peter parker kinda nervous !! "all these things that i've done" by the killers was on repeat while writing this. for the first time in a while, i've had a lot of fun and passion writing a marvel fic again, and i hope you can feel it when you read this fic.
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
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hi elle! congrats on 10k, that's so rad! i'd love to play 🎪 showtime! if that's ok. maybe peter parker and a mermaid au? i know that nerdy dude would be so inquisitive while understanding the importance of her secrecy! no pressurre if it's not the vibe!
thank you! I loved this, thanks for playing <3
step right up to elle's celebratory 10k circus
Peter Parker x mermaid!reader who is his scientific curiosity [1.6k words]
CW: fem!reader, attempted animal abuse described [but thwarted!!!], language barriers, fluff
Peter’s backpack – heavier today on account of his flashcards and blankets – sits snuggly on his shoulders as he peers down at the waters of East River. He sends a few shots of webbing at the water that dance across the surface like giant waterbugs as he waits for his signal.
It comes in the form of a bubble ring.
Peter secures his backpack to a suspension post before rappelling himself down, coming to a stop when his boots kiss the rolling waves.
Your head pops up a few moments later.
An excited laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it. “Hi!”
You repeat his greeting back to him, smile turning a bit shy and confused as to why this dude seems so enthralled with you.
You have no idea.
“How are you? Good?” he asks, tilting his masked head at you to show that he’s asking a question. Conversations with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as you are very hard without facial cues, Peter has come to learn. He hopes to rectify that today.
“Good,” you say. He’s not sure if you mean that or if you’re just repeating the last word he said, but he takes it.
“Okay, good! Good to go up? Up.” He emphasizes his words with a finger pointing skyward. Your brows furrow and you look up at the bridge he’s currently suspended from with a healthy amount of suspicion. Your response is merely a wary hum.
You ask him something in your own language, gesturing at his suit and mask and web before wrapping your arms around yourself protectively.
“It’ll be okay,” he tells you, “I’m very strong, and I don’t even mean that as a brag. I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll be safe; both of us.”
No one will be able to see either of you from one of the platforms under the bridge.
Something about his tone must convince you, though, because you shift ever closer to him in the water.
Peter lowers himself up to the waist in the water and fights against the urge to squeal like a child at the temperature as he encourages you towards him.
“Okay? You’re okay. Hang on here.” He positions your arms one at a time around his neck. “Tight, okay? Tight.”
After he demonstrates holding tight by squeezing your waist, he’s zipping the two of you up towards the underbelly of Brooklyn Bridge.
You see…Peter Parker has found a mermaid. Like…an actual aquatic creature with humanoid features!
One night – well, early morning, really – when he was on patrol, he heard shouting. He was headed towards the boardwalk when he found a group of guys running in the opposite direction he was headed.
That’s where he found you, leaning on the edge of the walkway by your elbows, cooing over a pitifully wet looking kitten as it ate some kind of minnows or something from the wooden planks beneath it.
“Hey! Are you okay?” He asked, hurrying towards what appeared to be a girl who had fallen off of the boardwalk. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”
All he managed to do, though, was startle both you and the kitten; the soggy little thing took off into a few bushes near the Fulton Ferry picnic grove, and you sank beneath the surface of the water. So did Peter’s stomach.
Certain you were drowning, Peter dove in after you.
He nearly drowned, though, and you had to save him; pushing him back above the water and towards the boardwalk where he ripped the water-logged mask depriving him of air from his face.
“What the fuck!?” he asked breathlessly once he had a firm grasp of the rung of a ladder.
You shied away from him again; wearing a contrite expression as you murmured what sounded like an apology in a language Peter didn’t understand.
“What are you doing in the water?”
You looked down at the river; you knew the word water.
“Did you fall?”
You looked at him like he was dumb, expression screaming no, you just fell.
“Land,” you said, pointing at the boardwalk. “Go.” This time, you pointed at his legs.
“Yeah… I…go on land. Do you…not go on land?”
You said something else that Peter didn’t catch before you lifted your bottom half up, poking a knee joint and a fin out of the water.
You were a fucking scientific curiosity, and Peter has since managed to split his time between college, patrolling, helping out Aunt May, and hanging out with you.
Today, hanging is sort of literal.
You’re very displeased with him, clinging to the beams of the bridge with a white knuckled grip as you glare at the man who put you there.
He laughs at you. “What?”
You don’t answer, leaning your head back and looking up at the bottom of the roadway as you work to control your breathing. Peter takes pity on you and secures you to the architecture with some webbing before laying a few of the throw blankets he’d packed over your frame and tucking them in underneath you.
“Okay?”
Your eyes flit uncertainly between his hands as they work and his face. “Okay…”
He laughs again. “Don’t sound so certain.”
You grumble something at him in your own language.
Peter has learned a number of things about you in the time since the two of you met.
Those men had thrown the kitten into the East River. Fortunately for the kitten and unfortunately for those men, you were there, which saw the group getting rocks from the river bed flung at them and a very agitated aquatic creature shouting mermish profanities. Served them right.
You tend to hang around the ferry terminal and a few office buildings which means you’ve picked up some English. Very New York English, but enough that Peter has managed to befriend you.
Peter has also learned that the way to a mermaid girl’s heart is the same as the way to get to a human girl’s heart; food.
He pulls out a bag of Cheetos from his bag and gives it a shake, and whatever beef you had with him about heights and the bottom of the Brooklyn Bridge are forgotten when you make grabby hands and excited trilling sounds.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he laughs, tossing them to you. He pulls off his mask and covers his now damp bottom half with a blanket of his own as he pulls out his flash cards.
“What?” You ask around a mouthful of cheese dust. He looks up to find you peering at the cards in his hands.
“This?” he asks, holding them up. You nod eagerly. “This is how I’m going to convince you to let me take you home.”
Your brows furrow. “Home?”
Peter takes a moment to sift through his flashcards before pulling out the one he was looking for; a picture of a house.
“House,” he explains. “Home.”
You repeat the words back to him before popping another chip in your mouth.
He doesn’t bother explaining that it would involve putting you in his bathtub until he completes his desired measurements and examinations before he pulls out a different flashcard; one with a picture of a mermaid. You gasp excitedly, pointing at yourself.
“Yeah! That’s you!” he laughs, watching your fin twitch in a way he imagines might be you wiggling your toes at him.
You say what he believes might be mermaid in your language.
“Mermaid.”
“Mermaid,” you murmur back at him, eyes shy until Peter praises you, and then they brighten.
Then you point at him.
“Me?”
“You,” you try, gesturing to his legs and then to his mask and then to the webs he’s secured you in, “son of a bitch?”
That’s what Peter means when he says you have a very New Yorker understanding of English. Apparently, listening to taxi drivers shout get off the road you son of a bitch has led you to believe that humans are simply called son-of-a-bitches. You can clearly see that Peter is not a regular son of a bitch, though. His smart girl.
Peter hums thoughtfully as he sifts through his cards. “I’m not sure there’s a good explanation for me, lovely.”
“Lovely,” you murmur, forcing Peter’s eyes to return to you as he smiles.
“You are lovely,” he tells you honestly, if only because you don’t really know what he’s saying.
Peter pulls out two cards; one of a man and one of a spider. He puts the two together like a compound-word-turned-image.
“Spider,” he says, pointing at the arachnid, “Man,” he adds, pointing at the human male.
“Spider-Man,” he explains, holding up his mask.
“Oh.”
“But-” he shows you the mask and then shoves it behind his back, showing you his now empty hands “-no mask means Peter.”
“Peter.”
“Yes!” He congratulates. “I am Peter.”
“Am Peter,” you repeat.
“Who are you?”
“Me?”
He beams at you. “Yeah,”
You hum thoughtfully, “Lovely?”
Peter’s laugh echoes off of the bridge. “Yes, you’re lovely. Very lovely. But what’s your name?”
He points at his own chest again, “name, Peter.”
Your face lights up in recognition. “Name! Name, Y/N.”
He repeats it back to you and you bounce in your seat in response, happily helping yourself to more chips.
“Lovely,” you tell him again.
“You can be lovely. Do you want me to call you lovely?”
“Yeah.” Another New Yorkerism you picked up. “Thanks.”
summary ↠ you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae. ↠ college!soulmate au; gn!reader.
warnings ↠ near-death experience (almost traffic collision; no injuries sustained), minor angst. this is very very fluffy on the whole, though. very soft :’) angst w a happy ending, if you will…
word count ↠ 6k.
a/n ↠ I feel emotional distress for 0.2 seconds and fall back to my 16 year old coping mechanism of fluffy peter parker fic ,,,, :D kinda very happy with how this turned out tbh. I hope you like it :)
++ I don’t like how a lot of soulmate aus are reliant on heteronormative structures and ideals, so I tried really hard to construct this universe in a way that would appeal to any type of person and any form of relationship that might fall under the category of a ‘soulmate’! it’s all world building stuff, but I guess if you’re wondering why I made it more fluid than my previous attempts at this au, that’s why! love is fluid and flexible and I think it’s important to reflect that in fiction!!
SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.
WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion
WORD COUNT - 5.4k
// masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //
The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.
It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.
“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”
God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.
Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”
Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.
With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.
She was dead—Aunt May was dead.
And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.
“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”
You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.
But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.
You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…
Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.
“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”
He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this…
Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.
“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.
“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?
But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”
You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…
You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.
And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her.
She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.
“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”
It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.
They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.
And it still made you angry.
“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.
“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”
He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.
She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”
Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.
“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”
Understand.
If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.
Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.
You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.
At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”
“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”
“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”
Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.
You weren’t used to this.
Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.
“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”
It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.
Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.
You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.
Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.
The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.
It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.
You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…
This was different, somehow.
It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.
It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.
Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.
But Peter wasn’t like other people.
Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.
His eyes couldn't lie, though.
Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.
They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.
“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.
Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.
His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.
“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”
You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”
You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.
Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?
It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.
It wouldn’t bring May back to life.
“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”
Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”
You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.
“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”
You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.
Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.
Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.
But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.
“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”
You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”
He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.
“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”
“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.
Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.
“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”
You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”
“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”
A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”
He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”
His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.
You knew better than to think he meant it.
But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.
You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.
Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.
But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.
You were good at expressing anger, though.
You were very good at expressing anger.
After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.
And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.
By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.
But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.
There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.
Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.
The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.
Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.
It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.
“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.
The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.
Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.
Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”
“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”
You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.
“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”
You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”
Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.
“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.
His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”
His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.
You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.
The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.
Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.
And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”
For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.
“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”
Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.
Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.
And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.
“I will,” you promised.
Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”
You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.
The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.
“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”
He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”
The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”
He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”
“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”
“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.
“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”
“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.
You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”
The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.
“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”
The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.
“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”
Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.
You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.
“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”
“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”
Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.
“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”
“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.
Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”
The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.
“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.
Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”
He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.
“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”
Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.
A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.
Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.
“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”
You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”
Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.
“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”
He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.
“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.
You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.
He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”
You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.
“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.
There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.
But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.
Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”
This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.
a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.
if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!
part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st
this is my idea for the spider-man x fangirl thing
so peter and reader are best friends and reader always talks about how much she loves spider-man and peter always rolls his eyes and acts annoyed even though deep down it makes him happy. then one day reader was walking at night when she got like robbed or something and gets saved by spider-man. he swings her to someplace safe and when she calms down she starts freaking out that she met spider-man . you can add more but idk i’m not good at this but that’s jus like an idea??
let’s hope you guys enjoy this.
pairing ➳ peter parker x reader.
masterlist
“so you don’t think it’s like, a fifth date kind of revelation?” you asked peter as the two of you walked on the pavement. when a reply didn’t come out of your best friend, you looked to the side, only to catch him giving you the same look of exasperation, “what? oh, come on. i’m not in love with him!”
“you’re in love with him.” he concluded, “why do you even wanna know who he is?”
“i don’t know, i’m just-”
“in love with him.” peter reiterated, forcing you to give him a glare to shut up.
“curious.” you said, rolling your eyes.
the two of you walked in silence for a while as you made your way towards delmar’s deli. you had decided to go to peter’s for today’s study session and you were ready to eat off his ear again talking about spider-man. and he knew. he’d seen the new video of himself– the link to which you’d sent him– fighting off four guys at the same time.
you kept him updated on spider-man and even though he pursed his lips and rolled his eyes whenever you started getting all giddy about the new news, the only people who knew you had a crush on peter– well, spider-man– were himself and ned.
after getting your favorite sandwiches, you both made your way to peter’s place, a few blocks away. once you were inside, you made a beeline for his room, setting down your backpack on his bed.
“that’s new.” peter pointed, noticing the pop socket stuck to your mobile cover. you looked at it and nodded.
“there was only one left. i had to buy it.” you grinned as you sat down, pulling out your books.
“if you would just admit it, you’re obsessed.” peter chuckled, sitting down beside you.
“am not.” you raised your eyebrows.
“are too.” peter retaliated, making you roll your eyes at him again, “come on, it’s not a bad thing.”
you shrugged, “i just admire him.”
it was pretty late at night when you left his place, may was yet to come back and you missed her trying to make you stay for dinner. putting your hands in either pockets of your jacket, you began your walk to your place.
but just a few blocks down and you spotted a man in dark grey hoodie and torn jeans. you tried to walk past him but got worried when he started following you. as your steps quickened, his did too. just as you were about to run, the guy held your arm, pulling you into an alley.
you were shocked, he had pointed a knife right at your exposed neck. you tried not to move as he gave you an intimidating look, “hand me your money and we’re even.”
you trembled, trying to open your mouth. your mouth came out shakey, “p-please, i have nothing- j-just books.”
you felt the cold metal pressing against your skin, the slightest sting on your neck as you gulped, closing your eyes as tears pooled in them.
the next few seconds were very confusing. you were free, the pressure on your arm and disappearing as you heard a ‘thwip’. the knife was yanked out of the robber’s hand, and he got a kick to the side of his rib, making him fly further into the alley.
you gasped as your saviour landed in front of you, robotic eyes squinting at the guy, “come on, dude! ‘no’ means no.”
he yelled towards the guy before turning to you, noticing the tears in your eyes, “hey... are you okay? ...miss.”
your mouth opened, then closed. then opened. then closed again.
“it’s okay. i think you’re star-struck.” he tried to ease the tension. you noticed he moved his hands a lot.
“um... thank you for... knocking that guy out.” you wiped away your face and touched your neck, feeling the smallest cut, “i wasn’t planning on getting killed tonight.”
“you should clean that up.” you noticed he moved his hands a lot when he talked. it made your heart flutter a little. on the same night, the superhero had managed to save your life and make you feel all warm just by being the way you’d imagined him from the youtube videos.
you nodded at him, “i will...”
“you can call me spider-man.” he shrugged and you liked the idea that he might have been smiling at you under the mask. you noticed that he was making his voice sound thicker, putting on a heavy accent, but you tried to ignore it, following that he was in a full body spandex suit.
“i will, spider-man.” you smiled back.
“i... could walk you to the home.” he offered, almost immediately adding, “just to make sure you’re safe!”
you nodded your head, “well, unless you have to go save someone else...”
“i’m free for now.” he chuckled as as started leading the way.
as the two of you walked, a silence overtook the atmosphere. you tried to scan your brain for something, just so you could avoid the awkwardness, “i’m a big fan, by the way.”
peter wanted to laugh at your giddy voice. he’d never heard you be this shy around him– which, now that he thought, was making him a bit jealous of his alter ego, “thanks! just doing my job as the friendly neighborhood spider-man.”
once the two of you had reached your apartment complex, you faced the superhero, “thank you, spider-man.”
he did a little salute with two of his fingers, “glad to help.” and with that he took off, swinging away from you.
you sighed softly, feeling a little disappointed at his departure. you went inside and texted peter immediately– characters mismatched and all caps as you typed– ‘THETES NO WAY YPURE GONNA BELIEVE EHAT HAPPED!!!’
peter chuckled, watching the texts come through on his screen as he sat atop your building.
the brunette sighed softly, “man, tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”
an: this has been a long time in the making and I think it's a favorite of mine.
Pairing: Peter Parker X Mean!Reader
Genre: Angst, fluff, enemies to lovers.
CW: harsh language, mental breakdowns, mentions of cheating (not peter)
Word Count: 24K
Summary: You've lived next door to Peter your whole life and the last nine years you've detested him. Now you're going through a breakup and it's nice to know someone's awake with you. Even if it is Peter Parker.
Breakups suck.
That’s it. That’s the whole message. There’s nothing else to add, except you’d never let yourself love again. It’s not like you didn’t know it wasn’t going to happen, you were aware the entire year what it would lead into, but hasn’t every girl sworn, at least once, they were the exception to a boys rule?
Natalie Greene’s voice echoed in your mind, “don’t get involved with a senior boy. They move on and you’re left picking up the pieces in homeroom.” You didn’t listen. You got involved and it was a good year, you knew he was going to college and when he left the break up was inevitable. Still, it didn’t hurt as hard until three months into the school year he called and said he met someone else.
You wish you weren’t so kind and understanding to him.
You called Natalie Greene the second it ended, she picked up and that angel voice of hers shined through the phone. She asked ‘hello?’ three times before you sobbed. You could feel the empathy in her tone, ‘he ended it, huh?’ All you could do is squeak back, ‘stay right there babe, I’m on my way with the break up kit.’
She showed up with a stray grocery bag. “alright,” she stated, hands on her hips.
“I got ice cream, a super soft blanket, movies - of all genres, face masks, a lighter-”
“Why do you have a lighter?”
Natalie rolls her eyes with a goofy grin, “to burn stuff, duh.“
The gesture was nice, but you couldn’t focus on the movie.
It felt like everytime you blinked there were tears that would find themselves tracking down your cheeks, you sniffled occasionally and blankly stared at the screen; flashbacks clouding your mind. Each kiss, each laugh, each touch, every fight and makeup, the first time you felt someone's hips melt into yours.
A supercut of every moment.
You were replaying a thousand things and all he was thinking about was the new girl under him, you were angry at everything all at once. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get hurt and feeling this much pain, because you knew it was coming, it was the whole agreement when it started. Angry at him for not breaking his promise and loving you anyway, angry at him for not telling you he’d wait for you and everything would be okay.
Angry that you hate him and yourself but more angry how quickly you’d fall back into him if he called.
“I knew this was gonna happen, Nat.” You sniff, a cry bubbles from your throat, “so why does it hurt so bad?”
Your friend frowns, she’s no savor to heartbreak. She’s been where you are more times than one could take, she still loves with her whole heart and you don’t know if you could ever do it again. Natalie wraps her arms around your shoulders while you shake with a sob, you cry into her knowing you're matting her blonde hair but she just pats you and holds you close.
“Because even though the ending was coming it didn’t feel real until the book closed. And maybe a little bit because you hoped he’d change his mind.”
You gasp, “how do I get past this? Nat, it feels..”
You’re tugged into her so tight you can feel her collarbone against your cheek, “like you’re dying? Yeah, that happens. But, you’ll live. It doesn’t feel like it now, but the day will come where you can think about him, smile, and thank him for the opportunity.”
You snort, “for breaking my heart?”
Natalie Greene holds you as tight as she can, “for making you grow.”
Your shoulders feel like they’re falling behind you as you inch along the hallway, everything feels heavy. Your feet are like lead blocks, and your heart feels like it’s been tied down with an anchor. It hurts more to know he’s not aching like this, he has someone new to keep him busy.
Blinking at your locker you fight back a yawn, two weeks after heartbreak and it still feels the same. You sleep like shit, tossing and turning and weird dreams when you finally dozed off. The one thing that’s helped keep your mind away from him, was your neighbor. Every night, at 3:02 am, on the dot, you hear the same movements.
A window slams shut, two soft hops on the floor and three bumps against the wall.
For six nights straight you kept count, it was methodical. A nightly routine, you weren’t sure what he was doing, but it was something. It made your mind wonder, your most recent theory was that he was a smoker; weed, cigarettes or whatever, and he would blow smoke out his window before landing in bed.
Maybe his bed was against your wall and that’s why you heard so many small knocks.
Last night you stayed up, you waited and right on the minute, like you expected, you heard a window slam shut. A small grin crossed your face, not at him, but at the idea of a constant. You lost your reliable figure, he’s thousands of miles away with his own new person, but tonight, and for the last seven nights you’ve had something to rely on. Something that couldn’t go anywhere.
You blink and suddenly you’re staring at your open locker, you don’t even remember putting in the combination. On autopilot you grab what you need for your next three classes and shrug your backpack down. Lately, it seemed like everything moved in slow motion.
“Are we ready to go to Flash’s party friday and makeout with a rando or are we still numb to everything?”
Natalie smiles at your figure, when you slouch and give her a “hey, Nat,” her blonde hair bounces as she nods her head understandingly, “still dead to the world, understandable.”
“At this point I’d do heroin to feel something,” your deadstare makes her think you might be serious. “Tell you what, if you’re still this miserable in six weeks, we’ll do it together.”
Your eyebrow quirks, “you’d do heroin with me if I’m still this miserable?”
Natalie Greene’s hand sticks out, her eyes ferocious. You know immediately she has something up her sleeve.
“Six weeks, starting today.”
You have nothing else to go on except the nightly wake up call and Natalie Greene’s plan.
“Six weeks.”
It’s solidified with a handshake, your fingertips turn white in her hold.
WEEK ONE.
Natalie Greene had talked you into going to Flash’s party, not to makeout with anyone, she quickly withdrew that from the table. You had been very hesitant at first, pushing at every restraint and reason to why you shouldn’t go and she stopped you right there. Manicured hand and all, petite and poised, she stopped your path.
“Here’s why you should go: get fucking wrecked, absolutely smashed and let it all out. I promise you, babe, it feels so, so good.”
“You think that will make me feel better? Getting hammered at a house party on a friday night?”
“I’ll take care of you for the night, okay? I’ll get you drunk and you can cry or scream or whatever you want. Let go of anything you’re holding back, that’s why you should go.”
You look her over, she’s been your rock the last three years in the school. Natalie is different, she protects and cares for herself like she does someone else. She also gives out more of her heart than she should, but she appreciates the burn it leaves. She tells you it’s one more ache preparing her for the one who would never make it hurt again.
If Natalie Greene says it’ll help, you’ll listen.
“You’ll drive me home and take care of me the next morning? Hungover and all?”
A denim jacket covered shoulder shrugs, “I think it’s time I repay you for all these years.”
For the first time in two weeks a real smile crosses your face, it’s small but it’s there.
Flashforward two days later, you’re eight drinks in and feeling like you’re flying.
You sway against your friend, “and he,” you hiccup, “he said he was like, soooo in love with me but then like, fuckin four days later,” it took you a moment to hold up the correct number on your hand, “boom, no boyfriend.” Natalie tried to hold back a laugh but her cheeks blew up when she let it escape, you pulled the most comical ‘what the fuck?’ face.
“I mean who the fuck does that- a sick person. That’s who! And- And you know what?” you hiccup, “I thought I’d be sad, but I just kinda hate him, does that make me bad?”
“Nah, I had some that killed me inside and some that I just shrugged off. Some moved in waves. One minute I’d say ‘fuck him!’ and the next I’d be overwhelmed with sadness because I didn’t have anyone to hold me anymore.”
You blink at her words and swallow the rest of your cup, you hadn’t thought about that part yet. Not having anyone to call yours anymore, that’s the hardest hitting part. You really, really wanted to call him. Just one more time, maybe he misses you just as much, maybe he doesn’t know how to say sorry, maybe he’s waiting for you to call.
“I should call him, right?” Your hands fumble at your pockets, your friend panics and grabs at your arms. “No! No, no, no! You absolutely should not call him!” You whine, “but what if he-”
Natalie grabs you tight, it makes you look at her confused. Her tone takes a sharp turn, she breaks through your drunken stupor in a second.
“He’s not. He’s not thinking about you, he’s not missing you, he’s not sitting around wishing you’d call him, he’s just not. He broke up with you, you don’t do that if you still care. Don’t do that to yourself, it ended mature. You have to be mature now.”
Brutal honesty. It puts everything in perspective.
He didn’t miss you, and that… really, really hurt.
Natalie was right, it comes in waves. Because there comes that sadness, it starts with small blinks and suddenly fat tears skip down your cheeks. “You’re right! He, he doesn’t-” you take harsh breaths, for the first time in two weeks you had a full breakdown. Everything you held back bottled over, you didn’t know how you could hold in so much hurt.
“Okay, okay. Let’s go, we can cry in the car but not here.”
Your breath shook the entire way to the car, the moment you sat in the passenger seat you cried. Your voice cracked, “he said he loved me!” Natalie nodded, cranking the engine, “And I’m sure he did, babe. Sometimes these things run their course and it’s no one's fault.”
It went like that the entire car ride, until she stopped at a McDonald's and got you a milkshake so you could focus on getting the liquid up the straw instead of saying the same three things on a loop. Once you got fries in your mouth the thought of him was erased from your mind, choosing to sing loudly and stick your head out the window on the way back.
Stumbling and giggling quietly at the late hour while you swayed on the walk to your door, you stretched freely and yawned when you stumbled in. Home alone for the weekend, just how it should be. “I’m getting naked,” you started stripping while walking to your room to change into pajamas, your heart lurches when you see one of his shirts.
You flop backwards on your bed, the room slightly spins and you close your eyes tight trying to ground yourself. Wriggling into the sheets you sigh, and yawn again. Your head buries into a pillow and sleep is imminent.
“Sleepy?”
Natalie Greene stands in the doorway with water and some advil, you smile and pat your bed, inviting her to join.
“Natalie Greene, you are so great, did you know that?”
Your friend laughs, you nuzzle into her hand while she strokes your hair, “I did, but a reminder is always nice. Go to sleep, babe. I’ll make toast in the morning.”
Her gentle touch makes it easy, you yawn one more time. Your voice flutters while you talk into sleep.
“Do me a favor?”
“Anything,” she whispers. You don’t think he ever loved you this soft.
“Make sure he gets home for me.”
Natalie Greene asked who but all she received were soft snores.
The birds were screaming the earth back awake.
At least that’s how it felt, your ears were ringing and there was a dull, present thud in your head. The sunlight has never been so bright, you hold your eyes shut but the ache gets louder and you can’t get comfortable.
There’s two pills and half a glass of water waiting for you, god bless Natalie Greene.
“Good morning, sunshine!” You wince and choke on your gulp of water, a knife has pierced your eardrum. “Oh my god, everything is on dial eleven, I think I’m dying.”
“How are you feeling? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
She means about him, you take a moment to really think about it.
“I think… I think I’m doing okay.”
Your friend smiles and throws her hair into a ponytail, “good, I’m making breakfast. Come join.”
After ten minutes and infinite pep talk you rise on shaky knees, stumbling towards your door and barely making it to the couch where you spread wide and gulped for air. Your friend snorted at your exaggeration over her shoulder and carefully walked towards you with a piping mug of tea.
Sitting up you bring a blanket over your shoulders, you squint at her before taking the handle. Taking a sip while you turn the TV on, searching for a midmorning throwaway show. A re-run of The Wendy Williams Show wins, you rest your head on a cushion and stare blankly at the screen. Natalie Greene humming up a tune in the kitchen.
You hadn’t even checked your phone yet, “what time is it?”
“Noon thirty.”
Your eyes widen, “my god,” you mumble to yourself.
Listening to Wendy your eyes lull shut and suddenly you're sinking back into sleep, you roll over and smack your dry lips. Until your friend is kicking at your shin with two plates in her hands, stacked full of the breakfast nines.
Your queasy stomach grumbles and any drowsiness is ripped away with hunger. Nearly drooling, you stuff a piece of french toast in your mouth and moan, “Nat, you’re the greatest thing I got.” She bounces her shoulder into yours, “I know.”
You fall into silence while you scarf breakfast down, booing and applauding when deemed necessary by Wendy. Leaning back you rest your hands over your full belly and pat gently. Swiping your tongue over your gums for any crumbs, you sigh happily.
“Hey, what did you mean last night? You said to let you know if he got home safely.”
You wave her off, “drunk stupidness, I hear my neighbor every night around the same time moving around. This last week, I dunno, it felt nice knowing someone else was up too?”
“Have you ever-”
Both your necks turn to look at the front door then back at each other, the knocking that caught your attention continues.
“Who’s-”
“Did you-”
You swallow and stand up, not so shaky anymore. Looking through the peephole your forehead hits the door at the sight of said neighbor, you know what they say about devils and appearing, groaning you take a moment to collect yourself and open the door.
“What do you want, penis?”
Peter Parker in all his glory, is knocking at your door with a plate of… cookies?
Neighbors forever, close pals never. You’d played together as kids, mostly elementary age but since you were eight you’ve had a disdain for Peter Parker. You’re not sure where it went wrong, but just looking at him you wanted to roll your eyes.
“I was going to say, ‘wow, how could a guy ever dump you?’ but now, I’d say that’s how.”
Normally that wouldn’t hurt, but the recent circumstances made it a cheap shot.
“Is this your sorry attempt to be a rebound? Because if it is, I want to make it extremely clear I’d rather eat glass than-”
The plate is shoved into your face, “May had me bring these over, she said your mom told her you’ve been a weepy, miserable mess because some dickhead thought he found someone better.”
You huff at him, your fingers wrap around his wristwatch as you pull it down, all you heard was weepy and miserable.
“I know you wouldn’t know anything about someone loving you but-”
“Is that Peter B. Parker?”
Natalie Greene reminds you of your hangover in record timing, you wince at her shriek. Peter gives a polite, dare you say charming (?) smile. It makes you fight back a gag, “hello, Natalie Greene.” Her eyes flash from his, to the plate, to the cracked open door across the hall and she gets a wicked grin.
The person you’ve hated and bickered with the most is suddenly the one you listen out for in the middle of the night. The look on her face, the glance she shared with you, proved she knew.
“Cookies?” Natalie nudges your arm, “he brought cookies and he’s right across the hallway, how nice.”
Peter’s oblivious to her tone, he has his goofy smile on and it makes you seeth. He’s always so god damn happy, it’s annoying.
“Well, actually, my aunt made them. But I am delivering, so I can accept some praise.”
She laughs, full on cackles and nudges you again.
“You know, in all the times you talked about Peter you never mentioned how funny he was!”
You don’t know what she’s playing at but you’re shutting it down immediately.
Peter looks at you, he seems almost hopeful and you have to settle the urge to toss the plate to the ground. “You talk about me?”
You cross your arms and sneer, “don’t worry, nothing good.”
His smile drops, “yeah, sorry. I don’t know why..” his curls bounce as he gently shakes his head before pushing the glass into your chest. “Here, eat as many as it takes to feel somewhat okay again.”
You grip the plate and look down, they’re your favorite.
“We, um. We have more over here, so if you want more. Or if you wanna hang out or something I’m here, so…”
Peter’s never been a friend like this before and it was some pity party you wanted no part of now.
“It’s a breakup. I’m sure I can manage without you just fine.”
His eyebrows turn in, “right. I just thought- nevermind, enjoy the cookies.”
Natalie gives him a sympathetic frown and sulks back inside, you keep your glare on his figure until he reaches his door. As you’re about to retreat he stops in the doorway, “for what it’s worth, I think he’s stupid and he’s gonna realize what he lost when it’s way too late.”
It’s almost nice, sometimes it sucks when the person you’re supposed to hate has human peek through their armor.
Too bad you’re more guarded than ever.
“Well, then. It’s a good thing you’re not worth much.”
Maybe it’s his resilience that troubles you, no matter how hard you push him away or beat him down with words he’ll pick himself back up and hand your words back in a package of self reflection.
Today is no exception, Peter flashes you a sad smile, this one actually is filled with pity.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” you didn’t have a chance to fire back. His door was already shut.
Heartache throbbed but the cookies were damn good.
On your third, you down half a cup of milk. You reach for a fourth and Natalie hasn’t said one word. Instead she cleaned the kitchen and packed up her overnight bag, before settling next to you for an episode of Jerry Springer and her own deserved treat.
“So, do tell, my friend. Is Peter the one you wanted to know was home safe?”
Deny till death.
“No way, I’m talking about Mr. Harrington, he’s like a hundred years old.”
Natalie takes her time chewing and swallowing, “your hundred year old neighbor is up in the middle of the night?”
It’s dumb to lie, you and her know the truth.
You shrug and take a fifth cookie, “he may have a routine, I dunno.”
Your friend hums, “I just thought it may be Peter, cause you share a wall and all.”
Gagging at his name you shake it off, “Gross! It’s bad enough knowing the plate these were on were in his hands.” It takes you a second but you’re able to plow through another bite.
“I just… why do we hate Peter so much?”
You don’t know, you think you blocked it out. Every time you look at him a weird feeling bubbles up and it makes you want to scream, cry, fight and hug it out with him in one second. It’s easier to bark at him than confront him about your feelings.
“I don’t know. He’s just a pest to me, every time I turn around he’s there. And I swear to god he spilled the beans about that party last year.”
Natalie Greene knows three things to be true.
One: Peter Parker likes you, you just don’t know it yet.
“What if you talked to him?”
Cookie crumbs fall over your shirt as you talk, “I’m sorry, what?”
Two: You like Peter Parker, you just don’t know it yet.
“If you need me and I’m not around, if you need someone to support you through this and I can’t be here, promise me you’ll knock on his door.”
You scoff at the idea, “yeah, sure.” she’s not very confident you mean it.
“Seriously, promise me right now if I can’t be there for you, you’ll ask him.”
She was serious, something in her tone made you shift and agree. It’s not like she’d go anywhere, Natalie Green was your lifeline.
“Alright! If you aren’t around and it’s literally life or death, I’ll ask… him.”
Three: Things get worse before they get better, you just don’t know it yet.
WEEK TWO.
Your mornings always started the same, a routine was important to you. It was consistent. It was wake up, hit up the bathroom, change, yawn and rub your eyes through breakfast before leaving to thrive in silence before school.
Today, when leaving, right as you’re pocketing your keys, your neighbor speaks out.
“Hey.”
You freeze, it’s rare you run into Peter in the mornings. You figure he leaves way earlier, or later than you. But when you do, you ignore each other with silence. You really don’t like the sudden change.
“How are you doing?”
You wonder if he heard you crying last night, you thought you got rid of it after the party. You didn’t understand how you could be happy one moment and miserable the next. What made it worse was when 3:02 am hit and you heard his window slam, your sniffles settled.
“Like I was dumped, thanks for the reminder.”
Your foot hits the first step when he calls out, “and the cookies?”
Biting your bottom lip you turn, it really was a nice gesture. You may not like him, but you loved May and she’s the one that put in all that hard work. Peter lights up when you face him, if he had a tail he’d start wagging it. It makes you bite down on your cheek, he doesn’t deserve unprovoked rage.
“They were really good,” you take three steps before turning back around.
“And, I uh, took your advice. Ate the whole plate, I mean.”
Peter fumbles, his key chain drops but he stays looking at you. His thumb shoots behind him to point at his door, “we have like, twenty left. Want some more?”
You shake your head softly, “maybe later?” Peter nods exuberantly, “yeah, yeah. I’ll bring them over.”
You curl your lip up and stomp down the steps, “thanks for the warning, penis!”
This was it.
This was your worst nightmare.
Not only did things get shuffled around until you were sitting next to Peter at dinner, where you made it a point to scoot your chair away from him when his shoulder touched yours and immediately swiped the area clean- But now you blinked blankly at your dinner while your mom droned on and on and on about the guy who dumped you. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, you just wanted her to stop.
“And he was so sweet, wasn’t he? Honey, are you sure he hasn’t reached out? It’s not too late to call him, maybe if you-” May didn’t deserve to see you upset, and it kills you that Peter saw that emotion. Your mom didn’t even deserve it, you were so sick of trying to keep it together.
Your chair screeches with how quick you jump out of your seat.
“He doesn’t give a shit, he dumped me! So why do you think he’d call? He doesn’t want me, I mean he’s made that clear right?” Your eyes shoot to May’s, “I’m right, right? You don’t break up with someone if you still care, or want them, right?”
Tears haze your vision, “he ended it with me mom, and you know why? It’s cause he found a new girl! He fucking-” water rushes down your cheeks but you don’t stop, “he,” you collapse on the word, you can’t get a good inhale on breath.
“He left me to pick up the pieces, that’s all he did.” It clicked full motion, he left you behind and ended it. He got a fresh start and you were left trying to hold it together, like how it was, how it was supposed to be.
You sob, your chest has never felt so tight. Shaky breaths fade into sharp inhales, you can’t fucking breathe. Gasping you put a hand over your heart, you know in the back of your mind it’s a panic attack but all you feel is imminent death.
Peter stands and blocks your body with his, you don’t know what’s happening but you’re trying to get away. Each step you take backwards he takes one forwards until you're wheezing in your room, your ears are ringing and it feels like a heart attack is in approach. Your eyes squeeze shut and in an instant you feel calmer, it’s not because of your sudden blink. It’s because Peter has his hands over your ears pressing in, your back against the wall and front against his chest.
It’s the last place you want to be but you’re angry, and he’s there, and it’s all coming out.
You’re able to breathe but at what cost? You grip Peter’s shirt as tight as you could and wail into his chest, it’s the first time you’ve ever actually felt him against you. He’s more sturdy than you thought, as you push more and more weight on him he doesn’t stagger one bit. His arms held you to him, keeping steady until you’d push him away.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you coughed the words into his shirt, you held tighter when his only response was resting his chin on your head. You apologized and cried until you ran out of tears and your breaths were nothing but sharp inhales.
When reality hits and you realize you've been crying into Peter’s hold for minutes you push him away and wipe your nose. Avoiding his eyes, you look to the carpet, you have a fresh cry glow and mindset, it’s the good kind of emotional numb.
“I, um, I still have those cookies?”
Those being his choice of words after a troubling breakdown was warming, it made you feel like you weren’t so crazy. Or at least, Peter didn’t see you as crazy, which when thinking about didn’t mean much.
You can’t help but laugh, it’s so loud and opposite of every other emotion you spilled tonight it makes him jump, you see him setting up for the attack. The moment you snap at him and call him a weirdo for cornering you and throwing himself on you.
Tonight, you were full of surprises.
“Yeah,” you nod your head and wipe your nose one last time, “I’d love to come over for cookies.”
You had to look away from his smile, it was too blinding.
You broke the rule, you went lurking and hurt your own feelings. She’s all over his instagram, and she’s pretty. He’s all over hers, dating back to five months ago.
You do a double take, five months?
He had been cheating on you for months before he ended it. You feel sick. He told you he loved you while he was in bed with another girl. You felt so much rage inside you couldn’t hold it in, Natalie was too far away and Peter’s already seen you at your worst.
You move without thinking, slamming your fist on his door.
Wide eyes open it, Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared he was the subject of attack. You swerve past him, if you were in a cartoon, steam would be billowing from your ears. You didn’t get angry often, and you’ve never felt upset enough to punch someone, but all you could think about was screaming and slamming your fist into the wall.
“I hate him, I fucking hate him so fucking much. If you ever hear me crying I need you to come over and tell me I’m absolutely pathetic for crying over a fucking cheater.”
While he’s glad you’re not there to yell at him, his heart sinks for you.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It was right in front of my face, too. She’d been claiming him since the second week of school. I’ve been a fool, god, I fucking hate him. I hate him so much I… I want to break something.”
Peter eyes his science notebook, he doesn’t have anything for you to break, but he has something that will make enough noise to drown out the voices. He grabs it and holds it out, you gently take it giving him a confused look.
“Wack it. Beat the absolute shit out of it on the counter.”
You look unsure, you don’t want to ruin his things, even if you don’t like him.
“Right on the edge, go on, do it.” His egging you on makes you follow his command, it’s gentle.
“Harder,” you test it.
“Harder,” you give a smack, it makes a popping sound and you jump, it feels good.
“Like you mean it, like you need it.” You do it again, it’s louder. You strike down without instruction, Peter starts barking at you, it makes you angrier.
“Harder, don’t be so weak!”
He hit the right nerve, you can’t stop, you’re moving so quick and using so much force the spine starts to rip from the cardboard. It feels good destroying something, it makes you beat the laminate harder. Loud cracks echoing from the walls.
You heave for air, every bit of force directed into your diminished trust. You yell between each blow.
“Fucking!”
“Piece!”
“Of!”
“Shit!”
You start to slow down, Peter’s notebook is fucked. You feel bad. Gasping for air when you’re done, Peter gives you a head nod, “better?”
You nod, “lots. Sorry about your book.” He doesn’t look bothered in the slightest, “it’s a good excuse to get a new one, I hate green.” You peer over the contents in the pages, “that’s a lie, everyone knows science is green.” Peter laughs, he nods like he’s saying ‘you got me there.’ “Doesn’t mean I like it though.”
Looking down at the notebook, you peer up at Peter. He looks soft, the sleeves of his zip up hoodie covered his thumbs, he has sweater paws. His hair framed his face nicely, his cheeks have a natural pink hue, it’s like he’s always sunkissed, or calming down from a laughing fit.
The sun is backlighting him perfectly, it makes his eyes look even more honey golden than they already do. You don’t know why you find him slightly cute at the moment, it makes your stomach tug and not in a good way. The last time you thought someone was cute you got burned, and you’ve always had a disdain for Peter.
Peter was the worst kind of rebound to have because you can’t decide who’d get more hurt from it, and the thought of that makes you want to avoid him forever.
“You’re looking at me funny.”
You are, it’s because you’re noticing him for the first time, at least since you were eight. Suddenly you can remember why you cut him out when you were a kid.
“I had a crush on you when we were younger. I think that’s why I stopped being your friend.”
Your confession made Peter’s eyes widen, he looks to the ground and hides his smile. When he picks his head back up he looks to the side, his cheeks a bit more flushed than normal. “That’s cute.”
It was. It was innocent and juvenile, his small response made you laugh. “Yeah, it really was.” You shouldn’t entertain it any further, but you can’t stop. Something about seeing his blush makes you want to keep going, “Wanna know when it started?” He looks curious, “sure.”
You go quiet for a minute, you haven’t thought about it in years. The moment it clicked you were freaked out, the first time you liked a boy and he was your best friend. You went from wanting to play in dirt to holding his hand. A smile spreads over your face when you watch the memory replay in your mind.
“We were at the complex playground and we were digging by that droopy tree across from the swingset, and I saw a lizard in the grass and I pointed it out to you. I told you I always wanted to hold one but they moved too fast and scared me, but you held out your arm and said ‘I got this.’” You laugh, replaying it once more.
“And you dive bombed and picked it up, and you were so fucking proud to have caught it. Then you placed it in my hand but I felt it move around and freaked out, but you held your hand over mine and said ‘don’t be scared.’”
There’s something about an eight year old Peter Parker with glasses and dirt smudged cheeks that had child you giddy.
Peter’s smiling, it’s like he’s reliving that day in his head too. “I fulfilled your lifelong dream and you fell for me.” You shrug, “maybe.” Setting his notebook on the counter you look around, you feel like you’ve said too much.
“Hey, um, thanks for the whole… unleashing my anger thing.” You're setting yourself up for a goodbye, Peter can sense it.
“Are you hungry? Wanna go get some pizza?”
No matter what was said, or thought, you still have that pinch of annoyance at him. But his brightness was what you needed today, and you hadn’t had lunch. You have a sinking feeling you’d regret it, there was something that felt like it was a bit more than friendly and it had you throwing up every wall possible.
Still, you find yourself agreeing.
“Sure. Let’s get some pizza.”
It was a stereotypical pizza place and those were the best ones. The wall is covered in pictures of random people, terrible paintings and red checkered tablecloths covered wobbly tables. They had a permanent sticky residue, your elbows peeled when you raised them up.
“I’m surprised you didn’t judge me on my hawaiian choice.” He always did, he told you it wasn’t authentic and childish.
“Hey, I’m a pizza guy, alright? Anything you put on a pizza belongs on it. I mean, I get the appeal, sweet and savory.” Your face brightens, he understands. “Exactly! And the warm pineapple just hits differently, it’s like-” Peter can read your mind, you say it at the same time. “Fries and ice cream.”
Another thing he found gross, your head tilts, it just kind of clicks with Peter. Your ex would sneer when you’d go for a dip, you begged him to try it a hundred times, you promised he’d like it but he’d tell you it was ‘fucking gross’.
“Hawaiian and pepperoni, can I get you kids anything else?” You shake your head while Peter responds for the both of you, ‘no thanks, we’re good.” Peter’s slice has a pool of grease in a slice of his pepperoni, it looks delicious. He sees you eying his choice and holds it out, “you want a bite don’t you?” Your eyes flash to your slice, “only if you take a bite of mine.” It’s only fair. “Swap with me,” you trade plates and tap slices as a cheers, humming when you take a bite Peter nods impressively.
You swap back and take a bite of yours, it’s heavenly. “I’m glad I got mine.” Peter agrees with the statement, “I’m sorry, babe, but pepperoni is superior. It’s all about keeping it simple.” You know he meant nothing by it, you know it meant it in a friendly way, you know it’s a regular pet name to use in passing, but he called you babe.
Hearing the term of affection makes your skin crawl, you swallow a lump in your throat. You want to snap at him, but instead your voice comes out soft. “Please don’t call me that.” Peter’s eyes soften, he almost tells you he didn’t mean it like that, but he knows you already understand that.
“No problem, old lady.” It took a second, but you couldn’t stop the laugh. “What did you just call me?” Peter bites his bottom lip, “well, that’s the opposite of babe, isn’t it?” It makes your smile bigger, it’s funny, if you had asked him something that simple he’d fight you on it, ask a million questions and push it until you gave up.
For the first time in a month you really can’t remember why you thought he was so great.
WEEK THREE.
Natalie Greene has her hair pulled slick back in a ponytail, a determined look and hands on her hips.
“Let’s fuck some shit up.”
Lunch with Peter had really pushed you forward, you had strayed away from him the last few days. You still listened for him nightly but avoided him in the hallway and at school, he was everything he was not, and it made you feel queasy.
It was time you removed him from your life, you started with blocking him on everything. From instagram to duolingo. Then, you piled up everything he left behind or things that reminded you of him, but you couldn’t touch your closet. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Enter Natalie Greene.
“I don’t know why it’s so hard for me, everything else was fine.” Natalie shrugs, your closet doors are open and she’s itching to start rummaging. “It’s not for me. What are we thinking, trash, donate, burn? Dare I say detonate?”
You snort, “think I could do some black magic?” Her eyes light up, “I’ll look up the dark arts right now, don’t dare me.” You sigh, “I don’t care what you do with them, I just need them out of here.” Natalie Greene understands, she’s been there too a few times. Everything that reminds you of him burns like hell. A constant reminder of what’s no longer.
It’s only five shirts and some sweatpants but it feels paralyzing. Once his clothes are gone he’s no longer, like the last year never meant anything. He cheated but you still feel like it was real for the time you had him.
“Shit, can we raincheck the disposal?” Natalie is staring at her phone in her hand, a worried line where her lips were. “Family stuff.” You tell her it’s fine and send her out in a second, staring at the bag you started to twitch.
It felt daunting- a looming presence. You almost got rid of him but couldn’t. It was five minutes of harsh breathing, then you drag it across the hall hoping Peter was home. You needed them gone.
May answered the door and you feel slightly flustered.
“Hi, May. Is Peter home?”
She welcomes you in the door, skipping over the makeshift laundry bag and giving a quick but squeezing hug. “How are you feeling?” If you had been asked that a week ago you’d fly off the handle, but this week it feels like you can breathe a bit better.
“I think I’m doing pretty okay. It helped to know he cheated, it makes me miss him sixty percent less. The other forty makes me feel pathetic.” May frowns with empathy, “my college boyfriend cheated. Betrayal and hurt is a weird feeling when mixed with love.”
You laugh, “yeah, it really is.” May clears her throat, “Peter’s in his room, he may be busy with some homework.” You thank her and move down the hallway, the plastic bag follows, half of you hopes it rips because it’s what he deserves.
You knock and wait for his response, grunting when you swing the trash bag over the threshold and let it drop. “I have an odd request for a man.” Peter seems surprised to see you for a second, then looks at the bag and back at you. He seems a bit more weary.
“Uh huh.”
“I’m getting rid of his things and Nat had to dip, wanna come with?” You follow up with a wince, “I’m sorry, this is super weird and out of place.”
Peter shrugs, “if it helps, it helps. And if you’re serious, I’ll go with you.” You take a deep breath, healing and growing isn’t always comfortable. “Fuck it, let’s donate some shit.”
You feel like you stand straighter walking out with Peter behind you, he’s carrying the dead weight and you feel accomplished. May has a raised eyebrow, you hold out your hand and settle her curiosity.
“Don’t worry, justice is about to be served.”
May grins at her nephew's soft smile, she’s seen and heard about you more in the last two weeks than she has in the last nine years. “It’s sounding a lot more like twenty percent.”
The moment things started turning south was at the donation center. You weren’t even standing super close to Peter, or radiating an aura that even suggested he was anything more than a conveniently close acquaintance. But the volunteer at the front thought differently.
“Aw, I wish more young couples came in, it always seems to brighten up the place!”
You feel like a force of wind caught you breathless, every inch of you froze on the spot. When she says couple you think of him, but you’re not a couple anymore. When she says ‘couple’ you feel your heart encapsulate with rubble, the idea of him makes you feel sick.
You don’t think you could ever love again.
Especially not with Peter, not even when he shies away with pink cheeks and tries to shrug her comment off. It’s not worth the awkwardness of announcing you’re not a couple, you both know you’re not, and she doesn’t really care if you were or not.
“We were just in the mood to donate today,” he plays it off well. You chew on your lip and watch him fill out the donation slip, it’s second nature for Peter to take care of you, it was something he mostly failed at.
Before the attendant can take the bag, Peter stops her by hovering his hand over it, he turns his neck and makes eye contact. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Your heart pounds, threatening to crack the rock.
“I’m sure.” Because, you really are.
Peter smiles, “any last words?” You try to think of something, nothing comes to mind other than a blur of frustration and confusion. Raising your hand you give it the middle finger, Peter’s laughing at your blank face, “c’mon, you know you wanna double it.” You do, so you did.
It feels freeing, you’re not healed but you don’t have a daunting weight on your shoulders anymore. A satisfied smile spreads, your hands drop for a second before Peter’s high-fiving you. You’re tucked under his arm after saying his thanks to the confused volunteer, bumping your hip against his and caged in his hold you feel safe. Safer than you’ve ever felt.
A crack in the rocks, your heart thumps wildly when he drags you opposite from where you came. “Let me buy you a hawaiian.”
Peter is pretty. You could admit it. Never out loud, but you’d admit it silently. He’s on fire tonight, keeping you laughing and talking. He’s a perfect story teller, he has a way of pulling you in. He’s charismatic and throws himself into every role, voices and body movements.
Your chin is resting on your hand while you focus on every word of his, entranced in his excitement. A lamp hanging over your mini booth makes him look a tad yellow, but his eyes shine brighter than all hell, you never knew brown eyes could suck you in for hours.
For a second your mind blips and you truly can’t remember his eye color. But you know they’re nothing like Peter’s.
You forget to react, because Peter cut himself off and waved his hand in front of his face. You blink alert, he has a very charming smile, you look at a table of older women. “You good? Felt like you were trying to look into my soul.”
You can’t stop it, it's a knee jerk reaction and the moment you say it you regret it.
“Your eyes are very pretty.” You won’t stop looking at a slice of mozzarella on a grandma’s plate. Peter hums, nodding his head like he understands, “so you weren’t trying to sacrifice me, you just got lost in my very pretty eyes.”
The crack splinters, a chunk falls off. You meet his eyes, he’s not making fun of you. You sit straighter and reach out to steal a piece of pepperoni from his slice, acting like you’re not blatantly flirting with ease.
“I just haven’t noticed them before I think.”
Peter’s quiet for a moment, his arms are crossed on the table, fingers tap on his elbows.
“Well, I’m glad you are now.” It’s a little too much, he’s not allowed to entertain you back, he could hurt you too.
You clear your throat, “I need to ask you something.” Peter stops tapping, it’s like he’s been waiting on you to say it. “Yeah, anything.”
You lean forward a little, “did you tell my mom about the party last year?” He looks slightly disappointed that was your question, “nope.” Your eyes narrow, “I’d rather us not start a friendship built on lies.”
Peter lights up, “friendship?” A displeased expression was shared, “thin ice, Parker.” He seems a bit more determined to tell the truth this time.
Peter sits up and interlocks his fingers, “I promise I didn’t tell her. Mr. Harrington did. And I know how much you like him and I thought you would stop going to see him if you knew and he’s super old so I just kinda… let you believe it was me.”
Your heart breaks free, it’s loud and pumping and it’s making you feel alive. A sense of urgency to do something to him makes you itch, you have to pull your hands to your lap. In that second, for whatever reason, all you want is to feel his skin on yours.
He’d be willing to do anything for you, even at the cost of you hating him.
“You’re the most selfless person I know and it’s kind of insufferable.” Peter rolls his eyes, “just admit you like me, god.” Your breath stutters, but you move right past it.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking about the petting zoo.”
Peter jumps back into character, “alright, so I’m down on-”
For the first time in weeks you slept through the night, until three am. You woke up on your own, a mental alarm had you looking out for him. After you hear the comforting chorus of movement, you hide under your pillow and go back to sleep.
Your world is falling apart. You were on the track to healing, each piece of your heart was slowly mending back together. Until news of Natalie Greene going out of town hits, you collapse to your bed with an arm over your eyes. Facetime carries her into your room.
“Why couldn’t your grandma die next month?” She nods her head, folding a tank top to drop it into her carry on. “So true, she should’ve known you were having a crisis.” You nod, “it’s so hard knowing the world doesn’t revolve around me.”
The room goes quiet as she moves around and packs. You contemplate telling her, you didn’t want a spectacle and you didn’t even know if or what you wanted from Peter. But damn if you hadn’t been thinking about it for days. You wonder if she’s picked up on the hints, you’d been relying on her less and less.
“Are you going to hang with Peter while I’m gone?” Your mind flashes to him, the past few nights he’d sent you a few videos that he thought you’d like. And you did, even if he didn’t know you as deeply as he has until recently, he still makes you feel seen.
He would send you things he found funny.
Peter sends you things he knows you’d find funny.
“Maybe. He buys me pizza so he’s cool to have around, I guess.” Natalie Greene snorts, “and I’m sure he makes fun of your pineapple.” It feels like your heart shines, “no, actually. He gets it.” Your eyes flash to the top of the screen, a text from Peter pops up, you waste no time hitting the notification.
‘Wanna come have some brownie cookies?’
You bite your lip, rising from your bed you shuffle into your slippers. “Hey, Nat, I gotta go. I’m really sorry about your grandma.” She rolls her eyes, “she was super old and I didn’t really know her, it’ll be cool to see my cousins though.”
“Have fun on the trip!”
A wicked grin, “have fun with Peter.” You don’t even fight her on it, she knew exactly what you were doing.
Your knuckles tapped on the door, it was opened in seconds. Peter had a glow like you’ve never noticed, he only got more and more pretty. A smile stretched across his face, you love how it always meets his eyes.
“Hi.”
Your slippers softly scrape the wood floors when you enter, “hi.” Peter gestures you towards the kitchen, and for whatever reason, you reach behind you and tug him along.
“Okay, okay, so what did she say?”
Your legs swing on the counter, mumbling between mouthfuls of the dessert fusion you’re fully invested in Peter’s story. He had caught Mrs. Hopkins and the chef that lives on floor two in an argument, and it turns out Mrs. Hopkins was the complex's porch pirate.
Peter swallows his own bite, “she asked me to back her up! And I was all like, ‘hell no, you stole my aunt’s juicer.’” You gasp, “not May’s juicer.” Peter holds a finger up, ‘nah, I caught her red handed. She was so pissed and on the spot she snapped at me like, ‘it wasn’t a juicer, it was a butter dish.”
You slap a hand over your mouth, “oh no.” Peter’s eyebrows raise, turning his back to grab a glass of milk. “I wish you could’ve seen the look on her face when she realized she told on herself, it was awesome. She was spewing shit all the way to the elevator.”
Finishing your treat your tongue feels thick, holding out a hand in a silent request for a swig of his milk. Peter looks between your hand and his glass, he looks weary.
“Are you sure you wanna drink after me? I figured you’d be scared of my cooties.” You motion for the cup, he passes it over and you wrap your palms around the glass.
“Oh, you absolutely have boy cooties, they just become non-contagious at puberty.” Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, “I think I forgot that lesson, what else can I expect from puberty?” You laugh on a gulp of milk, “trust me, Parker, puberty hit you like a bus.
He steps closer, you set the glass down next to you.
“Is that a good thing?”
You look over his face, he’s got a defined bone structure but soft features. A boyish charm coats over him, it’s just enough of a hint of innocence you beg he never loses it. It’s a no brainer, he was attractive, your eyes flash to his mouth, it’s a wild instinct and you try your best to shake it off.
“Yes. I’d say puberty was very kind to you.” Peter takes another step, “how so?” Pretending to think about it, like you weren’t already, you take a second to respond. You don’t notice him taking another step.
“Well, you have a nice jawline.” Peter tilts his head slightly, “is that all?” You’re not sure what it is, but there’s an undertone and it fills you with excitement.
“And very nice curls.”
“I don’t think that has anything to do with puberty.” You suppose he’s right, “you’re taller than me now.” You had an inch on him when you were kids. Peter’s suddenly right in front of you, “especially now.” He has to look down at you while you blink up at him from the counter, “yeah, you’re like a giant.”
Your mind betrays you, his lips are unnaturally pink, they look like they’re the right amount chapped. “Anything else?” You’re struggling, all you can think about is him but you can’t follow a train of thought.
“You smell really good,” you take a deep breath when his hands rest on either side of you, he’s caging you in and everything builds with anticipation, you fight the urge to pull him in. “You’re just complimenting me now.”
You shake your head, “do you know how many teenage boys smell bad?” It’s not your fault, he’s so close his scent has invaded your senses, you wanted to inhale him until you turned blue.
“One more.” You try to think, he’s making it very hard. It takes a second but you have one, proud to have pulled it from the chamber, a sly grin takes place.
“You-” Lips on yours, it happened so fast you couldn’t catch up. Mind spinning when you realize Peter Parker was kissing you, you know you should shove him off, but it feels right. It’s over as quick as it started.
You just got out of a relationship, one that tugged you to one of the lowest points of your life so far. It’s not lost on you when you weren’t the one to pull away, but you’re the first one to comment on it.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” You weren’t mad, you were warning him, he doesn’t know what lies ahead.
“But I really wanted to.” His eyes keep looking you over, was he expecting you to scream?
It’s dangerous territory, your voice feather soft when it comes out. “And do you want to again?” Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.
It felt like the air went still in the room, everything slowly melted into the background until it was only you and him. The quiet hum of the air conditioner faded into silence, the scene music from a movie on the tv in the room behind you diluted to nothing.
It was just you and Peter, and he was getting closer. It was achingly slow, you know what he’s doing, he’s giving you a chance to escape. Bail before it became too real, but has he thought about the possibility of you leaning closer?
What are you doing?
His lips hovered over yours, when you closed your eyes he took it as permission.
You’d always heard of the fireworks, that kisses are like explosions of happiness. And they were, and you loved them, but there were no fireworks. At least with him.
With Peter, your entire sky brightened. Little prickles of electricity dolly chained up your spine, an explosion of color in your mind. It made you starving and whole in one touch, his body made to fit against yours perfect.
You wonder if he has the same feeling, you think he does when his hand cups your face, the other one tugs your hip so you fit him better. It’s bold of you, but when you feel that entranced you don’t know how to stop. Your tongue swipes on his bottom lip, it’s very clear he doesn’t know what to do.
You pull away for air, Peter’s pupils blow wide before looking at the floor. His head feels like it’s spinning, the girl he’s always wanted, wants him right back. Peter feels very aware of his surroundings, how hard his heart is pounding, how you’re holding him to you, how you’re tracing his bottom lip with your thumb, how you’re leaning back in, how he’s holding you into him.
You take the lead, it’s slow but you build his confidence, he’s a quick learner.
In minutes you’re nearly laid back on the kitchen counter, you’re about to suggest he takes it to his bedroom, but the thought of breaking away from his kiss keeps you stationary. Peter’s locked to you too, your legs hooked around his waist, keeping him as close as he could get.
All you can think is Peter, Peter, Peter.
He claims he doesn’t know much, but it feels like he’s intune with your body. Peter matches you perfectly, you never knew a makeout session could bring so much tension. A moan pulls from the back of your throat when his thumb peeks under the cotton of your shirt.
Peter breaks the kiss, little huffs of air billow from your mouth while he kisses down the side of your neck. When he finds the spot that makes you squirm he nibbles gently, a hand tangled at the back of his hair lets him know he’s doing something right.
Especially when you arch into his touch as his hand confidently slides under your shirt, digging his fingers into the plush skin over your ribcage. “Fuck, Peter,” it’s breathy and eggs him on, he wants to hear nothing but that for the rest of his life.
Caught up in the moment neither of you heard the door, or noticed the third person in the room, until shock spewed from their mouth.
“Oh, wow!”
Peter rips himself away, his instinct is to hide your face into his chest. You’re grateful, it saves the embarrassment of looking his aunt in the eye after she watched you fold under his hands. Peter’s mind is racing, his only priority was keeping you comfortable.
Fuck, he kisses so sweet. Shut up!
“Hey, May. Get anything good at the farmers market?”
Blatant ignorance and casual conversation was the route he took, and it seemed to have worked. Cloth bags hit the counter, you stay hidden, Peter’s hand pressed into the back of your head. He’s sturdy, your head lays perfect on his sternum, it was made for you. No, stop.
“Yes! I got more of that european bread we really liked.” As much as you would like to be ignored, May wouldn’t let you. A pat on your knee sent your arms curling around Peter’s waist, he tried his best to settle the clench of his heart.
Fits perfect, fits perfect, fits-
“You’d love it, it’s roasted garlic, real pieces too!”
It may be rude to ignore the owner of a home, but you weren’t looking at her for another ten lightyears. At least you give a muffled response into Peter’s chest, “sounds good.” May giggles a little, you hear the fridge open and rustling.
“Are you gonna hide from me forever?”
If Peter could play pretend, so could you. You pushed him away softly, “Peter made brownie cookies.” May raises an eyebrow, directing her attention towards her nephew. “Ever since that first plate of cookies Peter’s been baking like it’s his job.”
He’s perfect.
“You made the cookies?” Peter had told you May did, you’re sure of it. He nods quickly, “I figured if I told you, you’d think they were poisoned.”
You want his touch, you want him pressed into you again. This has to stop.
It’s dramatic, but you’ll bite. “Smart boy.” Peter has a gleam in his eye, “I really am.”
May knows when she’s third wheeling, she makes an excuse to move to the living room, Peter nods towards his room. You accept his hand down and look behind you at the door. He was frustratingly magnetic, you wanted to do nothing more than fall into bed and stay forever attached to his lips.
It was a new rush of feelings, most of them new and almost dangerous. You wanted to explore and learn and take some of Natalie Greene’s advice and grow. But more than wanting, you knew you had to leave.
You were still healing, and if it hurt this bad with him, where nothing felt like this, you can’t imagine the burn this could leave.
“I should go,” you can’t look him in the eye, he’d suck you back in. You’d never be able to leave, you have to leave.
“Is this because of May? Cause we can leave and..” You shake your head fast and take a step back, he’s too kind, too understanding, too new and thrilling and, and… loving. You don’t deserve him or what he brings, you can’t bear the imagination of what his heartbreak would feel like.
“No, not May.” There was only one thing that kept you from him before, you were still pulling the same childish tricks. Something about Peter Parker caused you irrational terror.
“I told you, you shouldn’t have done that.”
Peter tries to look at you, you take another step back. “You asked if I wanted to do it again.” He can’t use logic, it won’t work here. “That didn’t mean do it again.”
“You sure? Cause it really seemed like you wanted me to do it again.” You feel choked for air, he’s backing you into a corner.
“You understood wrong. I need to leave.” Your footsteps paused when Peter called out your name, a timid look over your shoulder made him continue.
“Don’t do this. I know what you’re doing, and it doesn’t end well for either of us. We’re not eight anymore.” Your game was called, you didn’t want to do this, you don’t want to be mean. Why did he have to make you do this to him?
“Desperation isn’t a good look on you.”
Peter crosses his arms over his chest, his tongue swipes over his top teeth before poking out his cheek. “Of course it isn’t.” You’re very aware that he expected this to happen, he expected you to push him away and close the gates. If he did, then he shouldn’t have kissed you. He brought this on himself.
“Nothing is.” What’s a final blow if only to tie the bow on no future contact? Peter took a deep breath and gives you the escape you were looking for, “I’ll see you later.” You shake your head, “no, you won’t.”
The hallway is cold and so is your heart. Removing Peter as a potential threat didn’t do much, somehow you think it feels worse than what it would be like to love and then lose him.
Too bad he wasn’t worth the risk.
You knew dinner was going to be awkward. You did your best to get out of it but it was deemed impossible, you were about to gouge your eyes out of your head just for a solid excuse. But your mom said that you weren’t allowed to do that. So you didn’t.
Peter on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life. Especially when May shot you a wink across the table when he reached over your plate. You threatened your eye with a fork, your mom gave you a nasty glare.
“Butter, please?”
You cross your arms and scoff, “get it yourself, penis.” Your mom gasped out your name, appalled you would say something like that. She told you to look him in the eye and apologize, using his real name. Peter showed no reaction, chewing on a buttered biscuit.
“I’m sorry for calling you a penis, Peter.” It was the least authentic apology he’s ever heard.
“Aw, let them be kids, they’re in love.”
Your knife hits your plate so hard it chips, Peter chokes on his bite, crumbs fall from his mouth as he tries to speak as fast as he can. “No, no, May… no.”
You feel the walls closing in, the more you run from it, the more it’s announced. You can’t win. It’s brutal silence on your end, you’re shutting down into a shell of a human.
“Oh? I thought after-”
Peter has your back. “After we made pizza? It was one time, May. It wasn’t like I planned it, it just happened. We were hanging out and I just really wanted pizza and I didn’t really stop to think if she wanted pizza, I just made it.”
May plays right along, and asks you directly. “Does that mean you’re not coming over for pizza anymore?” Does that mean you’re not dating my nephew anymore?
Peter already knows the answer, he just wonders if it’s different if his aunt asks.
“The last pizza I had burned to a crisp in the oven and it tasted really, really bad. And if that was a pizza I thought I loved, I can’t imagine how bad it would’ve been if it was my favorite.”
Your mother has never seen you so passionate about pizza. May quirks an eyebrow, she looks at Peter while she asks.
“You don’t trust Peter in the kitchen?”
You’re doing your best to ignore Peter’s eyes on the side of your face, you’re trying to pretend you’re not being vulnerable.
“He’s the only person who could burn it all down.”
May clicks her tongue, she’s more focused on cutting up her dinner. “For what it’s worth, as Peter’s aunt, he’s a great chef. He takes his time in the kitchen, he doesn’t mind waiting for the yeast to bloom. Because when the dough is ready, he’s really gentle at scooping it up and helping it turn into whatever it needs to be.”
You turn to Peter, he gives a shy smile. “You’re not scared of burning yourself?”
A shrug, “It’s a precaution you take each time you cook, but from what I’ve learned, burns heal.”
“Scars don’t.”
Peter tilts his head, “they fade over time, don’t they?”
May speaks up, she’s looking right at you. It goes past the depth of high school love, it goes to the deepest mark one could leave on a heart. A lover lost too soon.
“They do.”
WEEK FOUR
Peter Parker has been on your mind for four days, (and nights,) straight. Each morning you wake at 3:02 and hear his muffled metronome. You’ve gotten avoiding him down to a T. The first morning you woke up early to watch him leave, then planned a ten minute window in case he was running late one day, and left around that.
You’ve been successful so far. But there was an underlying tug that wanted to be caught, you wanted him to hold you close to him and tell you that he wasn’t going anywhere and nothing safe is worth the risk.
Is that why you let yourself be caught by him this morning?
“Good morning,” it was shot over his shoulder while he locked the door. You grumbled out to him, Peter doesn’t mind you didn’t use words, you were directing expression towards him and that’s enough. “Wanna walk together?”
The idea sends flutters to the middle of your stomach, a brief image of his hand in yours while your hip bumps against his every so often and you laugh at whatever he tells you takes over your mind. “If you want to walk near me while we go to the same location, that’s on you.”
Peter’s hot on your heels down the steps, “that’s a total yes.” You ignore him and try to subtly shut the main door on him, it doesn’t work. “How have you been?” Walking faster, you hope he catches the hint. Peter matches pace perfectly- damn him and his puberty bus and his big strides.
“Personally, I have been mourning the loss of my favorite neighbor coming over.” Peter blinks at the side of your face while carrying a grin. “I mean you, by the way. In case you needed that hint.”
“Got it. Thanks.” You know you need to pick a side, but something in you won’t let you ignore him.
“Welcome. You know, if you’re free, you’re invited for dinner tonight.” You pout sarcastically, “tell May I’ll miss her presence.” Peter bumps your arm, you feel like dropping to your knees. “She keeps asking about you, I’m running out of excuses.”
You scoff, “excuse what? You can tell her the truth, penis.” Peter almost loses you when you swerve around a stranger’s shoulder, in one second he’s next to you again. “And what would the truth be?”
“You pushed yourself onto me,” you stare at Peter in shock when your wrist was grabbed tightly, you came to a stop on the sidewalk with him. He maneuvered to stand in front of you, noticing every inch he had on you; it seemed like his playful mood vanished.
“Hey, I was just messing with you, okay? I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it, but pushing myself on you is the last thing I want you to think I did. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry.”
Your features softened, your words sent him into a shame spiral. It was annoying how upset he looked with himself, even if you had to swear him off forever, you didn’t want him to think he sexually harassed you.
“I was kidding, Peter. I don’t think you pushed yourself onto me, you gave me the option to back out and I pulled you in. I’d just rather never speak or think about it ever again.”
A weary smile, “that bad, huh?” You pulled your coat tighter around your chest, the cold making the tip of your nose numb. “Quite the opposite, really.” Before you could fall into temptation and kiss him in the middle of the city, you pulled away to keep heading towards school.
“Can I ask what that means?” You nod, “sure.” You offer up no more explanation.
“Well?” You look at him for a second, “oh, sorry. You can ask all you want, doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.”
“You’re gonna inflate my ego, you’re telling me it was so good you can’t put it into words.”
You give him a side eye, “I wasn’t aware there would be so much talking when I allowed you to walk next to me.”
“That’s not denial…” His cadence was sing-songy.
“You’re in denial.”
Peter shook his head confidently, “I’m not in denial, I am very okay with the fact I like you.”
You came to a halt. He’s not allowed to feel this way, he doesn’t know what it could bring. Has he not seen what love can do to a person? Has he not watched you crumble into a thousand pieces over and over throughout the weeks?
And why did his confession turn every piece of rubble into stained glass?
Peter’s not allowed to like you because reciprocation leads to temptation which bleeds into dating where it comes to a crashing end in heartbreak.
You tried to put on a serious face, but you know Peter sees the mask. “Don’t.” Pointing a finger at his chest, “don’t say that, don’t think that, and sure as shit don’t act on it.”
Peter must think you’re joking because he pushes your hand down before lightly laughing. “Don’t act on it? I already did.” Is that what he did? Did he plan that moment? You thought it was a spur of the moment thing, but maybe he’s been planning it for weeks.
How long has he liked you?
It doesn’t matter. You’ll be the adult and end it before it can start, he doesn’t know what this can do to a person. You can do it nicely, or at least try. Maybe he’d find it more sincere if it comes from the heart.
“Peter, have you ever had your heart broken? Like, really broken? Because I wouldn’t put that on my worst enemy. It’s a type of emotional pain that turns physical, I mean, have you ever been so heartbroken you throw up? Have you ever been so sad you don’t eat for days? Have you ever cried so hard you almost fainted? It’s shit, Peter.”
“But was it worth it?”
Did he not hear anything you just said? “What does that mean?”
Peter adjusts the strap of his backpack, “you loved him, right?” You don’t need to give an answer, he already knows it. “Do you regret it? Even with the heartbreak, did that undo all the good that came out of it all?”
You lick your bottom lip, it’s been a circulating thought. Love opened up doors you didn’t know were closed, in the end it was a beautiful tragedy. But that’s the worst part, with Peter you don’t know what it would feel like. You’ve only had a glimpse and it tells you that it’s something that’s going to change you forever.
If Peter leaves, if Peter cheats, it’ll kill you, it’d be nothing like when he did it and you can’t take the gamble.
It was worth it with him, he made you grow. With Peter you’d take ten steps back and never be the same.
“There isn’t always a silver lining, Peter.” You refuse to answer.
“So, what, you’re never going to fall in love again?” Peter’s matching your pace again, you can’t wait until you’re in the four safe walls of Midtown.
“No, I just can’t fall in love with you.”
“Can’t is a funny word choice.”
“Won’t.” You exhale sharply, “I won’t fall in love with you.”
Peter has no interest in your claim, “it’d be easier if you just said you didn’t like me, but you’re not.”
You don’t have to answer, you can choose to ignore him entirely and you’ll be doing just that.
“I don’t like this conversation anymore and I’m ending it.” It works, only for twenty seconds, but it worked until Peter thinks he has a brilliant idea.
“Break up with me.”
Your steps slow, his did the same. Peter’s hands were tucked in his jacket pockets, the urge to kiss him breathless unmeasurable. You fight past it, “huh?”
“You said I don’t know real heartache, so I want you to break up with me. Right here.” He’s entirely way too amused for you, even the idea makes you feel sick.
“I’m not going to break up with you, Peter. I can’t get another tardy slip.” You keep walking, Peter hopped to keep up. “Ten seconds, just end it.”
“No.”
“C’mon, it’ll be easy. Dump me and break my heart.”
“We’re not dating. I can’t dump you, even if I wanted to.” What happened to ending the conversation?
You hear the smirk when he speaks. “If.”
“I’m not playing your word games, Peter.” Because you’re not.
A laugh, “then break up with me.”
You thought he was supposed to be smart. How has he not gotten any of this, does he think it’s a joke, does he think you’re playing? Peter has no idea what this means, but you do.
Tugging at his elbow, you stop him in his tracks. Staring into his eyes and daring yourself not to get lost, you try to make things extremely clear. “I can’t break up with you, Peter. I barely made it through him. I wouldn’t know how to handle losing you. You’d hurt me too bad and I can’t take that risk.”
Peter’s voice is soft when he answers, you want to close your eyes and have it carry you to heaven. “I can’t break up with you either. You’d be able to hurt me just as bad.” It takes you from your trance, “you would. Because I’m a bad girlfriend. If I wasn’t he wouldn’t have replaced me before he could end it.”
Peter’s eyebrows pull together, you stuff your hands into your coat pockets to keep from smoothing them out. “Hey, woah, let’s pause there. You did nothing wrong. Even if you were a bad girlfriend, and trust me, you weren’t, that would never justify him doing that to you. Nothing could.”
It’s nice of him, but he doesn’t know that. “We didn’t talk, you don’t know I wasn’t a bad girlfriend.” Peter scoffs, like the idea of you calling yourself a bad girlfriend offends him personally. “He made you cry all the time,” the words followed by your name. “Bad girlfriends don’t cry, bad boyfriends make their good girlfriends cry.”
Peter heard you. Every time you cried, every time you felt unloved, every time you sobbed out an ‘I’m sorry’ for something you didn’t know you did. He listened, Peter listened like you did each night. How did you never notice the universal gimmick?
If you think back, most of the bad moments were at the hands of him. And for Peter to notice when you were worlds away from his person, makes your heart wrench inside your chest. You know you already drew the line and there’s no crossing it, but it’s nice living in a moment make believe.
“You’d never be able to call me babe.” It was a shitty pet name. You never liked it.
You get flashed with a toothy grin. “That’s okay, I have a million to choose from.”
Or the obvious hang up, “May would totally hate me too, she knows I’ll take your virginity.” Peter waves you off, “we don’t know that.” You quirk an eyebrow, “we don’t?” Peter corrects himself, “she doesn’t have to know that.”
You chuckle from the back of your throat. “But she will. You wouldn’t be able to hide it. I definitely wouldn’t be able to hide it.” Peter looks down for a second, you follow his gaze, you wonder if you’re both zoned in on a black skid on the side of his shoe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s like, you just get a lot more… touchy, I guess. Nothing’s off limits anymore.”
A monotone reply, “yeah, that sounds like a total nightmare.”
It gets too real. Make believe time is over, now you have to be an adult and stick to your guns.
“It wouldn’t work between us, Peter.”
You feel sad, there’s no good answer and both of you would be left with a bruise. He wanted more than you’d let yourself give and you wanted more than you’d let yourself have. Peter was right, you could hurt him just as bad, and you’d never forgive yourself.
Peter made himself a constant, someone you could really rely on the last few weeks, and if you lose that you don’t know how you’d ever be okay again.
“If you think so.” His kind smile doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s a quiet journey the rest of the way, both of you receiving a tardy slip and parting ways in the hall without a word or glance.
Peter Parker had gotten his wish. You just broke his heart.
This was all Natalie Greene’s fault. If she wasn’t stuck states away at a funeral she would’ve held you accountable and used every means necessary to stop you from going to Peter’s.
It could also be Peter’s fault. He should’ve never kissed you like he did, he should’ve never made your heart beat with purpose and left a sear where he touched. Doesn’t he know you could never forget it?
It also didn’t help that you were drunk. Not drunk enough to be slamming into walls and slurring words, but enough to stop that part in your brain to hold you back from the things you truly wanted. Like your neighbor.
It had been three days of nothing and that wasn’t Peter’s choice. He respected your decisions too much. If you didn’t want him in your life, he wouldn’t be. Doesn’t he know that just makes you want him more?
Peter wasn’t at the party, you didn’t expect him to be, but you were a little hopeful he’d surprise you and show up. He didn’t. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t on your mind with each shot you took, or when you stopped for pizza with a group of friends, when everyone teased you for pineapple but you knew Peter wouldn’t.
You grabbed him a slice of pepperoni without thinking. Or maybe you were. It was an excuse to talk to him, to see him, to touch him. You could take it home and reheat it in the morning, or you could lean into your excuse of a few too many and knock on his door.
It’s Peter’s fault. He really shouldn’t have kissed you like that, he doesn’t understand his power.
Harsh banging. It’s over your head how late it is, you have important things to do. Like, lay over his body in his bed like you kiss down his neck, or squirm with harsh whimpers when he kisses down yours. You bet he likes to cuddle too, he never did, but Peter seems like he couldn’t get enough of you.
If you couldn’t date Peter you could use him as a rebound, right?
Faster knocking, why isn’t he answering? At your loudest, the door opens. He was sleeping, you could tell by the puffy eyes but you didn’t look at his face too long, no, Peter was in nothing but a pair of boxers.
When the fuck did he get so toned? You would’ve reached out for a light graze, but he stopped you.
“You’re so lucky May’s on overnight duty.” No, you’re lucky because he’s half naked and sleepy, you’ve never seen anyone so tempting. It feels like you’re dying and only he could save you.
You can’t help it, your palm connects with his chest, it’s there longer than a second. It’s less about pushing him aside and more about touching him, and he knows that. Peter talks at a normal volume for the hour, “what are you doing here?”
Your thumb traces his collarbones, “I brought you pizza.” Your breath skips when he turns his head to the side to check the time on the microwave in the kitchen, his jawline ultra toned.
“At one in the morning?” Peter’s amused, you don’t think he would’ve ever been so kind if you disrupted his sleep. You nod, “I was thinking of you.” You raise the small box, just as proof as you really did get him a slice.
Peter takes it with a smile. “Thanks, kid.” You don’t know why, but you really like that one.
“Can I come in?” If he thought all you wanted was to share a midnight snack, he was terribly mistaken. The door widened in response, you made sure to brush against his side, he said nothing.
Following him into the kitchen, you have a flashback. It’s one you want to reenact, maybe if you sit in the same spot he’ll catch the drift. A blue wave of light washes over him when his snack is stored for morning, he looks angelic.
You don’t think you’ve ever been this fascinated with him.
“Now I understand all the song references about refrigerator lights.” Peter looks over his shoulder, his grin makes you feel like you’re flying. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He emerges with two water bottles, cracking the lid on yours and passing it over. His rests on the counter. He doesn’t need water but you do and he’s not about to make you feel singled out.
You think it might be too late. You think you might already be falling.
“I don’t know, but I just get it.” He’s letting you do all the talking, it’s odd, you’re not used to being listened to. If Peter realizes what you’re doing, he says nothing. Maybe you just have to point it out.
You gesture to yourself, the real reason you came over finally announced.
“Do you see where I’m sitting?”
Peter nods, “I do.”
Your fingers tap on the countertop, “remember the last time I sat here?” Peter breathes deep, you wonder if he’s thinking about it right now. “I do.”
You wait. He makes no move. Where’s your kiss?
“Well? Are you gonna do it again?” You pucker for good measure, just in case there was an inkling of uncertainty on his end. You’re making it clear what you want. A faulty smile, you don’t like it one bit.
“No,” at least he sounds sorry about it. But he likes you, he told you himself, why would he deny you? Doesn’t he know how much you need this?
“Why not? If you think this is a trick, it’s not. If you want, I’ll kiss you first.” You jump down but you’re held back by a hand, he’s literally pushing you away. It’s a feeling that causes a tug, you really don’t like it.
“You’re drunk,” Peter follows the statement with your name, he’s not mean but he’s also not going to change his mind.
You scoff, buzzed would be more accurate. “I’m not drunk.”
“Drunk enough you’re allowing yourself to have this conversation.”
He has a very fair point.
“Liquid courage, kiss me?” Peter shakes his head, “you made it clear nothing would happen, so nothing is going to happen.”
You grin, “consider it practice then.” Your words make him frown, “you don’t want this.” Who is he to tell you what you do or don’t want?
“How do you know I don’t want this?”
“Because this isn’t you.”
You feel a tightness in your chest, he doesn’t get to think he knows you more than you do. “You don’t know me, Peter. You just have an idea of me.”
“You’re hurt and confused. I won’t take advantage of that, being mad at me won’t make me change my mind.”
Where was his care coming from? He didn’t care about you this much and neither should Peter. It wasn’t normal, was it? But it’s also not fair to compare Peter to him at every chance, especially because Peter only ever seems to outshine.
“Why didn't you act like this a year ago?” If he truly cares, where was it before?
“You mean when you had a boyfriend?”
Is that why he waited until now to be a friend? Did he think you’d be sad and have weak defense, making it easy for him to get first in line? “Is that what it is? You waited until I was dumped to put on this act and lay it on me while I’m all confused? How long have you had this planned out?”
Your words are like daggers, the things you’re alluding to, he would never do them. Ever.
“Don’t. I’ve always liked you but you had a boyfriend and the last thing on my mind was trying to get with you when it ended. You were so miserable, I just wanted to be a friend or something, but it changed and maybe a little piece of it was me being selfish. I made the first move, several times. I kissed you, I asked you out, I told you I liked you. And you said no. I respect your no, why don’t you?”
You could tell him the truth, tell him that he was right and his love terrified you because you haven’t felt something so raw before in your entire life. Peter wasn’t yours, or anywhere close to it. It shouldn’t be natural to feel magnetized to him.
You could tell him the truth, but you’re better at hiding behind false walls.
“I liked you better when you didn’t care about me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
He knows you’re lying but he won’t make you admit it, no, he’ll push you into your corner of lies until you force your way out with the truth. Peter Parker will not chase you.
Would it be wrong to push him so far away he wouldn’t let you chase him too?
“You have a superiority complex. That’s why you can’t find a girlfriend, or any friend really. You think you’re better than everyone else and it’s a natural repellent.” You back up towards the door, you spit words as they come to your mind.
“I was willing to do it. I was willing to give you a shot but you ruined it for yourself. You’re going to look back on this moment and regret it.”
Peter really doesn’t care for your dramatics. It’s impressive he can one, handle it and two, make you check yourself. “Regret not taking advantage of a drunk girl? Is that what you’re insinuating?”
“No! I just meant that… I don’t know what I mean, Peter! I don’t know anything and you’re not helping in the slightest and everything about you makes me want to fucking cry or scream or, or… I don’t know.” Your voice trails, it’s the most honest you’ve been in weeks.
“I don’t know anything anymore, Peter.”
Everything you’ve ever thought about love has been wrong.
He made you feel flightless. But Peter, Peter made you feel free. Peter made you feel like you were flying at full speed, like the wind washes over your cheeks so harshly you’re in a permanent grin. You’ve never seen the world from this high up, in this much color, it’s never been so beautiful.
The flight is amazing, thinking about stopping it hurts you. How would it feel to be on the ground again, to walk around, to be without wings and treetops and colors and wind? How would it feel to be without Peter?
Would it feel like an agonizing death?
Would your wings ever be patchable again?
Questions that make you realize the closer you get to him, the harder you’ll hit the ground. You’re okay with falling, you’re able to brace yourself the best way you can. But will Peter be there to catch your landing?
It looks like he’s trying to stop himself from hugging you, it’s a good thing he is. He might be thinking you’d yell or push him away, you think you’d just cry.
Peter looks tired, and more than just because you woke him up. You wonder if it’s because he’s up late every other night, you want to ask him about the routine and why he broke it tonight. You won’t.
Your back hits the door, there was only one thing you were sure of, it had been a chain reaction since. This was Peter’s fault, he’s the one that kissed you. He started it.
“You shouldn't have kissed me, you really, really shouldn’t have. You’ve fucked this all up, penis.”
Peter’s tired of the blame. “You came here,” he ends it with your name, like he’s pleading.
It’s annoying, at least you tell yourself it is. If you can replace feelings with antonyms you’ll trick your brain and you’ll be right on track to hating him again and only seeing him as a void object.
You open the door, it’s the last time you’ll allow yourself to look at his face.
It’s Peter’s fault.
“Because you made me want to.”
WEEK FIVE.
It’s way too early for the hysteric buzz of a mosquito in your ear, yet, it still sings to you while you’re locking your front door.
“Good morning.”
You nod your head, “penis.”
And just like that, the mosquito’s squashed.
You yawn so harshly that you rub at your jaw. You’re unable to sleep and miserable. You’ve tried everything under the moon and stars, nothing worked. Staring up at the ceiling you tried to count sheep but they kept turning into the tiny freckles that dotted over Peter’s cheeks.
It wasn’t fair to keep thinking about him, you’re doing your part. You cut him out and you decided to hate him. You’re just finding out that that’s not how it works.
3:02, you hear his window.
3:04, your eyes finally get heavy.
3:07, you’re dozing off.
3:10, you’re asleep.
It wasn’t fair.
Three nights later, It’s 3:02 in the morning and a window slams shut. This time, it isn’t your neighbors. This time, it was your own. You should be scared, but you don’t feel threatened, you’re curious. You pull your head from under your pillow.
Spider-Man is at the foot of your bed, his shoulder hits the window frame when he pulls his mask off. He’s racing for air, he looks beat up, a gash crossed over his chest.
If you didn’t have as much distain as you did, you’d be slightly shocked.
“If you get blood on my carpet, I will fucking kill you.”
Peter must be dizzy, because he’s imagining you in his room.
"Seriously, if you get blood on my carpet I'll have you come over tomorrow and scrub it out with your toothbrush."
Peter tries to swallow, it's hard to do. His head feels like a brick, his hands won't stop shaking.
“Hey, pesky pete, I mean it. Get the fuck outta here.”
When he holds his eyes close, then opens them, he still sees you there. Peter looks down at his hands, turning them back and forth. They go in and out of focus, it’s dizzying, at one point he has five hands.
He says your name questioningly, it’s hard to get words off his tongue, his brain is moving too slow. “Yup, that’s me. Now get out.” Peter touches his chest, it’s beet red. His shoulder is killing him, he stumbles and slams into the wall- now you’re sitting up in bed.
“Peter, are you okay?” It’s pure worry, the act is dropped for a second, he’s not normal. He’s not answering, you think he’s trying but he can’t bring himself to speak, he’s lagging in real time. One foot hits the floor, the rest of you perched in your bed keeping an eye on his frame.
“Peter.” You need his focus on you.
He presses his hand to his wound, a last ditch effort to protect your carpet. Then, he hits the floor. You jump up, “Peter? Peter, are you okay? Peter,” he’s passed out and tore up to shreds. Every bit of you wants to scoop him into your lap and hold him tight, but instead, you get to work.
Peter flies up from the bed gasping for air, his face is cold and wet. The source is your twisted grin above him, a water glass held tightly.
“Oh, good. You’re up.”
Peter pats his chest, a blur of last night follows. He sits up in a haste, a tug in his side makes him cradle it, you both wince at the same time.
“Yeah, I tried doing the best I could, but I wasn’t sure if there was something under that.. Or how to take it off. You probably have significant damage.”
“Thanks.” His mouth is dry and his voice crackly, it sends a zing up your spine. Peter’s never felt so weak after a rough night, his head is pounding and he can feel the crunch of dried blood under his suit.
“Can I get some of that or are you still punishing me?” The only reason you give him the rest of the glass is because you like Spider-Man. He has a job to do, Peter on the other hand, could die of thirst.
“You passed out on me last night.”
Peter chugs the glass, you almost think about getting him another. “I did.”
You nod, “I had to lug you up here, you’re extremely heavy when you’re dead weight.” He almost smiles at the imagery, instead he glances down and realizes you did your best attempt at working on the gashes over his chest and arms through the spandex.
Even as he was passed out and rendered useless. You must not hate him as much as you say. It's still nice to know he's not getting special treatment because of who he is, not even Spider-Man could make you like Peter.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent bedside manner?”
“Oh no, anything I could do to make it worse?”
“I think another water and some advil might kill me.”
“Perfect, coming right up.”
Peter takes another ten minutes before trying to sit up, “I should go home and shower.” Your hand gently pushes his shoulder back down, “easy, tiger. May isn’t home and you’re not about to turn your shower into a personal slip and slide.”
Before you could regret the words, “if you want a shower, you’re doing it here.” He paused under your touch, scared you made the wrong impression, your eyes widened. “Not with me or anything, I just meant so you’d have someone around.”
Peter doesn’t care how it has to get done, he wants the suit and dried blood off him. He nods his head and sits up a little slower before tugging at his neckline. You look away for a minute, unsure where to settle your eyes.
“Help me get my arm out?” Your hands pull at the suit, his arm escapes, it’s covered in small knicks. It’s a subconscious move, you gently tap the cuts with your thumb. Peering into his eyes you hold a frown.
“Does it hurt?”
Peter feels like you might kiss his marks. “Not really, it’s mostly my side.”
You rub his chest, “you got a gash right here.” It’s over his heart.
“Guess we’re twinsies now.”
If he wasn’t in pain, you’d slap his arm for the comment. Instead, you watch him carefully remove the red and blue until he’s left in his boxers. You do your best to keep your eyes on his face, Peter looks amused.
“You’re trying really hard not to look at me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Parker.” You offer a hand to pull him up, he accepts. A slow stand, his back’s more defined than his front, you almost bite your fist. Peter has the same shower as you, but you still explain how to use it. And allow him to use your products.
“Got it.” The tap is turned on, the water hits against the ceramic. You make no effort to move, instead watching for a moment. Peter’s fingers pull at the waistline of his briefs, your eyes dart right to them.
“You know, this is the part where most people leave.” It’s teasing.
“I just wanted to make sure you got in okay, it’s a high step.” It’s a quarter of the truth.
“I’ll be alright, I’ve been doing this alone for a few years.” Peter says it like it’s an inside joke, but it just makes you feel sad. He’s never had someone to be there for him, or patch up his wounds, or make sure he’s okay to shower. You wonder how many times he’s passed out on his bedroom floor with no one to drag him to bed.
“You okay?” A hand on your skin wakes you back up, clearing your mind of Peter.
You nod, it was a flash of empathy. You couldn’t imagine what it’s like for him.
“I’m just sorry you’ve had to do it all alone. It doesn’t seem fair, Spider-Man does nothing but take care of other people. He should have someone to take care of him for a change.”
It may sound like you’re insinuating, especially the way he looks at you when he responds.
“Yeah. That’d be nice.”
Seconds tick, it’s getting a little weird, mostly because you want to tackle him into the shower and race your mouth over every inch of skin. You clear your throat, “you want me to get you anything from your place?”
“Sure. Go shopping for me.”
You use the copied key May left for you several years ago when you tended to some plants while her and Peter went on vacation, and it feels weird being in their home alone. It’s too quiet, the Parker’s are expressive in everything they do, when they're not around everything lacks passion.
Peter’s bedroom is almost the same as it was the last time you were in it, the same furniture but moved around. His posters looked updated and there’s a few extra awards he’s tucked away, you frown, he should be proud of his achievements and hang them high.
A new picture of him and May from last year, you ignore the part of your brain that says he has very kissable cheeks. His closet is clean and he’s made it easy for you to search around, each drawer is dedicated to a different clothing and everything that should be hung up, is.
It’s something you hadn’t considered, but a man taking care of his laundry creates an entire new standard.
Peter handed over the control when you said to get what you wanted, that means you can dress him how you please. And wouldn’t he look yummy in sweatpants and a white shirt? You don’t see how he couldn’t, it’s the male version of a sundress.
Arms full of cotton, you tap at the bathroom door with your foot. You shout over the water, “I have your clothes.” It’s muffled but you hear him and gently push the door open, a faint outline on the shower curtain suddenly makes you shy.
“They’re right here,” patting the clothes for good measure. Peter shoots out a ‘thanks!’ and you slowly back out until you’re sitting patiently on your bed, listening closely when the tap turns off. If he goes falling, you’re busting the door down.
No struggles, at least not until he emerges. Peter’s fine, but you’re speechless and choked. There was no one you punished but yourself with the outfit, the t-shirt is tight on his arms and the sweatpants hug his hips just right.
“I feel human again, thanks, kid.” You turn on manual breathing mode and distantly nod, his biceps are stretching the cotton, you lick your lips subconsciously. “No problem.” You watch a water droplet fall from his hair to his shoulder, your eyes stay hooked in place, his arms flexed when he dried it with the towel you lended him.
“Where should I put this?” You point to your hamper, if he put it anywhere else you’d be half tempted to sniff it. “Did you tell May I was here?” You nod and finally find strength to talk to him, “yeah. I sent her a text last night, I wasn’t sure of her Spider-Man knowledge so it was a little cryptic.” You take a breath and choose honesty, no doubt he’d get a third degree.
“I think she interpreted it as us hooking up.” Another breath, “I did not correct her.”
Peter has a boyish smile spread, it squeezes your chest, you want him in your hold more than anything. “Nice.” You scream and cheer and thank your lucky stars when he sits next to you. He used your products, but he still smells like Peter. You want to stuff your nose into his shirt and breathe him in until you physically can’t.
“May knows, by the way.” You nod absentmindedly, “anyone else?” “A couple friends.” You almost make a quip like ‘wow, you have friends?’ but you really can’t find it in you to pretend to hate him anymore. Especially when he almost died on your floor and all you wanted to do was tell him that you were sorry and you were mostly in love with him.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Do the webs come out of you?” Peter lightly laughs, it’s always the same question off the bat. “No. I make a special web fluid and I have these bracelet kind of things to shoot them out.”
“Oh. Cool.” You’re hiding the burn in your lower stomach at the thought of him over his desk creating a new form of technology. He’s so fucking smart it’s unfair, he’s too smart for his own good.
He’s grinning at you, “is it?” You can’t stop staring at his mouth, “yeah.” You’d do anything to kiss him again, the last time you truly felt alive was when his lips were on yours. “Any other questions?” There’s one. But it’s not about Spider-Man.
“Not really.” Your interest could be explored later, right now, all you needed was him. Peter finds it surprising, “I think you are the least curious person to find out about this.” You shrug, shifting your body more towards him. Peter rejected you last time but if you move like he did when he kissed you, if you move in slow for the kill, you might just get your way.
“Give me the cliff notes.” Peter starts ticking them off with his fingers, while he’s distracted you move in closer. “Bit by a radioactive spider when I was fifteen. Heightened senses plus a cool sixth sense where I can sense danger. Super strength-” You stop listening right there, your eyes are all over his build, no fucking wonder he’s a contender for worlds fittest man.
You shuffle in, your knee brushes his thigh, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You thank the sweatpants, the material too thick to give you away. “-Oh, and I stopped needing my glasses which is pretty cool. I think that’s pretty much it, but if you want me to expand on anyth…”
Now or never.
You push up and straddle Peter’s waist, his hands immediately hold your hips. You lean down, his grip tightens. Peter mumbles out your name, you answer with a slow kiss. Your fingers drag through his hair, curls wrap themselves around your fingers, you hold them tight. When Peter licks your bottom lip, when Peter takes control, you need to feel every bit of him.
Your hands fall down his neck and over his shoulders, then they fall to his arms, your nails lightly drag up the skin. A hum from Peter, your lower stomach clenches, you answer with a roll of your hips, he sighs into your mouth. You drag your palms over his chest, his heart is at the same pace as yours.
You break the kiss, both of you breathing fast, it doesn’t last. You kiss over his jawline, you can’t hold it in, you can’t fucking stop yourself. “You’re so fucking hot,” wet marks are dotted down his neck. “I wanna take you right here, I wanna make you feel so good.” Another grind, this time, Peter moves with you, it pulls a moan from the back of your throat. The favor returned with a hickey at the bottom of his neck, it sent him falling into your hold.
You’re kissing anywhere you can reach, “you gotta stop,” it comes out in a puff. “You’re killing me here.” Too bad, not so sad, you’re latched onto his mouth again, this time, you tug at the bottom of his shirt, it takes three times before you realize he’s not catching the hint and you pull it up yourself.
You study him when it goes flying, his eyes are more pupil than brown, his lips pouty and pulling a red hue. “Lay back,” he does, you lean over him, you’re marking up his collarbones while his hand has a fistful of your hair. Then… the kisses get lower, you're grazing over his chest, delicate brushes across the semi-healed cuts, you must’ve blocked out the advanced healing perk.
Your hand trails over his side, you soak in the grooves and muscle, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. Peter’s breathing hitches, you keep teasing, then bring your lower body into play. Bumps and grinds have Peter panting in your mouth, you pull back, even as he’s heaving for air, Peter’s trying to follow your kiss.
Your fingers slip further under the elastic, holding his gaze when you tell him about your intentions. “I wanna suck you off.”
There’s a pause, then he sits up on his elbows.
“Does this mean you want to be my girlfriend?” Does it? You don’t think so. You just want him, you want his mouth and his hands and his body intertwined with yours. But to fall into him and have him see all your worst parts, to have him hold your heart between his hands and trust he’d take care of it is too much.
“No.”
He’s sad. It’s not just something you think, it’s something you know. Your heart tumbles with his face. You want to hug him, you try, but he tossed you off his lap like nothing.
“May told me to get groceries today, so I should probably head out.” You swallow tightly, you’re not liking how this is sounding. “Are you mad at me?” You feel nothing but shame at his sigh, it’s debilitating when you hear his cutthroat tone. “I’m not a fucking rebound.” But he wanted to be. He wanted this. He wanted you.
Peter doesn’t use the f word, not ever.
“Whether I’m your girlfriend or sucking your dick, you’d still be a rebound.” Silence rings around the room. Peter’s voice is tight when he answers you.
“Is that all you think of me? Just a rebound?”
You don’t know how to be honest with him. You never have. “Would I be wrong?”
“Very.” It’s clipped. You’ve never heard Peter with an edge and you don’t like it. You really don’t like being on the other side of his frustration. He’s only ever been soft and kind with you, you can’t handle any more change in your life. You need Peter to keep being Peter.
You were so scared of losing him you went and filled his head up with words of affirmation, used your mouth on him, then turned around and shut him down. If this is only a fraction of how it stings when Peter’s upset you don’t know if you could handle more. You’ve never felt Peter’s cold shoulder before and it hurts.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” It’s bullshit, Peter can sense it too. “You did.” You chew on your bottom lip, “I did, but not like that.” Peter seems taller than normal when he’s standing over you, you can’t look him in the face, it’s nothing but being mortified. You really put your foot in your mouth.
“Do you even like me or are you just horny?” You can’t allow yourself to answer him.
“I’m an idiot.” Your face turns in, Peter’s laughing at himself. “I’m such an idiot. I really thought you liked me. I thought you were trying to fight it but no, that was just me daydreaming.” You’re looking up at him but he’s already standing at the door with his shirt on and suit tucked under his arm.
“You don’t like me. You never did and now I’m trying to make pieces fit where they don’t.” He’s staring right into your eyes, he says it louder, he’s saying it for himself. “I’m not a rebound.”
“You’ve never been properly loved and it shows.”
And that’s the most brutal thing he could’ve ever said to you. Your lower lip trembles with the tears pricking at your eyes, he started it and you can’t stop it.
“I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much, Peter.”
No surprises there. “Yeah, I know.” He sounds just as defeated.
When he leaves you cry harder for Peter than you ever did him, and that says something. But you’re not listening.
WEEK SIX.
You finally broke down and told everything to Natalie Greene. She held you in her arms while you cried about losing what you could’ve had. “I’m sure he’ll come around babe, he likes you a lot.” You shake your head, “not anymore. He hasn’t answered any of my texts in three days.”
You can at least give yourself the benefit of trying to do damage control. He wouldn’t let you. You’d sent a flurry of texts, each one more apologetic than the next, begging him for a chance to see you but he refused.
You think you broke him.
“Have you tried talking to him? In person?” You shake your head, he doesn’t want to talk to you. You blew everything up and for the first time you really hate it. Two weeks ago you were begging for this but now you just feel terrible.
“Nat, this is nothing like what I had with him and I don’t know what that means.” Your friend hugged you close, “it means you love him more than you ever did him.” You swallow hard, you knew the truth but it was different hearing it.
It doesn’t matter anymore. You ruined it and Peter won’t talk to you anymore.
“You should’ve seen the look on his face, Nat. He was fucking crushed. It’s like…” You take in a sharp breath, you’ve been beating yourself up over it since he walked out. “It’s like I used him.” Natalie Greene doesn’t bullshit but she’s still soft as ever with her response, it’s purred out while her acrylics scratch your back. “You did.”
She’s your best friend. She should be on your side. “But I didn’t! I just-”
“Yeah, you did. You knew how he felt about you and you said no so he stopped trying. Then you showed up drunk and threw yourself at him, he said no and you got all butthurt. Then he comes over and somehow passes out on your floor and you offer him a blowjob.”
Well, when she puts it like that…
“Of course he’s going to think you flipped your script, you’re the one who kept pushing after you told him no.” Peter’s words echo in your mind, ‘I respect your no, so why don’t you?’ Because you can’t allow yourself to have him, that’s why. But… you already do, don’t you? Or, you did.
“He’s gonna wreck me, Nat. He already is.”
“Because you’re fighting it. I get it, babe, I’ve been where you are a dozen times. But you don’t get over heartbreak by hiding from love. I know it’s Peter Parker and he’s been your enemy since you were eight, but no matter how fast you try to run, he’s right there matching your stride.”
You sniff into her arm, she smells like lavender and it makes you snuggle further. “I think I’ve always liked him.” You could finally admit it. Natalie’s been there for months, years possibly. “I know. You always talk about him.”
You scrunch your eyebrows, “no I don’t.” Natalie thinks you must’ve said a funny joke because she’s laughing like it. “Yeah you do. Sure, it might have been mean things but if you truly hate someone you don’t notice everything they do.”
You noticed everything about Peter and made sure to fill Natalie Greene in on the gossip.
Like when he cut his hair way too short in middle school and his curls disappeared for months.
When he slipped in mashed potatoes in the cafeteria and fumbled until he could steady himself.
When his cheeks flamed pink because he forgot to silence his phone during a test and the Game of Thrones theme song blasted through the room as he awkwardly tried to silence the call.
Then there’s the time he stuttered when giving an answer in biology because Lindsey Snipes was twirling her hair at him. A small tug in your stomach, the answer suddenly clear to why you’ve always hated her too.
And when he bumped a friend's coke all over his notebook and he just watched with an open mouth while all his hard work was ruined.
When he stumbled up the steps.
When he hit his head with his locker.
When he stepped on his glasses.
When he was tackled in flag football.
When he tripped over his shoelace.
When he got glue in his hair.
When he winced while dissecting a frog.
When he cracked his phone because he dropped it and a guy on the football team kicked it clear across the cafeteria while he laughed. That one didn’t make you laugh. That one made you so angry you made a point to tell Kristina, said player's girlfriend, so she could give him a well deserved tongue lashing. And not the good kind.
When he fell asleep at the library and had a red mark on his cheek to prove it.
When he spit milk everywhere because the one he grabbed was expired.
When, no matter what, each time you met his eyes he’d send you a smile. And how each time there was something that made you want to give it back.
“Natalie,” you can hear it in your voice. It’s dangerous. It’s terrifying.
It’s worth it.
“I think I’m in love with Peter Parker.”
Natalie Greene and you had carefully conducted Operation: Get Peter Back.
Step one: Tell him, (IN PERSON) how you feel.
Step two: See above.
There were no other steps. Natalie Greene told you that’s all you could do.
One day later you knocked at his door before you could lose the small amount of courage you had, it’s soft enough you hope it’s unnoticeable, you could quit and say you tried. Your heartbeat’s in the bottom of your throat, your palms itch as you rub them over your shirt.
A smidge of relief, no one heard you. You’re about to quietly escape, May doesn’t let you off that easily. She’s surprised when your name comes from her mouth, you wonder how much she knows. “Hi, May. Is Peter home?” She’s got a weak poker face, her eyes dart to the side of the door before she’s smiling sweetly.
“Sorry, honey. He’s out with some friends.” You know he’s right behind the wood. You speak up, you want to be sure he hears you too. “Can I leave you with a message?” May stands straighter, she wasn’t expecting this. “Of course.”
“Can you tell him I’m sorry? And that I’ve been way too selfish and mean and a complete and utter fucking bitch to him for no good reason for nine years? Can you tell him that he’s the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this and that I really want to say it to his face?”
May ignores the colorful language and you’re thankful for it. Her eyes trail to the side again, she smiles softly. “I’ll let him know.” There’s no need, he already knows and you both know it. His answer lies in the fact that he’s allowing May to keep up the charade. You don’t know if Peter is bad at forgiveness or just that you don’t deserve it.
“Thanks, May.” You watch the door slowly close, when there's just a crack left you stop it with a hand. “He’s… He’s okay, right?” Your heart thumped slowly, you’re reading her face like it’s your job, you need to know he’s okay.
A tight nod. “He’s okay.” You can breathe a little better. “Good.”
You stare at his door for another two minutes after it shuts.
Is this an asshole move? Yes.
Is this worse than what you’ve already done? Possibly.
Peter still wasn’t talking to you and you only had one card to pull. He was home, but he wasn’t answering your texts. You think it’s time to fight fire with fire. You’re standing by his apartment door, and loudly talk into your phone. No one’s on the other side, but he doesn’t know that.
“Hello? Yes, I’m looking for J. Jonah Jameson?” Your eyes twitch to his door, nothing. You speak a little louder. “I understand he’s busy. Well I just… Uh huh, right, I understand, yes ma’am. Is he interested in Spider-Man’s identity?”
You hear something drop inside his apartment.
“Yeah, I know who Spider-Man is.” Peter swings the door open, your phone is ripped from your hand. He glares down at the screen, you’re not connected to anyone. “That’s a low move.” You lightly shrug, “did you expect anything more than that?”
A scoff, “with you? No.” Your lips twitch, you have to fight the frown. You catch his arm when he turns around, there’s no trying, he’s an unstoppable force, you’re moving with him. “I’m sorry! Peter, please! I’m sorry, I am so so sorry and I need you, okay? I need you to not be mad at me.”
Was that honesty? Were you actually being honest with him? Your shoes squeak when he stops pulling you, you’re looking at him desperately searching his face for emotion. There is none. “You’re not a rebound. Not at all. I should’ve never called you one.”
There’s a lot you’ve done to Peter you never should’ve done. Maybe it’s time you start owning up to it.
“I should’ve never said you were a rebound, I shouldn’t have kissed you, I shouldn’t have shown up here drunk, I shouldn’t have kept coming back for more after I told you no. I shouldn’t have ignored you for nine years, I shouldn’t have shut you out when I was eight, I shouldn’t have hurt you.”
Peter’s not saying anything and you don’t mind. You need to say this, you need him to know.
“I shouldn’t have hurt you. I meant what I told May. You’re the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this. You’re Peter. You’re nice, you’re warming, you’re always positive and you buy me pizza without making fun of me and you sign off on donation slips and you let me rip your notebooks apart and you bake me things.”
You blink through your tears. “You were there when I really needed you and you are anything but a fucking rebound to me.” Your chest feels tight, “you’re so good to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I really don’t deserve it now but I really fucking need you, Peter. I know I went on this whole speech thing where Spider-Man needs someone but-”
“I’m here.” Relief fills you, Peter has you tucked into his chest with his arms around you. “I’m right here, okay?” It’s the selflessness that really gets you. You’ve been nothing but mean and standoffish but Peter’s hugging you because you need it.
But really, it’s because he knows he was right. You do like him. You like him more than you’re willing to admit to him yet.
“Can you catch popcorn with your mouth?”
Peter tosses a piece up and catches it with his eyes closed. You grumble and throw your own at him, he also catches that with his eyes closed.
“Okay, turn off the powers and try again.” He laughs at you, “it doesn’t work like that.” You huff, “well, make it.” Peter tosses a piece up and dodges it, it satisfies you. “Ha. Loser normy.”
“Did you just call me a normy?”
“You’re just a boring normal person, I hate to tell you, but it’s true.”
There’s been a brief pause in the actual relationship aspect of your friendship. There’s no more kissing, but you’d really like there to be. You think Peter’s starting to sweat you out and you have no issues with it. If he wants you to make the first move, you’ll do it.
But it’s all in the timing.
“Did I ever tell you that six weeks ago Nat said she’d do heroin with me?” Popcorn spills on the couch, Peter’s darting his eyes over your arms looking for track marks. “We didn’t do it! She said that if I still felt miserable after six weeks she’d do it with me.”
“Miserable? What, about the breakup?”
“Yeah,” you shove a handful of buttery styrofoam into your mouth. For the first time in weeks it doesn’t hurt to talk about. It’s not even a little sore, there’s no bitterness or resentment. There’s nothing there. It’s pure indifference.
You pushed Peter away because you didn’t want him to be a rebound, you didn’t want to use him to get over someone else. But you haven’t thought of him since… since… you can’t remember the last time you actually thought of him.
But when you think of Peter your heart races, your palms feel warm, your stomach flutters. His kisses ignite you. You wake up in the morning and think of him, you wake up every night to make sure he’s home and go right back to sleep. You walk with him every morning, you wave and smile at school, you come over everyday.
You’re in love with Peter and only Peter.
“I don’t know why I ever thought he was worth that.”
Peter has the answer, it’s muffled around popcorn. “Cause you loved him.” You pick a piece off Peter’s shirt and crunch down on it. “Yeah, I don’t think I knew what love was. How embarrassing.”
He smiles. Your eyes catch the screen again, you shuffle more towards Peter, then stop yourself. “Is it weird if we cuddle?” Peter rips the popcorn bowl between you away, he’s never cuddled with a girl before but he’d be an idiot to say no.
“Weird for who? Weird for me? Weird for us?” Peter doesn’t care about the answer. “Those are rhetorical, just come cuddle me.” It’s all you needed, you press up against him and wait, he’s not moving. Fine with you, you halfway lay on him, head on his chest. You’ve never been this close to him, you’ve kissed him and you’ve made a bold move that backfired, but you’ve never been this soft or domesticated with him.
Peter’s heart is drumming a little fast, you make no comment. Yours is beating at the same rate.
You expected Peter to still like you but you haven’t asked. After what happened maybe he decided you’d be better friends. It wasn’t talked out, you both skimmed over what happened and started hanging out like nothing happened.
But it did and you’re glad. It puts things in perspective. It made you realize how much you like him. You just need to know if it made him feel the opposite.
“Do you still like me?”
“I’m sorry, I’ve never cuddled with anyone before so I don’t really know what-”
“No, I mean do you still like me?” Peter knows what you mean. He doesn’t know how you think he doesn’t. “Of course I do.” You peek up at him, he’s already got eyes on you, it makes your cheeks feel warm.
“Even after I was shitty to you?” Peter laughs, a hard laugh, you move with his jostles. “Honey, you’ve been giving me shit for nine years, it hasn’t slowed me down one bit.”
Honey. It has a nice ring to it, you like it. But the one you’ve always liked hasn’t ever been uttered with endearment and you really want it, you want it to come from Peter’s voice and have it wrap around your ears while your heart bubbles up with giddiness.
“Can you call me sweetheart?”
“Is that the one you like?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
It’s so much sweeter than you imagined.
You’re not sure what details May knows, but she knows you hurt her nephew. She hasn’t said anything but you can feel her watching your back every time you’re with Peter. Her tone isn’t clipped and she’s just as welcoming as before, but you can feel it. You can sense that she isn’t fully trusting.
May had stared at you for a good thirty seconds when she caught you spread across Peter’s lap while he studied. You tried to focus on his rubix cube in your hand, even going as far to prove you’re not a threat by giving him a light kiss on his cheek. She didn’t seem convinced, but she left it alone.
Two days ago she burst into Peter’s room and made it very clear that when you were over the door stays open. Peter tried to fight it, he said that you were just hanging out but she was dead serious, going as far as saying that if he couldn’t handle her rules, he wasn’t allowed to have company.
Peter didn’t tell you that you were the only person with this rule, but you knew you were.
“I just don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this, May. She’s just-” You weren’t going to be involved, you weren’t going to give May more ammo.
“Door stays open, Peter. If May says it, we follow it.” Peter doesn’t agree with you, you can tell by the way he nods his head and clicks his pen. When did you start being able to read him? And why do you like it so much?
But the real hint was when you weren’t welcome to stay for dinner the previous night. There’s never been a time May denied you food, most of the times she’d come over begging you to join so they wouldn’t have so many leftovers. But last night she just suggested you go home and prepare for the next day.
You watched Peter’s jaw clench in frustration, then you sweetened him up with a smile and told him you were planning on leaving anyway. You don’t think he bought it. You needed to talk to May, you needed to know she was okay with you and Peter, if she wasn’t- no matter how hard it would hurt, you’d stay away from Peter.
May is all he has and you’re not going to put any strain on their relationship. Not over you.
Peter was staying late at school for math club and it’s your perfect opportunity. A light knock, May answers almost instantly. She’s surprised but she melts into a smile, it’s lacking something. “Oh! Peter isn’t here.”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you.” Now you’ve got her interest. May opens the door wide, you go straight to the kitchen for the batch of cookies Peter made you last night. You can taste the love in them.
“May, I need you to level with me here. Do you have a problem with me dating Peter?” There’s a beat of silence, “are you dating him?” You swallow a bite, “not yet. I needed to make sure it was okay with you.”
“You’re asking for my blessing?” You slightly nod. “More or less. You’ve been really nice but I feel like there’s a little tension. I feel like you don’t totally trust me with him.” Confirmation, but it doesn’t hurt like you think.
“Peter’s a sensitive boy. He does everything a hundred and ten percent. If you want him, he’ll give you more than his all. Can you say the same?” Can you? Yes. It’s without a doubt. You want him and only him and you’d lay your life on the line. There’s been so much wasted time, Peter could’ve been your first but you were too stubborn.
Peter wasn’t your first, but with everything in you he’s going to be your last.
“Yes. I’m in love with him. I love him more than I ever loved anyone, I love him more than I thought was possible. I want to be there for him, I want to support him through the bad days and I want to be by his side for the good ones. I want him and only him, I was just too dumb to see it before.”
May’s mouth etches into a smile, this time it reaches her eyes and she’s hugging you. A whisper in your ear, “I always knew this is how it would end.” You grin into her shoulder, “really?”
“Peter’s nothing but determined. It was only a matter of time.” You know what that means. “Are you giving me your blessing?” She laughs and pulls you closer, “you always had it. I just needed to know you were serious.”
Time passes quickly, you’re three cookies down and you’re itching for a fourth. You swear he puts crack in them. You talk animatedly with May, you’re fawning over her own love story and hoping that that would be your future with Peter. When the door unlocks you perk up, you can’t bite back your smile or tapping feet.
“Whatcha doing here? Hi May.” Your arms spread wide, Peter fills them. “I came to talk to May, I stayed to see your handsome face.” How did you once see it as annoying? How did you once find his smile revolting? He’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen. You want to kiss him more than anything, May gave you the green light, you press up on your toes to give him a peck.
“I missed you. How was math club? Were you the smartest hunk there? Don’t answer, I already know it’s a yes.” Peter’s still reeling from the kiss but he powers through. “I wouldn’t be too confident about that, sweetheart.” Your heart clenches, him saying it makes your knees feel weak. “Mathew Ryan is in the club with me.”
“I hate blondes. I only like cuties with brown, curly hair by the name of Peter Parker.” His eyes squint at you, it makes you feel warm, you hide back in his chest. May’s watching with heart eyes, she’s never seen you so happy. “You’re laying it on thick today. You must need something.”
“Just you, handsome.” Okay, you might be laying it on a little thick, but you can’t hold it in. You just love him too much, it’s uncontainable. He’s perfect. “May, she’s up to something. I don’t trust it.” His aunt keeps grinning. “I do.”
Peter pats your back, “if you trust it, I guess I have to, too.” You squeeze him tight and mumble into his chest, he still hears you. “What, now?” You asked if you could talk to him, it had him looking down and giving you his full attention.
“What’s up?” Your eyes shoot to his door, message received. Peter leaves a small gap in the door, you pause and poke your head out to his aunt. “Can I shut the door?” A three second count, “permission granted.” It clicks shut, you spin, you have all his attention.
“You said I was never properly loved.”
Peter feels his heart drop, it was the nastiest thing he could ever say to you. Part of him wished you had forgotten but that’s not something that’s forgettable, that’s something that sticks with you forever. He never meant to say it, it was something he spewed out to make you feel just as bad but that’s not who he is and that’s not what he does and he really should’ve apologized way before now.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. It was a shitty thing to say and I-”
“You weren’t wrong. I haven’t been properly loved. But I’d like for you to show me how it feels.”
Your pulse rises with his silence, Peter holds out a steady hand. “Just to be clear, you’re asking me-”
“If you’d be my boyfriend.”
You let out a soft groan, you’re spinning in his hold and pushing at his arms. “Peter!” He doesn’t care, your feet lightly dangle, you’re laughing with him. “Nuh uh, you’re not allowed to push me away anymore, I’m your boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. Peter Parker is your boyfriend. What a rush of feelings, there’s a new one you haven’t felt before. Pride. You’re prideful that Peter’s your boyfriend, you’ve got the greatest person in the world tethered to your hip and he’s going absolutely nowhere. Ever.
“I’ve been waiting for this day since I was fifteen.” A flurry of kisses over your face, “holy wow, you’re my girlfriend. I can kiss you whenever I want, and I can touch you! Oh, and now I always have someone to eat pizza with. And the science museum! No one ever wants to go to the science museum with me!”
“Holy wow?” You giggle at a string of kisses to your jawline, you never knew someone would be so excited at the thought of dating you. “Wow, wow, wowie, my girlfriend’s a hottie.” You push him away with a disgusted sound, “that’s so gross, Peter.”
“Oops, let me repent with a kiss.”
It’s the fireworks again. This time they’re blinding. Your back burns with his touch, you want to swallow him whole. It’s not lacking passion, but it’s soft. You reach for his shirt collar when he pulls away, this time he laughs.
“I was going to ask if I was a bad kisser but-”
“No.” This time you’re keeping him chained to you with your hands behind his neck. “Best kisser ever,” you give him a chaste one to prove it. “My handsome baby.” Your waist is squeezed, “you’re too nice.” He doesn’t understand, he’ll never be able to understand.
“I wasted so much time, Peter. You were right there and I was so… so stupid that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I have no idea why you like me, I was so mean and cruel and I never appreciated you.”
Peter has secrets too. “I was friendly, but I didn’t like you. You were super aggressive and made a point to say something mean… but then Ben died.” The oxygen runs from your lungs, it wasn’t something you thought about, you thought he didn’t either.
It was brutal watching him and May go through that. You remember that night vividly, the night May got the call. You could hear her screams from your room, it’s something you’ll never forget. Her wails, the way she begged to God that it was all a dream. You knew what happened before you could see them and the one thing you thought of in that moment was Peter.
You can still remember the panic you felt, the overwhelming urge to make sure he was okay. You remember your feet skidding across the carpet, the cold hardwood in the hall, the way your middle knuckle split you were knocking so hard.
‘Peter,’ it’s all you had to say. Then you were scooping him into your arms, holding him tight as he sobbed. You kept telling him you were sorry, you brushed his hair back and rubbed circles on his back. You kept him tucked into your neck while he cried, you didn’t tell him it was okay, nothing about that night was okay. You remember holding in your own tears, you swallowed them down and held Peter all night.
Fourteen hours. You had him curled up with you while you kept telling him sorry, you had stayed up all night with him and took care of him. You got him water, you made him eat a snack, you did what you could while they slept. You did laundry, you did the dishes, you made cookies.
Peter’s uncle died and you made him cookies.
Your boyfriend dumped you and Peter made you cookies.
You basically lived there for a week, you slept with Peter, held him with each bout of sadness, and never ever told him it was okay. You held his hand at the funeral and kissed him on the back of it before he gave his eulogy. You made sure he was minimally functioning, you tried to keep him busy with dumb tasks.
After two weeks he didn’t need you anymore and you slowly faded away until it settled into how it used to be. You think Peter liked it a little, not everything had to change because Ben died. But you never went out of your way to hurt him anymore, he didn’t need your help in that department. What used to be petty attacks turned into silence and gentle name calling.
But you were there for him when he needed it. Just how he was with you.
“You pulled an Uncle Ben on me.”
A twitch in his lips, “you were there for me when my world ended, I had to return the favor.” It’s not fair for him to compare the two. “I was broken up with, I didn’t have my-”
“Devastation comes in all forms. It’s not about whos is worse, it’s about being there for someone you care about.” He doesn’t hide his smile, “even if they claim to hate you for all eternity.”
“I don’t hate you anymore.”
“Spoiler alert, you never did.”
You’ve been caught. Peter knew the whole time, he was just waiting on you. “Are you sure you don’t hate me? Cause I’ve been really terrible to you the last month.” Your boyfriend rolls his eyes before giving you a big hug.
“That’s because you’re stubborn and didn’t want to admit you liked me.” You poke his ribs, “you knew?”
“Sweetheart, I knew the day you said I had very pretty eyes.”
“Yeah, you do. Let me see them again, boyfriend.”
The last six weeks you detested love and what it brings. The disaster, the heartbreak, the pain. You never thought you’d love again and definitely not with the neighbor you hated. But right there, in his room, you felt your heart crack open and ooze onto his bedroom floor.
‘hi.’ Peter squints at the message, then the unsaved number. He's not sure how, but it’s a scam.
‘i’d like to have your attention, please.’ Peter rolls his eyes, swiping left to not only delete but report the number as junk. No doubt it was a bot or someone with a flair for sextortion.
A new number. ‘that was actually so rude of you, parker.’
‘unblock me right now.’
Peter shifts in his seat, he does a slow look around the room and finds nothing off putting or alarming.
‘Who is this?’
Green bubbles pop up. ‘unblock me and i’ll tell you.’ Peter was right to guess about extortion. Another swipe, blocked and reported. Peter wasn’t participating in any games.
A new number. ‘oh, now you’re just being cute.’
Peter feels his heart pick up a bit, it’s a tad threatening and now he’s overthinking it a little. What if someone has it out for him? Is there a mark on his back? ‘Please leave me alone.’
‘no.’
‘can we play 21 questions?’
Peter’s face scrunches up, he spins his head around one more time, someone is fucking with him. He has no clue who has time for something like that in university, but he’s not a willing participant anymore, not since high school.
‘Leave me alone. Go torment a freshman.’
‘i don’t like freshmen. i like you.’ Peter chews at his bottom lip, there was a second of hesitancy but he knows the truth deep down. ‘I’m blocking you.’
‘sure. i’ll keep texting you, too.’
‘I’ll change my number.’
‘noooo please don’t do that. i had to work hard enough to get it the first time.’ Peter doesn’t respond. He blocks the number and moves on, and they don’t try to text him again.
Until the next day and Peter knows two things for certain. There is a note in his backpack, and it wasn’t there before his econ lecture. He remembers pulling that pocket open before he started notes, then when he went to zip it up, a note.
This upsets him. What good was any sense when someone could get that unnoticeably close to him without him knowing? Second, it’s a little frustrating not to know who this person is and how it most likely is connected to the texts he had a few days ago, and that it’s an extremely long played joke that’s mostly boring.
‘Peter Parker-
You’ve been secretly admired. It might not be very secret, because I think you’ve caught me staring at you a thousand times. I like you a lot.
Hopefully liked back,
-X’
But a part of him believes it’s true. He’s trying to think of who’s in his lecture, if he’s caught them staring then they’re either to the side or behind him. There are too many faces, too many times he’s been looked at, he’s almost centered, it’s his fault for choosing a focal point.
Instead of throwing it away, he refolds the pink handwriting and puts it back into place before hitching a strap over his shoulder and sliding behind chairs. One, two steps up he glances at your face, you have a weak smile, he returns the same kind, it’s more like a polite nod. Peter’s always thought you were pretty and he thinks you're nice.
But really, he’s wondering who left the note.
10:30
‘did you get my note?’ Peter does his normal scan across campus, again, his fault for being out in the open. This person could be anywhere, he’s on a picnic bench with a group of friends. If he’s smart, he’d start limiting himself to contained spaces and make you show yourself.
‘Yeah. Who is this?’ Peter’s thumbs dance around the screen waiting for a reply, it comes quick. ‘i told you. x.’ He stops himself from rolling his eyes, he doesn’t know anyone with an ‘X’ anywhere in their name.
‘Is that an initial?’
‘actually, i’m pretty sure it’s british for kiss.’
‘That’s a wild take. Are you saying the UK is responsible for XOXO’s?’
‘i’d like to make you responsible for my xoxo’s.’ Peter chews his bottom lip, he won’t play into anything in writing. He doesn’t believe this for a second, everything about this feels off. Someone’s fucking with him and they’re also in his class, or they have someone in on it in his class.
But this is too advanced.
‘sorry. i don’t mean to like harass you or anything. you’re really hot but you scare me, i don’t think you would like me so idk, maybe if you talk to me you’d like me for me or something.’
‘i just think i’m punching wayyyy above my weight class here and i may be making this worse because there is no doubt you think im weird.’
‘i am weird. i should leave you alone now. i’m sorry.’
Peter reads his screen four times, it’s still not clicking. He’s nothing special and he doesn’t mean that in a way to dog on himself, he’s just nerdy and quiet. It seems a little too authentic to be fake, but he’s got to make sure.
‘How’d you get my number?’
‘your friend. they have been sworn to secrecy but they know what i’m doing and they are in full support. take that as you will.’
‘Depends on the friend.’
‘i’ll tell you when you find out who i am.’
‘I’m going to find out? You’re not going to tell me?’
‘i don’t think i’ve been hiding it. you just haven’t been paying attention and now i want you to.’
‘Oh, but you’re shy?’
‘i’m about to pass out on the lawn behind this fucking screen, don’t play with me parker.’ A slip, you’re around him and you just admitted it. ‘Tell me, admirer, what are you wearing?’ The more detail the better, but he could work off of just a color.
‘nice try. but you’re looking mighty handsome in the blue.’ A glance down, he suddenly feels watched. ‘Are you stalking me?’
‘oh no! no no no. i PROMISE you i’m not that fucking psychotic.’
‘i’m just a “sneak a note into your backpack” level of crazy. i’m here with my roommate and her boyfriend. i saw you and just wanted to know if you got it, i promise.’
‘You do understand that this situation makes you seem psychotic, right?’
‘yes. but i am not.’
‘That sounds like something a crazy person who got my number from a third party would say. Especially after I blocked you six times.’
‘it was three and you didn’t understand my intentions but okay. you have a fair point and i extend the olive branch of brett. he gave me your number and he knows me pretty well.’
Brett? Easy enough, he nods his head towards him and slides his phone across the table. “Explain.” His friend scrolls through the thread, a trustworthy smile spreads. “Yeah, I gave her your number.” Her. Okay, it’s something. “Who is she?” Brett shrugs, “you know her. She’s kind of a firecracker, you just make her nervous.”
“That gives me nothing, Brett.” His friend blinks, “she’s not crazy. She likes you a lot for whatever fucking reason and has no idea how to approach you.” Peter’s letting his words soak in, “don’t believe me? Ask her about the grilled cheese, and make sure you tell her that I told you about how she went on for five fucking minutes about the grilled cheese.”
“What grilled cheese?” Brett slides Peter’s phone back, he’s telling him to ask you. Something tells Peter it’s enough to embarrass, or it might be Brett being the ultimate wingman.
‘I’ve been told to ask you about the grilled cheese.’
‘oh god. there is no need to ask about the grilled cheese, did brett tell you about the grilled cheese?’
‘He told me to ask you. And to specify that you went on for five minutes about it.’
‘five is excessive, it was more like three. second, there is nothing to speak about.’
‘I would like to hear about it.’
‘i’d prefer if you didn’t.’
‘But you’ll do it for me?’
‘i’m weak for you and you know it. it’s sicking, parker.’
‘i heard you talking about making one in class and you said something about the crust and i really fucking love grilled cheese’s so i had a trip to fantasy land where you made me one and how it’s probably the best thing i’ll never get to taste.’
‘Wow. Five whole minutes on that?’ Peter won’t admit it made him feel a little warm on the inside, the most mundane of things to have someone so squirrely makes him feel unworthy.
‘three.’
‘Tell me who you are and I’ll make you a grilled cheese.’
‘you have no idea how much that almost worked.’
‘What’s the plan then, master manipulator?’
‘i don’t know yet. i’m hoping you show me how smart you are and figure me out, then you can do all the hard questions.’
‘Hard questions?’
‘you know, do you wanna go on a date, do you wanna be my girlfriend, do you want to take my hand in marriage and have a summer home in the french alps? that kind of stuff.’
‘Totally not psychotic.’ Peter tucks his bottom lip between his teeth to hide the smile that wants to spread.
‘mostly not.’
WEDNESDAY: 13:57
Peter doesn’t know who X is, but they’re clever and have zero effect on his sixth sense. He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Either way, he’s reading a note scribbled in blue pen and as he studies the words he knows it was rushed. It’s proof that he wasn’t being followed everywhere, instead you saw an empty table and an opportunity.
‘Peter-
You use mostly gender neutral pronouns. I think that’s very cool. Is it weird that I notice those things about you? Also- what is it that you’re always drinking from Nuthouse? Asking for a friend…
Have a good day!
-Your not so secret admirer, X.
‘Not so secret,’ Peter isn’t sure about that. You’ve done a good enough job at not trying to be obviously known, he might have looked up your number last night to find dust. One was from an app, but the one you’ve been using is a burner phone.
What he’s really not understanding is how you’re able to get so close to him without him noticing. You had to have been millimeters away when you rested the letter on his backpack, he was gone for less than two minutes and he had zero awareness.
Peter folds up the note and sticks it in the same pocket as the other one, his back slung around one shoulder as he moves up the stairs for the library. At the same time, you come down the opposite side, Peter gives a friendly acknowledgement.
You choke down the lump in your throat. “Hi, Peter.” He’s already past you, it’s echoed behind his shoulder. “Hey.” It’s something. You’re trying, you’re trying to be bold for him. But he’s not going to notice, he’s never going to notice you and if you tell him who you are you’ll never live past his disappointment.
Your phone vibrates, the other phone. Your heart picks up, Peter texted first.
14:02
‘Dirty chai.’
‘best of both worlds. how fitting. you’re such a nonconforming king.’
‘I don’t even know what that means.’
‘But thank you?’
‘you’re welcome!’
‘anything fun on the roster today?’
‘Roster? Who are you?’
‘idk you make me nervous. blame yourself.’
‘Well, coach. Nothing fun on the roster, just some math. Wanna swap places with me?’
‘gross. i hate math so if you like it that’s good with me. one of us has to be smart and it’s not me.’
‘Smart enough to use a burner phone.’
‘oooooh, someone tried to find meeee.’
‘Can’t blame a guy for being curious, can you?’
‘were you disappointed when you found nothing?’
‘A little bit. But, you know, it keeps the imagination alive. A little unfair advantage on your side though, you already know what I look like.’
‘if it helps, you already know what i look like too.’
‘I do?’
‘yeah. we’ve talked before.’
‘Wait, so I know who you are?’ Brett said he did but Peter thought he meant you’d be familiar, not that he actually knew you. This just opened the floodgates to a million more possibilities.
‘not really but yeah i guess. you know i exist but we’re not friends or anything.’
‘I’d like to think we’re friends, but okay.’
‘not outside the texting.’
‘That’s your decision.’
‘HATER.’
‘Anymore hints?’
‘.... no.’
‘HATER.’
FRIDAY: 12:15
You’re about to spill hot tea everywhere but it’ll be worth it to see his face. You ignore your pounding heart and stand in front of him. He’s got no clue you showed up, zoned out looking at the clock on the wall across from him.
“Hi, Peter.”
Full frontal attention, he’s looking at you. He’s perceiving you, he’s smiling at you. “Hi,” your eyes expand, he knows your name and it sounds so nice coming from his mouth. Sure, you’ve chatted with each other- even shared a few highlighters, but nothing serious. You’ve always been too scared to try anything else but maybe your fear has been mistaken for indifference.
“I um, I lucked out today at Nuthouse so if you like dirty chai’s I got an extra one.” Your knees feel weak at his bright eyes, “my favorite. I’d love one, thank you.” You pass over the paper cup, your fingers brush and you think you’re about to collapse.
“Yeah,” a weak laugh. “I had a feeling.” Peter tilts his head at you funny, you wonder if you pushed a little too far. “Okay, um, I’m gonna… have a good… lecture.” Peter nods and watches you go two rows up, he’s finally got a gut feeling. And it tells him to keep an eye out for you.
TUESDAY: 12:10
Not that Peter was reliant on your attention, he was used to it. So when the texts stopped for three days and he was unable to find any letters he assumed you had lost interest and moved on. That felt fair to him, no harm no foul, at least he never really got to know you.
Nevermind, there’s a folded notebook page on his miniature desk and his heart speeds up. His next task, put eyes on you. Bottom level, book and pencil in hand. He makes sure to note it’s a pencil and not the green ink that’s spread across the page.
Peter thinks it’s a mind game, you were smart enough to know he’d look. Unless he was totally wrong on his guess.
‘Peter-
I ran out of minutes on my phone and I’m having a broke college kid moment. However, a friend took pity and donated a twenty to the campaign. I hope you’ve been good- I’ve missed talking to you.
- Your not so secret admirer, X’
ps. stop keeping your backpack so close to you.’
It wasn’t anything personal, you just ran out of minutes. Peter smiles so wide he has to drop it, he almost clutches the paper to his chest in a thank you. Eyeing his backpack, he nudges it a little further behind him, following instruction. He’s kept it close in hopes to catch you, but instead he’s pushing you away.
Peter’s committing the writing to memory as if he’s going to find you by the handwriting alone. A quick glance at footsteps, you’re three steps away when you smile. “Hi, Peter.” He nods, “hey.” You pause for a moment, mind racing for words.
“Did you, um- did you do anything fun this weekend?” You’re about to crawl into a hole and die, it takes a moment to click that you were speaking to him. He went as far to look behind himself, then he spewed the answer to try and make up for the lost time.
“Oh, uh not really. My aunt got a new bed so I had to lug the old one down seven flights of stairs.” Your eyes widen, you feel your mouth go dry and your tongue go thick. “By yourself?” Peter crosses his arms over his chest, a boyish grin swept over and you feel heart eyes form.
“I’m a good nephew.” You want to pat his head and tell him you’re sure he is, then maybe hold him at gunpoint and tell you more stories about how he’s a perfect humanitarian. But you act like a normal human and smile back, “you sound like it.”
Peter thanks you and you return to your seat with wobbly knees and a weak stomach, it’s silent torture to tease yourself like this with him. But you can’t help it and it’s only in effort to go after what you want. Even if it blows up when he figures out who you are.
12:13
‘you’re looking mighty handsome today, mr. parker.’
‘I’m wearing a hoodie, but thank you.’
‘i said what i said.’
Boldly, ‘i see someone had another dirty chai. can’t stay away from them, can you?’
Another tick in Peter's stomach, he almost looks behind his shoulder at you, but he doesn’t. ‘It was a generous donation from a classmate.’
‘oh? pray tell, peter. pray tell.’
‘What? You don’t have a clue about who gave it to me?’
You swallow thickly, before you could get something out he sent another message. ‘No chance you didn’t see it go down?’
‘how could i? I was still on my way.’
‘... or was i?’
‘Tell you what, X. It one of the best teas I’ve had in a while.’
And you’d be damned if that didn’t make your entire chest flutter.
FRIDAY: 15:29
“Here,” Peter’s hand clasped over the paper slapped into his chest. A hint of a syllable, Brett cuts himself off. “She asked me to give this to you.” Peter quickly read it and stared down before confiding in his friend for a second.
‘Peter-
Roses are red, violets are blue, all that I think about is you.
It’s sweet in a cringy way, right? Boo on you for skipping class today, if you want, I could get you some notes.
I hope I’ll see you Tuesday.
-Your (really) not so secret admirer, X
ps. A pen exploded in my pocket. 10/10 chance my thigh will be stained.’
“I think I might know who it is.”
“Uh, huh.”
“But, she’s way out of my league.”
“Correct.”
Peter raised his eyebrows, “so it’s her?” He clarified with your name, Brett shrugged back.
“I won’t be confirming or denying.” Peter knows what that means, “the lack of a no usually means yes.”
“Bro,” Peter starts sputtering, “oh, c’mon! You know what I meant, I just meant that, I just- c’mon, Brett. Is it her?”
“I have no idea who that is.” Peter wants to call bullshit, he has a gut feeling and he swears it’s you. You’re right, it’s not so secret. In fact, you’re painfully obvious.
FRIDAY: 23:14
‘you are soooooooo cute’
‘like your hair is so cute’
‘i looooove curly hair on guys and you have that!!!!!!!!!’
‘and you’re really funny cause like it’s so quick and witty like you have such good one liners’
‘also you’re really fucking hot and i KNOW you’re hiding something under those fucking sweaters and the second i see skin i WILL go feral.’
‘Something tells me you’re at the Kappa party.’ Peter’s pretending he doesn’t have a searing blush. If he’s got an inkling this could be you… then he might have proof for the non-believers that god exists.
‘yes!!! are you here?? i should come see you.’
‘I hate to disappoint you, but I’m currently at a friend's house playing a Mario Kart drinking game.’
“But it’s nice to know that you’d give me your identity that quick.’
‘oh i can tell you who i am.’ Peter frowns at the text, he’s been doing nothing but crave the answer to who’s behind the love letters but it feels wrong. It’s not satisfactory enough for him, it’s also not what you want, you’re just drunk- and Peter’s going out on a limb here- horny.
‘Save it for later.’
‘And maybe drink some water.’
‘i’d do anything for you cause you have the world's prettiest brown eyes’
‘Thank you for the compliments.’
‘you’re super welcome i try to hold them back because i’m a good girl but you’re just so cute i had to let you know’
‘I think you’re going to super regret this in the morning.’
‘false. maybe fact idk’
‘i should trust you tho because you’re super smart and you’re a nerd.’
‘I fear this is taking a turn for the worse.’
‘and that is so fucking HOT’
‘Oh. Back to compliments. Thank you.’
‘if you were here i’d give you a kiss’
‘IGNORE THAT!!!!’
‘I DIDN’T MEAN TO SEND THAT!!!! IGNORE IT’
‘Not ignored. How cute.’
‘screaming crying throwing up’
‘i really didn’t mean to send that it was a joke ha ha funny.’
‘Idk, sounded authentic to me.’
‘peter?’
‘Yeah?’
‘i’m a little drunk rn. and you should know how cute you are.’
‘Oh, I’m talking about record breaking levels of regret. This is amazing.’
‘i have to pee but i do not reget this!!!!!!’
SATURDAY: 09:54
‘i stand by my claim and do not regret a thing.’
‘correction. i regret this hangover and the way my previous texts are not very cool girl of me.’
‘but i would like to know if you won mario last night.’
‘also, who’s ur fav character?’
11:12
1. Proud of you for owning it, that’s very cool girl of you.
2. I did not win.
3. Petey Piranha.
‘who tf is petey piranha.’
‘Mario Kart Sunshine. Came out in 2002. (Originally on GameCube but recently released on switch.) (Hell yeah.)’
Your heart thumps, he’s such a nerd and you wanna kiss the air out of his lungs. ‘out of all the characters and u choose him. why petey piranha’
‘One guess.’
‘PETEY PIRANHA.’
‘OH MY GOD.’
‘you’re petey piranha <333’
Peter fights a grin, ‘I am.’
‘you’re so cute. i love that.’
‘Personally, in the past 24 hours I don’t think I’ve heard enough about how cute I am.’
‘you’re insufferable and it’s sexy.’
‘Oo, new one to the mix. You’re making me blush.’ You really are. He’s never been considered sexy before and it feels really nice.
‘and i bet you look super cute.’
‘Super true.’
TUESDAY: 12:34
‘white t shirt white t shirt white t shirt WHITE T SHIRT.’
‘You like?’
‘i’m about to cry i’m biting my fist so fucking hard.’
‘:)’
‘you’re so ubuibabeyia.’
‘Bless you.’
‘?’
‘Sorry, I assumed you sneezed.’ Peter never whipped his head around so fast at an audible laugh behind him. It was short, it had escaped without being thought about. He’s looking for you, but it doesn’t seem like it was you who laughed. You’re engrossed in chatting to your neighbor.
On the other hand, you almost blew it by clasping your hands over your mouth. Instead you looked next to you and said, directly and with a burning gaze, “I need you to pretend we’ve been talking this whole time.”
‘Someone’s losing their edge, you’re just begging to be caught.’
‘oh, i’m begging all right.’
‘can you hear me whimpering too?’
‘Easy, killer. Let’s not start sexting at noon on a Tuesday.’
‘are you saying there is a time for it?’
‘Give me a little wave and we’ll see.’
‘too late, i’m passed out on the floor. the only thing that can resuscitate me are those thick arms wrapped around me.’
‘Let these strong arms sweep you off your feet, all you gotta do is come talk to me after lecture…’
Peter says that, but he doesn’t mean it. He’ll definitely eat his words when he sees it’s you, then he’d be coming up with a thousand ways to back out of it. He’s so much more than you deserve, you feel so safe behind a keyboard but in person you can barely say a sentence.
It’s stupid and a little humbling because you’ve never felt this way about a guy before.
‘trust me, i’m better in your imagination.’
WEDNESDAY: 14:22
‘Peter-
You know a little about a lot and I think that is one of my favorite things about you. Or maybe it’s your voice. I could listen to you talk forever.
-Your not so secret admirer, X’
A note under his textbook, if he follows his hunch then he’d be looking for… you. Conveniently three tables away and to the right of his own, you’re not looking for his reaction, you’ve got your focus on your own textbook but he swears you’re retaining none of it. It’s a distraction, or maybe it’s a diversion.
Peter doesn’t mind. He’s going to wait. He has all the time in the world today and he’s going to sit here with his eyes on you until you look up at him because he knows you’re going to and once you do, he’s going to have his answer.
If he’s right, and he swears he is, he’s going to absolutely lose is shit because what do you mean you like him and are intimidated? You boldly lied when you said you were punching above your weight class. Does it make him a jerk to say he wasn’t even thinking of you as a suitor and maybe a girl with a much more average look?
Peter counted to sixty twice, you glance up, eyes shooting to the note you left on the table. The next stop, Peter’s face. And oh, you were not prepared to have him looking right back. Panic, you shoot a wave, a desperate attempt to pretend you’re seeing a familiar face.
Peter waves back but he looks much more satisfied than you did, you wonder if the jig is up. Did he crack the code? Was he just trying to find a friendly way to let you down? Deny til death, he has no proof it’s you. You pack your things up, a hurried scramble before you could lose your cool.
On the way out you almost stop breathing, your forearm caught in Peter’s hand. You’re staring down at it, he’s not removing it. It burns in the best way. “Hey,” you wait, you can’t stop looking at his hand, the muscle, the subtle flex, his fingertips paler to show his grip. “Hi, Peter.”
It’s breathless, you think you’re about to die. If he asks, you don’t know how you’ll lie your way out.
Guess who’s got a stained pocket? The corner edge darkened with black ink that would never be washed out. Peter has his answer. You’re her. You’re X. “Thanks again for the tea.”
Maybe you wanted more, you feel a bit deflated when it’s all you receive.
“You’re welcome.” Your arm feels cold when he drops his touch, you linger for a second too long, you’re not sure when you’ll be this brave again. It was too much of a close call. “I hope the rest of your day is good.”
Peter’s got a charismatic grin, he feels settled now that he knows you’re the anonymous lover in his life. Even more so when you find yourself shy and reserved in person, it almost makes him giggle to think of the stark changes in confidence.
“You too.” Your body engulfs into flames when your arm is caught again, you’re struggling to keep calm at his boyish smile. “Quick question,” you nod slightly, trying to show zero paranoia for the following words.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Short circuiting. You see black spots, you think you’re about to pass out. There is only one thing that means, no guy asks that if they weren’t interested in changing that, right?
“No.” It’s anything but graceful. It sounds like you’ve never had a boyfriend before. It makes you sound like you’re scared he asked it.
But, Peter doesn’t take it like that. He smiles wider, like he already knew the answer before he asked it.
THURSDAY: 16:37
A new letter, stuffed under the top handle of his backpack. Peter listened and stopped setting it next to him, in return he was rewarded. He can’t stop the small smile, you make it involuntary at this point. Peter’s never felt so special in his life, a little part of him wants this to never end. But he’d much rather look you in the eyes.
‘Peter-
I had a dream with you in it last night. Don’t worry, you had your clothes on. I’m not sure what we were doing but you were across from me at a diner and we were sitting in those super thick booths and our friends were there.
I don’t know who these friends were, and I don’t think you do either. But I knew them as our friends.
It felt really nice. I’m happy to know you, even if I just get this little piece.
-Your not so secret admirer, X’
Peter’s been wrong a lot in his life but this time he really thinks he has it figured out. He’s much more bold now, this letter tells him it’s not infatuation, it’s love.
You love him and he thinks he could love you too.
FRIDAY: 20:08
‘Hey.’ Peter could be making the worst decision of his life here, he could be reading everything wrong and ruining this for himself.
‘hi peter!’ But he really thinks he’s got it right.
‘I really, really liked talking to you for the past few weeks but I think I should tell you that I like someone else.’
Gut wrenching despair. You knew it was too good to last, you knew he’d find someone more in his league. Someone who’d be willing to show him their face. There was no reason to respond because what would you say to that?
‘thank you for letting me know that opening up to you was all for nothing!’
‘thanks for making me doubt love!’
‘hope you and her are so fucking happy together!!!!!’
Fuck it all and fuck Peter. He just liked the attention until it came from somewhere else. You don’t think you like him all that much anymore. You think you’re lying, too. Before you can give into the desire of hurting him just as bad, you calmly turn the phone off and stuff it in the back of a desk drawer to never be uncovered again.
You slowly sit in bed and tug the blankets over your head. And only then, do you allow yourself to sob.
Peter chewed on his bottom lip and waited an hour with constant phone checks before he realized a response was never coming. It really set in during the weekend but even further when he got no note or letter on monday. Not even when he left his backpack unattended for five minutes.
TUESDAY -he was able to see you and how you avoided his eyes. How you pretended you didn’t see him send a small wave. How you had pulled back from him.
And if he hadn’t hurt your feelings, or X’s feelings, why would you do that?
You look up at a two fingered knock at the corner of your desk. “Hi.” You blink and ignore the white noise buzzing in your ears at the sight of Peter standing in front of you. “Hi, Peter.”
“How was your weekend?” Bitter. Terrible. Lonely.
“Fine. Nothing exciting.” Besides you breaking my heart.
Watching his fingertips dance on the edge of the plastic, you feel everything in you brighten. “You look sad.” There’s a burn in your stomach, he’s the reason for both the sting and the sadness.
“Do you need something? Or are you just doing a friendly check in?” Peter bites back the grin when you snap at him, he’s so, so, so right and it feels so, so, so good. “Neither. I’m just confirming my suspicions.”
“Suspicions?”
“Yeah. You passed.” Your eyebrows furrow, before you could try to question further Peter was giving half a wave, saying bye, and skipping a step to his aisle.
FRIDAY: 12:08
You stop breathing for a solid second before feeling your brain spark back to life. It could be anything, it could be from anyone, but you know there’s only one person who would’ve left a note on your desk.
Your fingers slightly shake when you unfold the graph paper, little squares bled through with black sharpie.
‘X-
Am I right?
Hopefully,
- Peter’
You can’t breathe, you can’t talk, you can’t move and you definitely can fucking not look at him. No, no, no. You can feel his eyes on you, you know he’s watching for your reaction. Peter figured you out and had his own fun along the way.
You were the girl he liked. Oh, wow. Is this how special you’ve made him feel? Something just for your eyes, from him. A secret you both shared between lines.
You spin and swear you can feel his gaze running over your back, he’s aching for the answer. You almost scream at a tap on your shoulder, a peek lets you know it’s the person you’re hiding from.
Another note, folded up just like the other one. It’s pushed into your hand, Peter doesn’t say a word, he just offers and leaves. He’s not watching this time, he’s sitting and focused on the front, you feel air leak back into your lungs.
Full on panic shaking, you’re so happy he’s not watching.
Your name is addressed on the front, just like you do for him.
‘I like you.
I think you not so secretly like me too.
We could talk more about it at dinner tonight. Will you let me take you out?
summary. desperate to make it ahead (and establish yourself as an actual journalist) at the daily bugle, you tell your boss that you scored an exclusive interview with spider-man when you definitely did not. while you scramble to make good on your lie, peter parker hears your plight.
content warnings. BRAND NEW DAY SPOILERS !! this takes place right after the events of the movie. fluff and comedy. reader's definitely based on lois lane, i can't lie... (BND!peter parker x journalist!reader.)
word count. 3.6k
You bite back a hiss when your quick steps up the front to the Daily Bugle has the coffee tray jostling in your hand, droplets spilling out to burn your knuckles. Swallowing down a string of expletives, you just hold the tray out to avoid anymore getting onto your blouse.
You place a cup on the receptionist's desk. "Morning, Betty—" you call over your shoulder as you drag the heavy door towards you, slipping through before it shuts. You're quick, a hurricane of efficiency as you glide through the open space desks and cubicles of The Daily Bugle to drop off the good coffee. Ever since the coffee machine had oozed its final shitty drop, you — the intern — had been placed on coffee duty.
It's grueling and demeaning — you had been editor in chief for ESU's collegiate newspaper, for fuck's sake! Your pride is shot every time Jameson turns you aside to give some old money hotshot undergrad a chance just to kiss ass to his daddy. But you're resilient and stubborn to a fault; you won't be pushed aside easily.
Like right now, you toss the brown coffee tray with terrifying aim and bring the largest cup to Jameson's desk as your way in. "Good morning, I got your usual."
He puffs on a cigar, the end lighting up amber as a sickly trail of smoke clouds around his head. You fight the urge to wince. "Good. Now get out."
"Wait, Mr. Jameson—"
The man lets out a low huff but he looks away from his computer screen enough to spare you a glance. You don't waste a second.
"I wanted to ask if I could take over for Eddie's workload for the weekend? I know he's away for—"
J.J. Jameson lets out a cackle of a laugh. It isn't malicious, it's genuine amusement and you don't know if that's worse. "Absolutely not, kid. Stick to the coffee runs, see if the actual writers here need help—"
"I landed a Spider-man interview."
Now that gets his attention, a shark sniffing blood in the water as your boss' eyes gleam with potential prey. Meanwhile, you force your spine to stiffen, live with the lie you just spouted.
"Really," Jameson questions anyway. "We're no friend to Spider-man, why would he say yes?"
To you, he must be latching onto the lie but still possessing enough sense to be careful not to piss off the one person who might be telling the truth. A Spidey interview is a rarity in and of itself for any journalist working at the Bugle — even moreso after the hero's closest brush to death just a couple weeks ago. Spider-man hasn't been seen much since his little show at the hospital window, only patrolling for NYPD and calling it in before disappearing.
You force yourself to shrug. "I don't know. He saved me the other day, asked if he could do an interview. The guy said yes and y'know…" you awkwardly mimicked that web-thwipping movement, "… swung away. Didn't ask why."
Your boss' eyes narrow but he nods. "Fine. We'll give you a slot for the next issue. Don't deliver and you're fired."
The smile you give him is effortless. "You got it, boss."
•┈┈┈••✦
Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
Jameson had let you leave early to work on that interview, to prep questions away from the chaos of the bullpen, a reprieve that any journalist may wholly welcome but a death sentence to you. You jostle your papers and notes as you rush down the streets of New York, barely muttering apologies to everyone you bump into as your impractical kitten heels click against the gummy sidewalks.
Your shoulder shoves the door open to your favorite deli, the bell ringing above your head. Shoving the scraps of paper and notes into your leather bag, you huff and lean against the counter with a pathetic groan. The man behind it gives you a loud, booming laugh.
"Don't fuckin' laugh, I had the worst day," you warn as you jab a finger at Delmar who raises his hands in playful surrender. "Gimme my usual."
"You got it, boss," Delmar chuckles as he watches you drop your head pathetically against the counter with a low thud, your whines muffled by the glass. "Wanna talk about it, sweetheart?"
"Told Jameson I got an interview with New York's finest."
"No shit? You got an interview with Spider-man?"
A rustling could be heard behind you, a man coughing into his coffee cup. You pay it no mind. "Of course I didn't—! That's the problem! I lied 'cause this is the one time Jameson saw me as more than a coffee grunt. God, I'm screwed…"
Another flurry of movement before the bell above the door rings. You finally glance over your shoulder, see a glimpse of a backpack and the back of some curly hair. "Here you go, kid." Delmar hands you a wrapped package, smelling of your favorite. "On the house, yeah? Just for today. Maybe if you're lucky, Spidey'll save your lying ass for an interview."
"I might just walk into traffic for it."
"Har har— you're kiddin' right?"
•┈┈┈••✦
Fortunately for you, you didn't have to walk into the busy streets of the city to get everyone's favorite webhead's attention. No, all it took was a burst fire hydrant, damaged in a three car pile-up. The metal debris had been heading straight towards your head if it hadn't been for Spider-man sweeping you off your feet. Literally.
He had moved so quickly; one minute you hear the sound of burst metal, the hub of the hydrant flying straight to you, and the next, you're tucked into the nylon spandex embrace of Spider-man and swinging between the buildings of New York.
Your stomach drops with gravity while your body catapults forward, ripping out a terrified shriek as your limbs lock around Spider-man. Your face is immediately tucked into his neck with a string of 'ohmygodohmygodohmygod—' each time he releases a web to swing forward.
"Hey, you're fine, I gotcha," he promises and that familiar Queens cadence soothes your raw nerves as you feel the slight jolt of his landing. Your eyes are still shut, legs hook around his waist and arms around his neck like a frozen koala. He gently pats your thigh. "You okay, miss?"
You crack an eye open to find yourself on an abandoned rooftop, safely away from the edge. The view that greets you nearly takes your breath away. It isn't until you realize that you're still wrapped around Spider-man that you quickly let go, nearly toppling onto your ass if it hadn't been for his gloved hands gripping your waist. "Sorry—!" You squeak out.
"Whoa, whoa— hey!" Spider-man reaches out for your waist when you try to step out of his space, keeping you from slipping into the puddle just a few paces behind. "You alright?"
His hands hover for a moment as you find your balance. When you give a nod, he steps away, watches your hands swipe down your coat before attempting to fix your windswept hair.
You're pretty.
The thought nearly runs him down and he hops away from your space to crouch upon the edge of the rooftop, hands resting between his knees. Spider-like, Frank had commented with a slight drawl of disgust. He blinks behind his HUD as he watches you try to take account of your items in your pocket, heart stuttering in his chest when you glance up to meet his eyes.
"Your heartrate is abnormally high," EV's robotic voice (that's been veering towards maternal lately) breaks through the silence and Peter nearly falls over in his rush to turn around.
"EV, shush—!" He mutters as he pats the side of his head, a physical attempt to literally silence the voices in his mask.
Your giggle breaks through his mutterings and he looks over his shoulder to see you, hiding a smile behind your hand. "Funny, is your AI assistant supposed to be heard through the suit?"
"Not really, only when I'm swinging. Wind gets pretty loud," he shrugs as he attempts nonchalance. Thank god you can't see the flush creeping up his cheeks.
He notices your finger twitch towards the small device peeking out of your pocket. Before he can focus on it, discern exactly what it is, you're pulling it out and crossing the distance on the roof to stand in front of him.
"Can I interview you?"
You have a recorder in your hand, a hopeful smile dancing upon your lips. His phone beeps in his pocket and he digs into the hidden, sewn pocket of his suit to pull it out. A robbery just a few blocks away. He sees your gaze drop to his phone, sees the way your face falls.
"How about we set up an appointment?" He says instead, puts his phone away and cherishes the way your smile returns. "Tomorrow night?"
You nod, racing to replace your recorder with your phone to thumb it into your calendar. "Yes—! You're a literal lifesaver, Spidey. Um… where can we meet?"
He opens his arms, gestures to the space around you. "How about this rooftop?"
A blaring siren, a dog barking, two nonas arguing in rapid fire Italian… you grimace. "How about my rooftop?" You suggest instead. "My apartment building is quieter." When he nods, you're digging into your pockets again to pull out a scrap of paper (a napkin from Delmar's) and a sharpie. You bite off the cap as you walk right into his space.
Your shampoo holds a hint of vanilla, maybe a touch of cherry blossoms, and his eyes flutter shut behind the mask.
"Here," you recap the marker, tucking it behind your ear as you hand him the napkin. "My address. We can meet on the rooftop maybe… tomorrow night at 8?"
Peter's nodding, tucks the napkin in the same hidden pocket where his phone lives. "I'll be there." He turns and climbs the ledge of the roof, raising his wrist to expel a sturdy web that attaches itself to a building across the street. Before he grasps with both hands, he turns to you. "What newspaper do you work for again?"
"Daily Bugle."
•┈┈┈••✦
Although he knows he'll be seeing you again in less than twenty four hours, he can't stop thinking about you.
It's odd, to say the least, when he's spent the last four years mourning a life he never had. Letting people in had felt too easy after all that time alone, like waiting for the hammer to drop. (That horrible rooftop with MJ that night still haunts him, although he doesn't blame Jean for it — not completely, at least.)
But maybe that had been his closure, a painful chapter of his life closing to begin a brand new day. He just didn't expect to latch on to a pretty girl so quickly.
His mind continues to wander as he swings through New York, attempting to brace himself for an interview that he has no way of prepping for. The last time he let his mouth run away from him, he ruined Dr. Strange's spell. No, this time — this time he's ready to be as media-trained as he could possibly be.
Peter's worked himself up to something more competent when he finally lands on your roof but all of it flies out the window when he sees you, hair up and gnawing on the end of a pen as the light of your laptop illuminates your pretty face.
"Spider-man, your heartrate is elevated once again—" EV warns and he yelps, smacking the side of his HUD goggles. Fortunately for him, you had only caught the tail end of his undignified shout and had peeked up just in time for him to land right in front of you.
You're sitting upon a lumpy couch, something abandoned by a tenant living below, and your laptop is sitting on a wobbly coffee table that has stains he doesn't want to begin to identify. "Spidey," you smile around the pen before you gesture to the rickety lawn chair across from you. "Welcome to my office. You want something to drink?"
Beside your laptop are two coffee cups, both still steaming. "Yeah, I could use a cup," he nods. Your eyes never leave his when he lifts his mask just enough to uncover his lips.
White male. Soft lips. Slight bruising along the jaw.
Your fingers fly across the keyboard and he tugs the mask down with an uneasy chuckle. "I haven't said anything."
"I know." You slide a hand-recorder over, hit the red button. "This is me, interviewing for the Daily Bugle, with Spider-man. You ready?"
He gives a nod then startles, leaning over to make sure your device catches his voice. Thickens the accent just in case. "Ready."
You giggle and tap something on your laptop. "You don't have to lean in so much, the recorder can hear you just fine. So— let's start from the beginning. What's your name?"
He smirks behind his mask. "Spider-man."
You don't waste a second. "How long have you been a superhero?"
"'Bout a few years now?"
"Oh, so you do consider yourself to be a hero. Not a vigilante."
He sits up at the rapid—fire response. "What's your question?"
"Do you agree with what the critiques of being called a spider menace?"
"You askin' me if I agree with your boss?"
That has you pausing, tilting your head as you regard the hero in front of you. "I'm interviewing you, Spider-man, not the other way around."
He shifts where he sits but he doesn't feign casualness. "No, I don't agree with your boss. I'm just tryin' to do good, that's all."
Your eyes narrow. "You're faking an accent."
Now it's his turn to laugh incredulously. "What— no, lady, I'm a New Yorker, born and raised."
"I know you are," you wave your hand dismissively before you're leaning over to pause the recording. "You're just… exaggerating it. Interesting. Don't worry, Spidey, that'll be just for me. I'm not trying to unmask you."
"You aren't?"
"No, that's not what I'm here for. I want to know you and what you stand for. Your goals. Your code." You press the play button and the recording continues. "So. Spider-man. How did you get your powers?"
"Pass."
"Wha— That's an easy one, isn't it?" The professionalism you wear like a fitted glove nearly disappears at the sudden refusal and Peter is grateful you can't see his grin as his hand darts out to pause the recording.
"It is but that can endanger me. My identity. There's a lot of anti-enhanced and anti-mutants rhetoric going on and—" He shakes his head, reclines back in the lawn chair with a tilt of his head. "I'd rather not get into that, especially with the break-ins at the Damage Control Centers."
You hit the play button again. "Alright, let's focus on you. Why do you do what you do? Fame? Recognition? The New Avengerz are wracking up brand deals like crazy."
"What— no. No, definitely not that. Me getting famous? That defeats the whole purpose of the mask," he chuckles. "No, someone important told me that having great power comes with a great responsibility."
"Sounds like a wise person," you hum. "And is that your code then? Something you live by?"
"I just want to do good, and not just for the big planetary monsters… but for the little people. Keep my nose to the ground, be everyone's favorite neighborhood Spider-man."
"Hm." You gnaw again at the tip of your pen before you're biting the cap, scrawling a few extra notes on a notepad beside you. You hold up the paper: QUEENS?
He chuckles. "Yeah, sure. I'll give that to you."
It doesn't narrow it down, Queens is the largest borough. "Anything you want to say? Something you've always wanted to share with the world?"
"Just… do good. Be good, you know? Look out for your neighbors," he shrugs. "Maybe leave out a churro for your favorite webhead once in awhile."
You laugh quietly to yourself and tuck the pen behind your ear. "I think I got some good stuff, thanks." After turning off the recording, you pocket the device and finish writing up a few notes on your laptop. "Do you think I can bother you for another interview someday?"
"Yeah— Yeah, I think you can. Already looking for a promotion?"
"Absolutely. Would it be too much of an ask if I could go exclusive—"
"Are you asking me out?"
You can't see his face but you'd bet everything in your bank account that he's probably smirking under there. Unfortunately for you, you don't have the luxury of a mask to disguise the blush that creeps up your neck and cheeks. "Exclusive interviews, webhead. Not— Not dating. I don't date."
"That's good. Neither do I," he shrugs before he gets to his feet, stretches to at least make himself feel as cool as he's hoping he's coming off as. "But… sure. Exclusive interviews for my favorite journalist."
"Still an intern. Technically."
"Hopefully that'll change after this interview." He flicks his wrist, a thick web attaching itself to the building beside yours. "See you 'round."
You nod and give an awkward wave that has both of you chuckling. "See you later, Spider-man."
•┈┈┈••✦
The bass has the walls pounding, a playlist that Ned's perfected in his final year at MIT and something that has MJ retreating to another room just to get a break. Regardless, it draws in a crowd larger than the original people they've invited, guests spilling out into the hallways and congregating near the kitchen for refills.
Peter wanders through the crowd, takes the cup from a stranger, and nods his head at MJ who gives him a half-smile. It's almost nice, learning how to be friends with the two most important people in his life. While neither of them have made any allusions to their life before the spell, no one has a rush to bring back those memories.
Ned's surrounded by guests but he manages to break away enough to greet Peter with their handshake. Right as they clap their hands onto each other's back, his friend perks up and waves at someone over his shoulder.
"Hey, you made it!"
"Barely. Jameson tried to get me to skew Spidey's answers but he finally approved my final draft," you huff. Peter freezes and when he looks over his shoulder, it's to see you.
You're dressed in casual office wear, dark circles hanging beneath your eyes but nonetheless pretty. That same damn pen is still sitting behind your ear. "Hi. Who's this?"
"I'm Peter," he manages to say, offering his hand. You give your own name, shake his hand, and pluck a cup from the counter, pour yourself a drink before taking a swig. He realizes he's staring, he knows this, but he can't help but drink you in. "You're… a journalist?"
"Now I am." Your smile is beatific and the cheers from Ned and the few guys that linger are just background noise. "Jameson finally promoted me. No more coffee runs, thank god."
"Congratulations," he smiles and clinks your plastic red cups together.
The music bleeds through the conversation, an easy wave to surf along as you and Peter migrate over to the open window. You lean against it, grateful for the cool breeze that soothes your heating skin. Your cup is long empty now but you don't let go, refusing to break this flow of conversation with this new guy that's completely stolen your attention.
"Careful—" Peter's hand shoots out to grip your waist when you nearly lose your balance, tipping out of the window and onto the fire escape. You hold onto his bicep to steady yourself. "You alright?"
"Yeah, yeah. Shit, I've been talking about myself the whole night," you laugh as you tip your head back against the window. "Tell me about you. What do you do?"
"I'm… a consultant."
You bite back a smirk. "That sounds like a nicer way of saying you're unemployed, Peter."
"Ah, well. I make do. Little jobs here and there," he shrugs. His own cup is empty but he'd rather eat the damn thing than interrupt whatever flow he has going on with you. When was the last time since he had actually engaged in a conversation?
"The Daily Bugle has a photographer position that just opened up." You can feel his eyes snap to you but you keep yours fixed on the view outside, maintaining a nonchalant exterior that's fooling nobody. "If you want, I can put in a good word for you."
"You'd do that for me?"
"Sure. A favorite hero of mine said to look out for your neighbor, so… that's what I'm doing. Don't make me regret this, Parker, I'm sticking my neck out for you." Despite your gruff tone, he catches the shine in your eye and the smile you're fighting to hide behind the rim of your red solo cup.
"No, no, I'll be good," he grins before his phone beeps. Much to your chagrin, Peter starts to rise, picking up some trash in his vicinity. "Didn't know Spider-man was your favorite hero, though. You gave me more of a Daredevil follower."
Your eyes roll, knock back the rest of your shitty beer until your brain rewinds the last of his reply. Your mind is racing as he starts to meander through the waning crowds but before you could stop him, the door shuts.
"Holy shit."
Ned takes up Peter's spot, hands you a water bottle while you dig into his pocket to lift another sharkfire energy. At least he has the good sense to not fight you on it this time around. "What's up?"
You shake your head, your eyes fixed on the door that Peter had just closed behind him. Ned turns his head, wondering what you're staring at.. "I… I think I know who Spider-man is."
•┈┈┈••✦
thank you for readinggg! this was my first time writing for peter, i hope i did him justice! let me know if you'd like to see more of him or if you want more of bnd!peter x journalist!reader !!
— ✶ a collection of articles i’ve read and thoroughly enjoyed of the spider-man all in one spot! read each warning before swinging in and please give writers some appreciation for all their hard work by reblogging and/or commenting! ꨄ
call me if you get lost I @superbassbuck I F + H/C + A I You have been Spiderman’s communicator—his eyes for crime and the voice on the other end of a staticky little radio that took him less than an hour to build. He doesn’t know your name, or what you look like. And you don’t know a single thing about him. Peter tells himself it’s better this way, that keeping you at arm’s length is the only way he can keep you safe. But that promise slowly frays the longer he speaks to you.
mask on, fuck it, mask off I @dearwalker I S I You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
letters i can’t send I @fawnindawn I H/C I your cute upstairs neighbour holds many secrets. you're willing to close one eye to his secrecy or the way he looks at you as if you hung the stars, till you accidentally uncover letters upon letters nedpeter’s kept in his apartment—all addressed to you.
web me home I @/fawnindawn I F + C I peter’s new arachnid senses often leave him disoriented—hibernating and waking up in places he doesn’t recognise. it’s a small problem, one he's willing to deal with on his own, till he wakes in your apartment with his arms wrapped around you.
secrets for the sleepless I @moonstruckme I H/C + F I you’re an insomniac, and you can’t help but notice your new roommate's comings and goings at odd hours. Peter’s a not-very-good liar that gets worse as he falls in love
underneath the suit I @yasministration I F I peter isn't prepared to take his clothes off for a meeting with the white widow, and he's much less prepared to meet his best friend for the very first time since fate tore them apart in a cruel twist of memory.
love bites I @/yasministration I ~S + F I you're determined to leave love bites all over peter's neck, but unfortunately for you, his accelerated healing has other plans. peter has a couple of suggestions to lift your spirits.
spiderfire superduo I @/yasministration I H/C I many of your superhero memories are riddled with the presence of spider-man, so how come you can't recall a single thing about him? oddly enough, getting all your answers begins with a youtube video titled 'spider-man and starfire being best friends for 10 minutes'
heartbeat pt2 I @thought-you-knew I F I As a nurse, nothing really fazes you. You've seen it all, but seeing the Punisher carrying in an unconscious Spider-Man? Well, maybe you haven't seen everything. Or Peter thinks you're cute while you're concerned for his elevated heartbeat.
did you get your taste back? I @xreader1989 I C + F I will you, an ex widow, and Spiderman himself be able to get over your past traumas and let each other in?
the anchor I @fireinmoonshot I H/C I When Doctor Strange's spell made the whole world forget Peter Parker, something went wrong (or very right). Now, you're the only person who remembers him. But it doesn't stop the nightmares from invading Peter's mind about the day where he might wake up and you don't remember him.
swinging by! I @starkissedxav I F I peter swings you around the city for the first time!
the frequency of forgetting pt2 pt3 I @violetrainbow412-blog I H/C I after erasing herself from his memories to save him, she spends years silently yearning for his love, unaware that fate would also ensure Peter was forgotten by the rest of the world. But no spell can break a bond that always finds its way back.
someone new I @/violetrainbow412-blog I C I after all, Peter just needs a friend
nothing sweet about it I @strangelure I S I your ex-boyfriend peter sees a chance and he takes it
sensitive I @arachine I S I accidentally discovering one day that peter's wrists are (weirdly) sensitive after his enhancement, so you take it into consideration the next time you go down on him and his entire world shatters.
find my way to your tongue I @/arachine I A + F I it's been three years since dr. strange cast the spell—three years peter has spent thinking about you. his final promise to you was to keep you safe. let you go. but peter has never been good at making promises.
frat!peter I @webslingingslasher I H/C
lucky I @miserymorgue I F
the ways that you say my name I @kryptidfiles I S I The sound of being known after years being forgotten makes Peter lose every careful piece of himself
i’m not there yet I @hanasnx I A + S
the front door I @hearts4hughes I A + F
yandere!stalker peter I @/heart4hughes I ~A
brand new changes, same ol’ spidey I @heyaheyrinny I S I Peter’s body is changing and you take this as an opportunity to tease his overstimulated senses.
drabble I @vampyrsm I ~S + F
thank you, spiderman I @sluvaffair I S I Enhanced!Spidey has made a habit of visiting you. You don't know what he looks like, but you do know how he likes to be touched.
drabble I @starlord-s I A
in dreams, i meet you in a warm conversation pt2 I @everythingcollided I H/C I you're avoiding the party that mj and ned wanted to throw, but that doesn't stop you from being found by a stranger. why can't you shake the feeling that he's familiar?
affixing attachment I @kentcant I H/C I where peter didn’t come back to remind you what you’d lost, and you confront him for leaving you abandoned too (aka you’re MJ, and you end up remembering him… sorta)
no strings webs attached I @mypoisonedvine I S I you've been hooking up with peter for a few months, letting him use you and never asking for more. but after he goes through some... changes, you end up getting more after all; unfortunately, it might be more than you can handle.
a journalist’s (lack of) integrity I @80sfilmclub I F I desperate to make it ahead (and establish yourself as an actual journalist) at the daily bugle, you tell your boss that you scored an exclusive interview with spider-man when you definitely did not. while you scramble to make good on your lie, peter parker hears your plight.
the kindness of a stranger I @webslinger-holland I F I After a night of one too many drinks, the reader finds herself vulnerable and alone on a Brooklyn street corner. Her night takes an unexpected turn as New York's own Spider-Man swoops in to save her and get her home safely.
sue me, i wanna be wanted I @rosesaints I F + S I it's been a long time coming and you want nothing more than to jump peter parker's bones
neighborly I @filmjules I S
sensory overload I @anon-188 I A + S I peter’s senses are spiraling out of control, and after an especially rough night, he decides staying away from you is the safest thing he can do. you, however, disagree.
gif @/zendadya I paper dividers @/dividers4u I notebook spiral and color dividers @/me
