Can you please write angst of Peter seeing y/n kissing another guy and moving on since she has no memory of him just like in the movieeee!!!
thanks for the req, anon!
here it is. it's pretty short cuz im on vacation (lmao) but i hope you like 👀
he had predicted it months ago.
he knew you'd move on.
you were good looking, smart, funny, and social enough. he just hadn't expected to happen so soon. though, it's not like you were the one grieving. you didn't remember him.
he wasn't even really supposed to be here, but it wasn't like that had stopped him before. the door had been open, it wasn't really his fault, even if he'd followed you home from the deli.
god, he sounded like a creep.
but here he was. in your (?) apartment, surrounded by drunk college students bouncing off of each other like the bumper cars at the theme park.
you looked so beautiful, leaning against the counter and chatting with friends peter had never met.he'd been so on edge lately, according to dewolff, and this was the first time in ages he'd been at ease. you were safe. right there. if anything happened, he was there.
he'd already been at the party for half an hour longer than he was supposed to (which wasn't saying much because he hadn't even really meant to come here), and in all that time he had been pushing off talking to you.
it was easy. you'd liked him at one point, back in highschool, what was different now? if anything, he was more appealing. he'd been working out more, he showered twice every day... that was good, right?
he took a gulp of whatever was in the red solo cup he'd been passed, and shouldered his way through the crowd in your direction. when he got to you, someone leaned against you. a tall guy, with dark hair and muscles hidden under a simple black t-shirt with the MIT logo embroidered on the chest. he wasn't just leaning against you, he was kissing you.
he froze, watching in abject horror. y/n. guy. party. he didn't like the picture those puzzle pieces formed. the kiss broke, the man placing his thumb on your lip and wiping a smear of lipgloss off your face. and the thing that made it all worse was the smile.
yours, not his. genuine. happy. it made him sick.
like a man possessed, he stumbled out of the apartment down the hallway. he couldn't be there anymore. not with everything that had been happening to him lately, he couldn't let it get worse.
he walked until he collided with the cool metal doors of the apartment elevator, and he waited for them to open before falling inside. a group of three guys gave him a very unnerved look before shuffling out of the elevator.
peter's hands felt for the right button and he pressed against the wall until the nauseating movement was over. he stumbled from the elevator into a hallway, down that hall until he found the door to the room and pushed it open.
cool air hit his body and made its way into his lungs, and he coughed up smoke before swinging off the roof through the grid of new york city.
peter and y/n sharing a hotel room during civil war (before after and during)
tags: both characters are underage!, no exact dialogue is word for word, fluff, readers powers are photographic memory, psychometry, and telepathy + above average strength and physical ability. suit is all black, reader is relatively monotone. no other description provided. hurt x comfort eventually, shared bed(ish) trope it's shared room, injured reader
warnings: swearing, moderate but not descriptive violence, suggestive content/innuendo
a/n: i write these in my notesapp with auto caps turned off. because of this there may be some mistakes and mishaps in spacing. let me know any thoughts or criticism and feel free to submit asks abt the fic!
wc: a bit under 1k so very short
3/3 parts
As soon as Peter was knocked unconscious, Tony cut you both off. He'd sustained a few minor injuries and been knocked out, and was probably. No, definitely concussed.
You were in a similar state. During an entanglement with Bucky Barnes, the man had slashed your abdomen with a knife. The cut was long but not very deep, and incredibly painful.
Tony ordered you both back to the hotel while he handled everything.
And Peter, despite his injuries, was as excited and hyper as ever. You were definitely not.
You wanted to impress Mr. Stark. He was smart. Strong. He'd seemed irritated with Peter after his injury, and you didn't want the same problem. So you hid your injuries. Apparently pretty well, because you managed to evade a physical after the airport battle.
Now, Happy was herding you both down the hallway to your hotel room. Stark contrast to earlier, he seemed concerned—especially for Peter.
"Please. Just go to bed. Take off your suits and put them in the cases so they can be cleaned, and then go to bed," Happy pleaded.
"I'll make sure of it, Happy," you promise, arms wrapped awkwardly around your torso to hide where spots of blood bad darkened the already pitch-black fabric.
He smiled flatly, apparently content with the response. Peter opened his mouth to object, but you gently slapped his arm and pushed him towards the door.
As soon as you were both inside, you shut the hallway door with an obnoxious slam. Without waiting for Peter to speak, you rush into the bathroom, immediately locking the door and begining to peel the suit off.
"Y/N?" Peter asks from the other side of the door, doorknob shaking as he attempts to turn it. "You alright?"
"Fine! J—just... y'know! Long day!"
You can practically hear him raise an eyebrow. "Y/N, did you get hurt? There's a first aid k—"
"No!" You yelp. The inflection in your voice—a crack of pain as fabric brushes the open wound, gives you away.
"Are you decent—?" Peter asks awkwardly.
You glance down at yourself. You have the pants of the suit on, but the sleeves and upper torso have been removed like a banana peel. You did, however, have on a simple sports bra and a horrifically stained "white" tank top.
"I guess?" You say, just as the door swings open. Peter is still in his suit, but has taken the mask off and apparently put on a pair of loose grey sweatpants. The doorknob is damaged, probably beyond repair.
As soon as he sees you, he yelps. "Jesus!"
You blink at him, wrapping your arms around your torso. You manage to keep yourself up long enough for him to awkardly help you to the bed. Unfortunatley, his bed is closer than yours—so you collapse into his bed, probably ruining the hotel blanket. Peter hurries from the room to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom, giving you a brief moment to rotate yourself and scream into the pillow.
This is not only a massive inconvenience for Peter, it's also embarrassing as hell. Peter comes back into the room, triumphantly holding the first aid kit. "You have to tell me what happened so I can help you."
"Don't need help—" you whimper, shuddering with pain. Peter's arms drop and he frowns.
"You're a terrible liar, Y/N."
You just whine, trying and failing to roll away from him when he approaches you like a wild animal tamer. Your tank top is basically glued to your skin from the blood soaking the fabric, and you're already laying down with no intention of sitting up. Peter looks through the first aid kit, holding up a small pair of scissors intended for gauze.
"I feel like I'm in Grey's Anatomy," he says. "I'm gonna have to cut the shirt. Not anything under it, I promise."
" 's fine—" you whisper, watching through slitted, barely conscious eyes as he cuts through the thin fabric with ease. His eyes widen and he guffaws at the injury.
"Woah..." he says, pulling cotton balls from the kit and dabbing at the area around the wound. "What happened?"
"B—Bucky Barnes got me. It's okay. S—suit's not though—" you choke out, and he glances at where the upper part of your suit is pooled around your waist.
"I'm sure it's easy to fix. Or replace. I got nicked a couple times," he says, and you glance at his suit. He still hasn't changed into a t-shirt, and the fitting and flexible fabric highlight his toned body. You hide your stare with a pained blink as he finishes drying the blood.
"I gotta clean it now, which is gonna hurt," he warns. Before you can reply, pain shoots through your midsection as he pours antiseptic cleaner on the gash. You've been through plenty of pain before, but it's usually coated in so much adrenaline you barely notice.
This time? You scream.
As soon as the first sound escapes, Peter moves quick. He stuffs a long piece of gauze in your mouth, and you bite down hard. He dabs at the cleaner, making sure it can do it's job before covering your injury with a few layers of bandage and lightly taping it down with some medical tape.
You aren't sure how he managed to do it so quickly, because you're thrashing in pain. After a moment, it subsides. Slowly but surely.
"Feel a little better?" He asks, cleaning up the scraps and supplies.
"Mhm," you whisper, trying to steady your breathing.
"I'm gonna change and I'll getcha some water."
"Mkay," you reply.
After a couple painful minutes, he emerges from the bathroom. He wears the same grey sweatpants, a white tshirt, and holds a paper cup of tap water. He places it on the bedside table, smiling awkwardly.
"I guess we're switching beds?"
"Yeah. Thanks for the help, Peter. You didn't have to."
"You were about to die. It's no biggie."
"We leave tomorrow. So I probably won't see you much after we get dropped off," you remind him.
Peter frowns. "Yeah. I guess. Well, if you ever need a partner-in-heroism, I'm your guy!"
You laugh, before quickly regretting the decision when pain pulses from your wound.
a/n: sorry gang ive been busy thats it for the fic hope you liked :)
peter and y/n sharing a hotel room during civil war (before after and during)
tags: both characters are underage!, no exact dialogue is word for word, fluff, readers powers are photographic memory, psychometry, and telepathy + above average strength and physical ability. suit is all black, reader is relatively monotone. no other description provided. hurt x comfort eventually, shared bed(ish) trope it's shared room.
warnings: swearing, moderate but not descriptive violence, suggestive content/innuendo
a/n: i write these in my notesapp with auto caps turned off. because of this there may be some mistakes and mishaps in spacing. let me know any thoughts or criticism and feel free to submit asks abt the fic!
wc: a bit under 1k so very short
2/? parts
part one
You eat quickly, too used to shoveling everything down before school or a mission to care. Peter, whom you're sure is usually in similar situations, somehow takes his time.
It's awkward, eating at the round breakfast table in a 5 star hotel, across someone you've never met before today.
Peter looks up from his chicken tenders, a smear of organic ketchup next to his lip. "So, what kinda stuff can you do?" He asks, through a mouthful of french fries. You think for a moment, taking a sip of your drink.
"Well, I've got the usual superhero stuff—with the strength. Telekinesis, eidetic memory, and psychometry, too."
He blinks at you.
"I know where objects have been by touching them, and I have a photographic memory."
"That's so cool!" He exclaims, eyes wide. "Uh, before we leave and stuff, can I get a video of you doing your powers and stuff? Like, moving a spoon with your mind or something."
Usually, you'd be reluctant to do this. You have a secret identity for a reason. But something in Peter's expression—perhaps the genuine interest you rarely see in most people, gets at you. "Sure. Just remind me."
Peter beams, ketchup-covered smile stretching to the corners of his face. "So, what can you do?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, since I got bit, I'm super sticky. The pads of my fingers, palms, and feet have little pointy things that make me stick to stuff. Also, I'm pretty strong. My senses are also WAY better and I have enhanced hearing, sight, taste—the whole shabang."
"Shabang?"
"Yeah. The whole deal."
"I know what it means, Peter," you sigh, wiping your hands with a white cloth napkin.
Peter looks embarrassed, staring down at his plate. "Are you excited for the battle tomorrow? I mean, not excited. But. You know what I mean, right?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't say excited—but it'll be nice to meet the team. Like Black Widow." You'd seen her on the news often when you were younger, and the idea of seeing her in person was how you imagined most normal teenagers felt about celebrities.
"Ooh, yeah! I think it's just cool to work with Mister Stark. He's, like, super smart and stuff. And rich," Peter gestures around the hotel room.
The light is rapidly fading outside the hotel, and you glance at the clock on the bedside table. It's almost 9 PM. While usually this would be no big deal, tomorrow is important—you both need all the rest you can get.
As if on cue, a door opens, but it's not the one you'd come through. "Alright. Lights out, kids."
"Woah. Is that your room?" Peter asks, standing from the table and attempting to get a look inside.
"Yes. It's mine," Happy huffs, pointing to you and Peter. "Bed. ASAP. No funny business, alright?"
You both nod, and Happy scans the room. "I'll have room service take the plates—" he pauses suddenly, eyes locking on the "suit" Peter has laid out on his bed. "What's that."
"My suit," Peter replies, like it's obvious.
"Did they—goddammit, do I have to do everything myself? No. That's not your suit. Stark Industries is providing both of you with new suits. I'll have someone bring them up when they clear your plates."
Peter lights up, looking between you and Happy. "Stark tech suits?! That's awesome!"
Happy purses his lips and nods. "Yuuup. He sure is giving you both a lot of... leeway."
"Thanks, Happy," you say, which makes him smile for the first time since you've met. He leaves, and a few moments later, while you're brushing your teeth and Peter is bouncing off the walls, a concierge knocks. Not trusting Peter to answer it, you get the door. The man is efficient, cleaning the table and leaving you with two metal briefcases.
Peter rushes to the one labeled, "PARKER", clicking the security latches open. The case opens dramatically, blue LEDs lining it. You open your own case, glancing to see Peter's suit. He pulls it out, eyes wide. It's got the same color sceme as his homemade suit, but it's all one piece. Spider webbing is stitched all over it, and there's a spider emblem in the center. He jumps excitedly, unzipping it and sticking an arm through to test the material. He wiggles his fingers inside the glove, face pure joy.
You nearly laugh at him, until your case clicks open. It's not as detailed as Peter's, probably because you don't have much of a persona like he does. But it's beautiful. It reminds you of Black Widow's suit—an almost void black, comfortable butter-like fabric, multiple pockets and holsters, and simple metal details. (It looks like vibranium, but you aren't 100% sure.)
Peter only stops gawking at his own suit to get a good look at yours. "Oh, that'll look great on you!" He pauses, awkwardly backtracking. "Well, I'm sure it will. But. Like. Not in a weird way. Sorry—"
"It's fine, Peter," you sigh, folding the suit and placing it back into the case for safe keeping. Peter glances at the clock.
"I guess. I'll try this on in the morning."
You nod. "I'm sure you'll look great too." He laughs awkwardly, face turning pinkish. After a bit of getting ready, you both settle into bed. He faces away from you, towards the wall. You face the windows—watching the white curtains billow.
You can tell by the tossing and turning behind you that neither of you are going to get much sleep, but at least you'll be working together. A few hours pass, filled with soft breathing being muffled with pillows as to not wake the other. You shift in the hotel bed, hearing Peter moving amongst his own blankets. You resist the urge to look, instead listening the best you can.He gets up, walking somewhere—the lights in the bathroom clicking on.
There's a loud thud, a boyish yelp, and the sound of fabric hitting tile. You turn, obscuring your face with the blanket but slitting your eyes just enough to watch the bathroom door. Peter stumbles out, clad in his Stark Industries suit. The bathroom light illuminates his back, and he does a 360—arms slightly stretched in front of him to admire the sleeves and gloves of the suit.
Despite how silly he looks, you have to admit the sight is moderately attractive. The muscles you'd notices under his shirt yesterday in the car are even more defined under the skintight fabric.
"This is so freaking cool..." he whispers to himself, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing. It doesn't work. A small, barely audible giggle escapes and Peter's head turns on a swivel.
-not my gif
peter and y/n sharing a hotel room during civil war (before after and during)
tags: both characters are underage!, no exact dialogue is word for word, fluff, readers powers are photographic memory, psychometry, and telepathy + above average strength and physical ability. suit is all black, reader is relatively monotone. no other description provided. hurt x comfort eventually, shared bed(ish) trope it's shared room,
warnings: swearing, moderate but not descriptive violence, suggestive content/innuendo
a/n: i write these in my notesapp with auto caps turned off. because of this there may be some mistakes and mishaps in spacing. im trying my best i swear! this isn't the first fic i've written, just the first time i've bothered to do anything with it. If you can't tell i was very eager to get to the hotel part 😭if you have any criticism or thoughts PLEASE let me know them!
Y/A means Your Alias!
wc: a bit under 1k so very short
1/? parts
With all technicality, you weren't even supposed to be here.
For some reason, in a last-ditch effort to obtain as much muscle/brain as he could, Tony Stark called you. You couldn't believe it.
For about the last year, you'd been mooighting as a superhero in NYC. A lot of people compared you to Spider-man, but you didn't really see it. So, Tony Stark visited your apartment, spouting some bullshit about a stark internship.
You played along (no choice not to) and he managed to weasel out your superhero identity and get you a spot on the "Stark Internship" for a trip to Germany. He didn't provide much of an explanation after that, leaving you in the dark even after picking you up in the fancy Stark Industries car.
And shortly after retrieving you, the car drives down the streets of Queens while Happy struggles to navigate with the GPS.
"Well, Obviously, I can't go there!" He yells at the device as it instructs him to drive straight through a building, before finally parking on the side of the street in front of an apartment building. As if he's been waiting inside the door, a boy bursts through the door with a suitcase. Behind him is a brunette woman who looks incredibly nervous about this whole thing.
Happy gets out of the car, giving the woman an awkward wave. She says something to the boy, who's dressed in a T-shirt and jeans that don't fit him quite right. Happy unlocks the door on your opposite side, and after a short conversation and the unloading of luggage into the trunk, the boy slides into the seat beside you. He smiles flatly.
"I'm Peter Parker. Err, Spider-Man. I didn't know someone else would be here." His voice has a nervous yet excited energy, like a chihuahua on stimulant drugs.
"Y/N Y/L/N. Y/A."
"Cool. Cool. That's Happy?" Peter points at our chauffeur, who already seems fed up. You nod. "It's cool to meet you. I've seen your clips, on, like, YouTube and stuff. Your powers are cool."
You can't really tell what to make of Peter.
He looks like the kinda guy that got shoved in lockers in grade school. But you can see that he's got some kind of lean muscle under his clothes, and you've seen his suit and ability before- not really anything to laugh about. Peter fumbles in his backpack, pulling out a camcorder. "Do you mind?"
You shrug, watching as he clicks the camera on and begins to film the car and the things outside the window as Happy drives. He narrates dramatically, and you have to keep yourself from laughing. Happy doesn't seem to pleased.
Peter briefly explains that this is his first time ever really leaving Queens or NYC as you walk up to the Stark Industries private jet. He continues to yap to Happy on the plane, insisting on sitting directly across from him.
You sleep on the flight, and thankfully, Peter doesn't bother you.
---
The hotel is certainly nicer than any place you or Peter have ever been. Happy walks up to the front desk to check you in, you and Peter waiting patiently a few paces behind him.
After a moment, Happy's conversation with the attendant spirals into an argument of some kind. "Listen, I've got two teenagers here. Boy and girl. You know what happens when teenagers are alone."
"Only 2 rooms, sir."
"You don't have one extra?"
The attendant shakes her head. Happy just resigns, realizing money can't do everything during Honeymoon season in Berlin. He gets three room cards and returns to you.
"So, FRIDAY made a mistake while booking rooms. She forgot you," he points at you, "were going to be here. And because I'm not sharing a room with either of you, you're gonna have to share."
He doesn't wait for either of you to say anything, gesturing for a bellhop and leading you to the hotel rooms.
"Here's your room. Ground rules. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing you wouldn't want your Grandma to see. Don't be loud. Be ready for the mission tomorrow. I sent the plans to your phones." Happy seems tired, gesticulating at us to make sure we get the point.
"Sir, yes sir." Peter jokes. Happy gives him a look, and he deflates.
"We got it," You assure Happy. Relieved, he leaves the two of you alone.
Peter hasn't stopped filming, and now he bounces around with pent-up excitement. "Ohh, this is gonna be so cool!" He exclaims, tossing his suitcase on one of the beds.
You do have to admit, it is pretty cool. Peter excitedly shows off his sweatsuit-suit, and you raise an eyebrow. You'dve thought he'd have something a little more.... put together.
"That's it?" You ask.
He nods, showing off the mask. "I made it myself. It's not the most advanced but it works."
"You do know you're fighting the Avengers, right? Like, Captain America?"
"It's fine. Mr. Stark didn't say anything about it."
"Alright, then." You reply, voice dripping with uncertainty. The phone rings. Peter looks worried when you pick it up, but Happy's voice is on the other line.
"There should be a menu on one of the dressers. Order what you want, tell them you're under the Stark tab," he hangs up unceremoniously. You relay the information to Peter, who lights up.
After a few moments of looking at the menu, you settle on (your meal) and Peter gets chicken tenders. Everything arrives about 15 minutes later. All the plates are hidden under cloches, two bottles of soda and a few bags of chips are also on top of the cart. The attendant places everything on a fold out table, including one small cloche with four cookies on it. A small note reads: "-T.S."Peter is practically vibrating with excitement, and can barely hide his grin when the waiter leaves.
"This is the best day of my life," he says, voice serious.
i had to stop writing here but i hope u like it so far it's not my best work but i had the idea and wanted to write it down!
summary: You go to Peter’s expecting a normal hangout, only to accidentally discover he’s Spider-Man… and react way more excited than he was prepared for.
warnings: use of y/n, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual crush, identity reveal, humor, mild suggestiveness, awkward nudity (non-explicit), aunt may interruption, chaotic reader, peter parker being a mess, first kiss, light teasing, lower case intended!
notes: reader is said to have hair.. sorry if you're bald! slightly proofread!
word count: 3.9k
you were sitting cross legged on Peter’s bed, absently flipping through a worn comic book, the pages soft from being read a hundred times over.
the oversized Spider-Man top you borrowed from peter.. and maybe planned on never giving back, slipped slightly off one shoulder, your pajama pants loose and comfortable against your legs.
every now and then, you glanced toward the door, listening for footsteps.
ned had bailed last minute, something about his grandma needing help “cleaning spider webs off the ceiling,” which sounded completely made up but you hadn’t pressed.
honestly… you didn’t mind.
if anything, it made your stomach flutter a little.
because now it was just you and Peter.
you tried not to smile at the thought, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you turned another page without really reading it.
you’d been looking forward to this all day, telling yourself it was just a normal hangout, nothing special but the quiet would feel different without Ned there filling every silence.
your eyes drifted around peter’s room, the scattered school books, the cluttered desk, the half finished projects and you couldn’t help but feel a little fondness bloom in your chest. It all felt so… him.
and maybe just maybe you liked him a little more than you should.
okay, a lot more.
but it wasn’t like it was one sided… right?
you bit your lip, staring down at the comic in your hands, though your mind had completely wandered.
the way he looked at you sometimes, the way his voice softened just a bit when he said your name…
or how he’d glance at you first when something funny happened, like your reaction mattered more than anyone else’s.
or the way he’d get just a little flustered when you stood too close, like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, or his words, or himself... it had to mean something.
a small smile tugged at your lips as you hugged the comic a little closer to your chest.
yeah… you were pretty sure peter liked you too.
a sudden thwip at the window made you jump.
the comic in your hands slipped slightly as your grip tightened, eyes snapping toward the sound.
the window.
something had hit it.
another faint creak followed, the soft rattle of glass shifting in its frame, like something or someone was right outside.
for a split second, everything stilled, your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
peter wasn’t home yet.
and may was downstairs.
so… who?
you slowly sat up straighter on the bed, pulse thudding in your ears, every instinct suddenly on edge as you turned your head and stared at the window, waiting for something, anything to move.
a small tug, so quiet you almost thought you imagined it but no, the bottom edge of the window shifted, just barely, like something was pulling at it from the outside.
the latch gave with a soft click, your fingers curled more on the comic book, gripping harder while your eyes stayed locked on the window as it began to slide open a few inches on its own.
cool air slipped into the room first, brushing against your skin, lifting the curtains just enough to make them sway.
your heart was pounding so loud you were sure may could hear it from downstairs.
the window opened wider.
the outside noise crept in, distant traffic, a horn somewhere far off, the hum of the city.
a slow, creeping chill ran down your spine as something moved around outside of the window.
you couldn't move or speak, it was like you were frozen in place.
a blur crossed your line of sight, and before your brain could catch up, a figure swung through the opening with impossible speed, landing inside peter’s room in one smooth motion.
a quiet thud against the floor, crouched perfectly, like they had done it a thousand times before.
you watched, breath trapped in your chest.
the figure stayed crouched for a second, one hand pressed flat against the wall, the other steadying them on the floor.
muscles coiled, alert, like they were listening for something outside.
oblivious to the fact that someone was already in the room.
then slowly, almost cautiously, they straightened. The light from the window caught the fabric of the suit, and suddenly the details came into focus.
your stomach dropped, 'No way.' you thought to yourself.
standing in the middle of peter’s room was spider-man.
the suit shimmered faintly under the sunlight, all red and blue. Then, almost hesitantly, they reached up and pulled at the mask.
your eyes widened, jaw slowly falling open as the mask came off.
peter parker’s face was revealed, messy hair falling across his forehead, eyes wide and frantic, cheeks already pink from exertion.
peter, unaware that you were already there, exhaled shakily and began loosening the suit.
first he tugged at the shoulders, peeling them down slowly, you stayed silent, captivated, every muscle of your body tense as you watched.
he slid the sleeves off one by one, then slowly reached for the zipper at the back of the suit, sliding it down just far enough to reveal the top of his chest.
then, sliding the arms down, revealing his pale, toned arms that flexed with each subtle movement.
his breath was heavy, his movements were careful, as if he could feel the tension in the empty room even though he thought he was alone.
your eyes, though you tried to look away, betrayed you.
they lingered, dragged along the lean lines of his arms, the curve of his shoulders, and then his back as he slid the suit down further.
and then, without warning, his eyes flicked to the bed.
you. sitting there. watching. silent. time seemed to freeze.
peter froze mid motion, hands clutching the suit at his waist, face flaming red. “y-y/n…” he stammered, voice breaking slightly.
“peter.” your voice came out breathless, barely a whisper at first, then louder as realization hit. “you… you’re… spider-man?!” eyes still tracing him, but now in full realization. “It’s you… the whole time… it was you?”
“how’d you get in here i-“ he spoke, tilting his head before you cut him off.
“may let me in..” “wait… wait… wait!” you shrieked, springing upright. “you’re spider-man?! are you kidding me?! that’s insane! that’s so cool! i can’t believe it’s you!"
peter froze, muscles tensing, eyes wide. “I… I didn’t.. uh…”
you stood up on the bed, jumping around, hands flailing, pacing in excitement.
“this is unbelievable! you’re swinging around the city, saving people, and i had no idea it was you! oh my gosh, peter, i can’t even.. ”
in his panic, flustered and overwhelmed by your energy, peter tugged at the suit’s zipper again. “I... I can’t… just...” he yanked the rest of the spider-man suit off in a desperate attempt to explain, revealing his bare chest and toned torso. by the time he realized it, he was down to nothing but his boxers.
you thought for a second, then pointed a finger at his chest, heart still racing from your excitement. “wait- why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t you tell me it was you this whole time?!”
peter’s mouth opened and closed, cheeks bright red. “I… I… I didn’t… I didn’t think… you’d.. uh…” he scrambled, trying to cover himself with his hands and the discarded suit.
and that’s when it happened, the door swung open.
“peter? Y/N? are you-”
it was May and both of you froze. Your finger was still pointed at his chest. Peter was frozen mid cover, boxers on, red-faced beyond belief. You were half standing on the bed, still vibrating with excitement.
may’s eyes went wide immediately. The image of you two looked… wrong. Very, very wrong.
peter groaned, pressing a hand to his face. “May! I… it’s not what it looks like!”
may blinked at the two of you, clearly mortified herself. “I… I’m going to… give you two a minute.”
and just like that, she spun on her heel and walked out, shutting the door behind her.
the sound of the click echoed in the room.
you blinked at Peter, who was still hunched over, trying desperately to cover himself with the suit. His ears were red, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“well… that was… something,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, still vibrating from excitement.
peter groaned again, flopping onto his bed beside you, pulling the suit over his lap. “I… I hate you right now.”
you laughed, now sitting, eyes tracing his bare chest. “I love you right now. This is amazing.”
“okay… okay,” you said, leaning back on your hands, still grinning, heart racing. “Seriously… does anyone else know? Like… Ned? MJ? Anyone?”
peter’s eyes went wide. His cheeks flushed deeper, and he shook his head quickly. “N-No! Nobody knows. It’s just… you. You can’t tell anyone. Not Ned, not MJ, not anyone. Promise me.”
you nodded. “Don’t worry… your secret’s safe with me.
you sat up a little straighter, your eyes still on peter. “…What?” he asked cautiously, already suspicious.
you clasped your hands together, leaning forward. “Okay. Hear me out.”
“No.” “I didn’t even say anything yet!”
“I know that tone,” he said, pointing at you.
you grinned. “I just think… hypothetically… as your very trustworthy best friend…”
“Uh-huh.”
“…I should get to try the web shooters.”
peter laughed in disbelief. “…Absolutely not.”
your jaw dropped. “What?! Why not?!”
“Because they’re not toys!” he shot back. “You could, like.. stick your hand to the ceiling! Or your face! Or something worse!”
“That sounds awesome,” you said immediately.
“That sounds like a hospital visit,” he corrected.
you scooted closer, grabbing his arm lightly. “Peter, come on. Just once! I won’t even aim at anything important. I’ll aim at, like… your chair.”
“My chair is important!”
you groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “You’re no fun.”
“I am fun! I just don’t want you accidentally webbing May to the wall!”
you snorted. “Okay, first of all, I would never...” There was a pause. “…Okay, maybe a small chance, but still!”
peter shook his head, trying not to laugh. “No. Not happening.”
you sat up again, closer this time, closer than before.
"I’m getting dressed. This conversation is over.”
“Please?” you said, softer now.
he hesitated, big mistake because you noticed immediately.
“Oh my god, that almost worked,” you whispered, eyes lighting up. “Peter.. ”
“Nope,” he said quickly, standing up. Peter was shaking his head, pacing a little now, running a hand through his already messy hair.
“No. Nope. Bad idea. Terrible idea,” he muttered. “You with web shooters? That’s statistically a disaster.”
you followed him with your eyes, arms crossed, trying not to smile. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic. I have experience with these. You don’t.”
you slid off the bed and stepped closer. “Then teach me.”
he stopped pacing. “…Teach you?”
“Yeah,” you said simply. “You said they’re not toys. Fine. Show me how to use them properly.”
he hesitated. you could see the argument forming, the refusal right there. Then he sighed, a long, defeated sigh.
“…One shot,” he said, pointing at you. “One. You aim at something harmless. You listen to everything I say. And the second it goes wrong, I take them back.”
your entire face lit up. “Wait... really?!”
“I’m already regretting this,” he mumbled.
“Peter!” You grabbed his arm, practically bouncing. “You’re the best!”
"Yeah yeah." He said, as he turned around, walking toward his closet where he tossed his suit in.
you watched, very much not looking away this time, as he hurriedly grabbed a pair of plaid pajama pants.
he glanced back at you, feeling your eyes on him. "Turn around!"
you didn’t.
you just raised an eyebrow.
“Y/N.”
“Peter.”
“…Please.”
you hum as if in thought, but finally turned around, holding your hands up. “Fine. I’m being respectful. Look at me, respecting your privacy.”
“I don’t believe you,” he muttered, scrambling behind you.
you could hear the quick shuffle of fabric, the thump of him nearly tripping, a quiet “ow.. ” under his breath.
“…You okay?” you asked, trying not to laugh.
“I’m great,” he said, very obviously not great.
a few seconds later, “Okay. You can turn around.”
you did, he was in plaid pajama pants, a lightly wrinkled t-shirt and his hair was even messier.
“…Wow,” you said, looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You clean up nice, Spider-Man.”
he groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”
“No promises.”
he moved to his desk, grabbing one of the web shooters. When he came back, his expression was serious, focused in a way you hadn’t seen before.
“Okay,” he said, gently taking your wrist. “Hand out.”
you obeyed immediately, he slid the web shooter onto your wrist, his fingers brushing your skin as he adjusted it. “It fits… okay, I think.”
your breath hitched just a little. “Feels… cool.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he said quickly, he lifted your hand slightly, guiding your fingers into position. “Alright. You press here, but only when you’re aiming. And you have to flick your wrist like this...”
his hand wrapped around yours to demonstrate, for a second, neither of you spoke. Then you whispered, “You’re, like… really good at this.”
he huffed softly. “I’d hope so.”
you glanced up at him, your faces closer than you realized.
“…Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Target. Uh.. chair. You said chair.”
you nodded, forcing yourself to drag your eyes away from him.
“On three,” he continued. “One… two…”
you didn’t wait for three.
thwip!
the web shot out, sticking perfectly to the chair across the room.
both of you froze, then your eyes went wide. “I DID IT?!”
peter stared at the web, then back at you. “…You actually did it.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
you were still buzzing.
like, actually buzzing, pacing a little, shaking out your hands like you’d just had ten cups of coffee.
“I can’t believe that worked,” you said for what had to be the fifth time, staring at the web still stuck to the chair. “I mean.. I can, because I did it but also, I can’t.”
peter leaned against his desk, arms crossed, trying very hard to look unimpressed.
“Beginner’s luck,” he said.
you spun toward him immediately. “Excuse me?!”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, failing to hide a small smile, “first try? Suspicious.”
you narrowed your eyes. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You are. You’ve been doing this for, what, months? Years? And I nailed it in one shot.”
“I was bitten by a radioactive spider,” he shot back. “You had a tutorial.”
“Still counts.”
he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, well, tutorial’s over. Hand it back.”
you immediately clasped your hands behind your back. “No.”
peter blinked. “No?”
“One more.” “No.” “Peter.” “Y/N.”
“One more,” you repeated, stepping closer, your voice dropping just slightly.
he shook his head, but he didn’t step away. “I said one shot.”
“And I listened. I did everything right.”
“That doesn’t mean you get unlimited turns!”
“Not unlimited,” you said quickly. “Just… one more.”
“No.”
you tilted your head, studying him, before you stepped even closer, close enough that he had to look down just slightly to meet your eyes.
“…Are you really gonna take it away after I was that good?” you asked, softer now.
he hesitated again and you saw it again.
“Oh my god, you’re thinking about it,” you whispered, a grin tugging at your lips.
“I’m not...” “You are.” “I’m really not...”
“You are,” you insisted, gently catching his wrist. “Come on. I won’t mess it up. I promise.”
his gaze flicked down to where your hand was touching him, then back up to your face. “…One more,” he said finally, like it physically pained him. “And that’s it. Seriously.”
your face lit up instantly. “Yes!”
“I mean it.”
“I know, I know,” you said, already holding your arm out again.
he sighed, but stepped in, adjusting the web shooter back into place on your wrist. “Okay, same rules.”
“Same rules,” you echoed.
his fingers were slower this time, more careful, like he was suddenly very aware of every point of contact.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Focus.”
you nodded, but your attention drifted the second he stepped in closer behind you, closer than before.
his arm came around yours again, guiding your aim.
“Target,” he murmured. “Desk.”
“Mhm.” “Wrist straight.” “Mhm.”
“Focus,” he murmured again.
you tried, you really did but it was a little hard when you could feel him this close.
“…Peter,” you said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I forgot what I was aiming at.”
he let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Your fault,” you said. “You’re distracting.”
“I’m distracting?”
“You’re the one hovering.”
“I’m teaching!”
“Mhm.”
“…You gonna shoot?” he asked, voice quieter now.
“…Maybe,” you said, but you didn’t move your hand.
instead, you turned your head slightly.
he was right there.
close enough that your noses almost brushed.
his breath hitched and for a second, he didn’t move.
you glanced down at his lips before your eyes met his, watching him as he slowly leaned in, closing the gap.
the kiss was soft at first, a little tentative, like he was still catching up to what was happening but it didn’t stay that way for long.
his hand shifted slightly against your arm, steadying you as you kissed him back, the was kiss a little more sure this time, a little less hesitant.
the web shooter was completely forgotten.
when you finally pulled back, your lips still tingling, you smiled faintly. “…Okay,” you said softly.
he blinked. “Okay?”
you lifted your wrist up in front of you again, the web shooter still snug against your skin. “Now I can focus.”
it took him a second, then his eyes widened just a little. “Wait..”
thwip!
the web shot out clean and fast this time sticking to the edge of his desk with a soft tck.
you gasped, eyes lighting up all over again. “I DID IT AGAIN!” You laughed, pure excitement bubbling out of you as you grabbed his arm. “Twice! That’s not beginner’s luck anymore!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe you’re a fast learner.”
“Maybe I’m just that good.”
the web hung forgotten across the room on the edge of his desk.
your hand slowly slipped from his arm to his hand instead, fingers brushing against his.
“…So,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips, “does this mean I get promoted to… assistant Spider-Man?”
peter groaned, but didn’t let go of your hand. “Absolutely not.”
nothing on this god's green earth can convince me that peter parker doesn't have an ao3 account where he is elbows deep in a 'rise of skywalker' fix-it fic. like, fully invested in it, been writing it pre-spider bite with ned, who is just as enthusiastic about it. but the thing is, it's really hard to do updates when you are literally spider-man.
every three months he'll post and in the author's note there's some shit like "sorry this took a while, i got shot seven times :/" or "i know it's been a minute, i literally got hit by a bus and then stabbed in the leg, but i'm all good!" or sometimes ned would log in and post with a note "hey i'm a friend posting on the author's behalf, they're healing from severe hypothermia but promised an update, so here it is!"
and the fic just gets increasingly more popular for the author notes alone. a good handful of the comments are something along the lines of "i'm not even in the star wars fandom, i'm just here to see if the author is good" or "every update i cheer for another day the author gets to live at this point"
and any reader who is a native new yorker kind of pieces together that holy shit the author might be spider-man because the timeline adds up, and they just fully embrace it. spider-man will stop a robbery and the guy behind the counter will ask when the next chapter will be up. spider-man returns a stolen backpack to a girl and she'll tell him that he "really got poe's voice down so well, it's really impressive."
ned thinks it is hilarious. mj finds out about the fic from twitter, to peter's absolute horror, and changes peter's contact name to "friendly neighborhood ao3 author". but the worst thing to happen is after an avengers battle where peter took a pretty big hit and ends up in med-bay. and during a press conference, when someone asks how spider-man is healing, tony just drops "spidey won't be down for too long. the star wars fic will be updated within the week, probably."
