euclid: part 3 ~ (p.p x f!reader)
A/N: i am so sorry for the wait ya'll! here is part 3! i had such a blast writing this!
summary: A month has gone by since helping peter from the rooftop incident. Peter’s life is becoming more complicated by the day, and you are right beside him through all of it. As secrets, danger, and unexpected feelings begin to blur the line between friendship and something more, the two find themselves facing a turning point neither of you saw coming.
warnings: violence, blood, guns, migraines, angst, light fluff ??? (idk what else if there is anything else lmk pls!)
i listened to this song while writing: song
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A month had gone by since Peter had been on what you thought was death's doorstep.
Time had continued moving forward, whether the two of you were ready for it or not.
Things had changed. Just... not in the ways you secretly hoped they would.
The mutation episodes were still happening, although nowhere near as frequently as before. Almost every night after patrol, the two of you found yourselves sneaking into one of ESU's research labs long after the campus had emptied. Peter somehow still remembered every security guard's schedule, every camera blind spot, and every back entrance that hadn't been locked properly in years.
You'd quietly laugh every time he confidently whispered, "Trust me."
Because somehow...You always did.
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above the empty lab while microscopes, petri dishes, and stacks of handwritten notes slowly took over every available inch of counter space. Peter spent countless hours drawing molecular structures across whiteboards, muttering equations under his breath before immediately crossing them back out.
More than once, you'd caught him asleep at the lab bench, cheek pressed against an open textbook with safety goggles still hanging around his neck.
You'd simply smile, drape your sweatshirt over his shoulders, and quietly finish labeling whatever samples he'd forgotten.
Some nights the experiments failed spectacularly. Glass beakers cracked. Chemical reactions fizzled into nothing.
One prototype even melted through a plastic container, earning the two of you a panicked sprint to clean everything before anyone discovered what you'd accidentally done.
Progress happened. Tiny progress. Enough to keep going.
Eventually, after what felt like hundreds of failed attempts, Peter leaned back in his chair one night with the smallest grin you'd seen in weeks.
He stared down at the computer screen.
Together, the two of you had created a biological inhibitor designed to interrupt the abnormal neural signals caused by the mutation before they overwhelmed his nervous system.
It wasn't a cure. Far from it. But it was enough.
Enough to slow the episodes while Peter was out patrolling the city. Enough to stop the debilitating migraines from striking halfway through a swing across Manhattan. It bought him time.
Instead, he'd let the migraines come naturally, convinced that understanding the mutation was just as important as suppressing it. You'd spend those evenings sitting beside him on the couch in near silence, the apartment dark except for the television neither of you were watching. Sometimes he'd barely speak, his eyes squeezed shut against the pounding in his head while you quietly handed him another ice pack or reminded him to drink water.
Those nights were becoming fewer. The migraines still came.
Whatever this mutation was building toward...It felt closer than ever.
At least that was one thing going right. Everything else remained suspended in a strange kind of silence.
Neither of you ever mentioned the rooftop. Or the apartment.
Or the lingering glances that lasted a second too long.
Or the way his thumb had brushed across your cheek.
Somehow, pretending none of it had happened became easier than asking whether either of you had imagined it.
Finals had come and gone, and somehow you had managed to pass every class with flying colors. Between endless study sessions spread across Peter's tiny apartment, late-night coffee runs, and Peter insisting he learned better by quizzing you out loud, the semester had slipped away before either of you really noticed.
The weather had begun changing too. The evenings carried just enough of a chill to make you steal Peter's hoodies whenever you forgot your own, while the afternoons stretched warmer with each passing day, New York slowly settling into another season.
Peter never asked for them back. Not that you'd ever admit noticing.
Ned and MJ had slowly become part of your routine again as well. Every now and then the four of you would meet for lunch, wander through the city, or squeeze into some crowded little restaurant where Ned inevitably spent twenty minutes explaining something no one else understood while MJ teased him mercilessly.
Even nicer was watching Peter slowly rebuild friendships he'd thought were gone forever. You noticed something else, too.
The longing looks toward MJ had disappeared.
Not overnight. Not dramatically. They had simply...
You weren't sure when it happened. Only that one day you realized Peter wasn't looking at her anymore.
Not that you let yourself think too hard about that.
The two of you had slipped into a routine that felt almost effortless. If Peter wasn't patrolling, he was usually attempting to cook dinner in your apartment while you repeatedly reminded him that smoke pouring out of a pan wasn't a normal part of making grilled cheese.
More often than not, dinner ended with takeout anyway. Movie nights became almost automatic. Sometimes you actually watched them. Most of the time, the two of you spent the entire movie talking over it instead.
Every now and then you'd help with patrols, though Peter still refused to let you anywhere near the dangerous parts. Instead, you'd sit in his apartment with the police scanner humming quietly beside you, The Spider-Man Tracker app open on your laptop while you fed him locations over an earpiece.
He still complained that you worried too much.
Someone had to keep Spider-Man alive. And when he inevitably came home sporting another bruise or split lip...
You were there. Ice pack already in hand. Bandages sitting on the coffee table before he even asked. Nothing ever came close to the rooftop.
Bruised ribs. The occasional shallow cut.
Enough that you had a first-aid kit on standby at your apartment now. Making sure it was always stocked with all kinds of things.
He never thanked you anymore. Not because he wasn't grateful.
Because somewhere over the past month...
Taking care of each other had quietly become second nature. Which was probably the problem.
Because while Peter seemed perfectly content pretending nothing had changed...
Your feelings refused to do the same.
Every accidental brush of his fingers against yours sent warmth racing up your arm.
Every time he stretched across the couch beside you, lazily resting his arm along the back cushion just behind your shoulders, your heart forgot how to behave.
Every sleepy smile after patrol. Every quiet laugh in the lab. Every ridiculous science joke only the two of you understood.
Instead of fading...Your feelings had only grown.
It was another night of patrol.
You sat curled up on your couch with your laptop balanced across your knees, one eye lazily following the blinking dot moving across the Spider-Man tracker while the television played some cheesy romantic comedy in the background. You weren't really watching it. It was nothing more than background noise at this point.
Dinner sat on the coffee table in front of you.
Peter had been called away just before the two of you made it back to your apartment. His untouched container of takeout had been shoved into your refrigerator the second you'd walked through the door, waiting for him to eventually climb through your window like he always did after patrol. At some point, he'd practically stopped using the front door.
Your phone buzzed every few minutes.
You'd glance down at the police scanner, pull up another location on your laptop, and send it his way.
That tiny thumbs-up reaction had somehow become enough. Enough to tell you he'd seen it. Enough to tell you he was okay. Enough to let you breathe until the next notification.
You absentmindedly picked at your food, taking another bite every now and then without ever really looking away from the tracker before another chime echoed through the apartment.
‘We're grabbing drinks tonight. You guys wanna come?’
A smile immediately spread across your face.
The last time the two of you had gone out was right after finals had ended. You'd celebrated a little harder than expected.
The memory made you laugh quietly to yourself. You remembered dancing with a few classmates while Peter stood awkwardly off to the side, smiling every time you tried dragging him toward the dance floor only to escape thirty seconds later. You remembered laughing until your stomach hurt and insisting you were perfectly capable of walking home.
Peter had ended up carrying you the last three blocks while you dramatically narrated the history of every random building you passed despite knowing absolutely nothing about any of them. He'd laughed the entire way home.
It was one of the few nights you'd almost forgotten everything else.
The mutation. Spider-Man. The constant worrying. For a little while...You'd just been two college students celebrating the end of another semester.
Your smile slowly faded.Not just two college students.
One of them happened to be the superhero you'd somehow managed to fall in—You froze.
The words slipped out before you could stop them. You stared blankly at the television before quickly shaking your head.
A nervous laugh escaped your lips despite the warmth creeping into your cheeks. Nobody was there to hear you, but somehow you still felt caught.
You forced your attention back toward the tracker, willing yourself to think about literally anything else. But... was the thought really that ridiculous?
Thirty days had passed since the rooftop. Thirty days since Peter had brushed his thumb across your cheek.Thirty days since he'd looked at you like...
He'd had every opportunity to bring it up. Every movie night. Every coffee run. Every late-night lab session. Every dinner.
He never did. Because it hadn't meant anything. Peter saw you as his friend.
Maybe even his best friend.
Why would he risk ruining that?...Why would you?
A knock echoed against your apartment window.
You didn't even jump anymore.
A smile tugged at your lips as you crossed the room, sliding the window open without a second thought.
He barely managed to get both feet onto the floor before yanking off his mask. Both hands immediately flew to his head, his breathing uneven as sweat clung to his curls.
"Peter?" Your smile vanished instantly. "What happened?"
"Migraine..." The word came through clenched teeth.
You immediately reached toward the back of his neck, fingers searching for the biological inhibitor clipped beneath the collar of his suit. Your stomach dropped the second your fingertips brushed the device.
The tiny indicator light blinked red.
"No..." You stared at it in disbelief.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, another sharp breath escaping him.
"Three..." He struggled to force the words out. "...Three hours."
Your head snapped toward him. "What?"
"It only..." He grimaced, pressing harder against his temple. "...Lasted three hours."
Yesterday it had lasted six. The day before that... Almost eight. Your heart slowly sank. The inhibitor wasn't stabilizing.
Peter staggered toward the couch, barely making it before collapsing onto the cushions with a pained groan. You didn't waste another second, racing into the kitchen and throwing open the freezer to grab the ice pack that practically belonged to Peter at this point. If it had his name written across the front, you honestly wouldn't have questioned it.
By the time you hurried back, he was already curled onto his side, one arm wrapped protectively around himself while another wave of pain tore through him. You gently handed him the ice pack, watching his back arch as he desperately pressed it against his forehead.
His voice cracked. Not from pain. From frustration.
Without another word, he ripped the inhibitor from the back of his neck and threw it across the apartment. It struck the wall with a loud clatter before falling uselessly onto the hardwood.
Neither of you moved. Because there wasn't anything left to do. Not until the migraine passed.
Quietly, you sat down beside him, leaving just enough space for him to breathe while making sure he knew he wasn't alone. After a few moments, you reached for the notebook resting on the coffee table and flipped it open.
If the inhibitor was failing...You needed answers.
As Peter silently endured another brutal episode beside you, you began writing down every question you could think of.
When this was over...The two of you were going back to the lab. Because whatever was happening to him... It wasn't slowing down anymore.
A couple of hours slipped by with little more than the sound of Peter's uneven breathing filling the apartment.
But that was before the inhibitor.
Before the late nights in the lab.
Before the hope that maybe the two of you had finally figured something out.
There was no pretending anymore.
Whatever this mutation was, it wasn't something that could simply be delayed forever.
Eventually, his breathing steadied enough for him to slowly open his eyes. The pain hadn't disappeared, but the worst of it had finally passed. Without saying much, you quietly disappeared into your bedroom, opening the drawer you'd practically dedicated to Peter over the past month. A clean pair of sweatpants and one of his old T-shirts sat folded neatly inside.
You handed them to him with a small smile.
Peter nodded gratefully before disappearing into the bathroom. While he was gone, you peeled the Spider-Man suit off the floor, carefully checking it over for tears before tossing it into the washing machine. It had become almost routine at this point.
You never would've imagined washing Spider-Man's laundry.
When Peter stepped back into the living room, dressed in nothing more than gray sweatpants and a faded Midtown Science T-shirt, he looked less like New York's friendly neighborhood superhero and more like an exhausted twenty-something who hadn't slept properly in weeks.
He quietly collapsed onto the couch with a long sigh.
You settled onto the opposite end, giving him just enough space to breathe.
"Your food's in the fridge," you said softly.
He rubbed a hand over his face before shaking his head.
You offered him the smallest smile you could manage, hoping it was enough to quiet whatever guilt was already creeping into his thoughts.
"I thought..." He stared down at his hands resting in his lap. "...I thought I could give myself more time."
"You said it yourself," you replied quietly. "You can't suppress it forever."
"It has to end eventually."
A tired breath escaped him.
Silence settled between you again, but your mind refused to stop turning.
Almost absentmindedly, you reached for the notebook resting on the coffee table, flipping through pages of observations, theories, and half-finished ideas until one thought finally settled into place.
"What if you're mentally suppressing it?"
His eyebrows pulled together.
You glanced back down at your notes before looking up again.
"I don't know..." You shifted a little closer, tucking one leg beneath you. "I just keep thinking about everything you've said over the last month."
"You hate this mutation."
"You're terrified of it."
"What if..." You hesitated, trying to piece the thought together before it disappeared. "What if your body isn't actually fighting it anymore?"
Peter stared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head.
His voice was firmer this time.
You refused to let it go.
"What if the inhibitor isn't the only thing trying to stop it?" you asked carefully. "What if you've been fighting it every second you're awake because you're scared of what happens if you stop?"
"What if I come out the other side..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "...and I'm not me anymore?"
The question hung heavily between you.
He still wouldn't look at you.
"You've spent the last month terrified of becoming someone else."
"But you're barely letting yourself live as the person you are now."
The words escaped before you could soften them.
Regret immediately settled in your chest.
"I..." You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "That's not what I meant."
"No, listen." You leaned forward, your voice gentler now. "You're exhausted all the time. You're in pain almost every day. Every decision you make revolves around stopping this thing before it can happen."
You looked down at the notebook resting in your lap.
"What if..." You laughed awkwardly, waving your hands around as you searched for the words. "...What if you just... let it?"
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"That's a very scientific explanation."
His smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
The honesty in his voice made your chest ache.
"Maybe..." you said softly, "...you won't."
Neither of you spoke after that.
The apartment settled into one of those familiar silences that had somehow become comforting over the past month. You could practically see Peter thinking, his mind wandering somewhere far away as he stared at nothing in particular.
Several minutes passed before you finally spoke again.
"Can I stay here tonight?"
The question caught you completely off guard.
He'd spent countless nights at your apartment.
But he'd never asked to stay.
"Yeah. Of course….You can take my bed."
Peter immediately shook his head, letting out a tired chuckle.
"You are absolutely not sleeping on the couch after—"
"You can sleep in your own bed."
He looked at you with that same stubborn expression you knew you weren't going to win against.
"What if we both just stay out here?"
The words hung in the air.
Your mouth nearly fell open before you quickly disguised it as a yawn, praying he hadn't noticed the sudden heat rushing into your face.
"Yeah. That sounds good."
The small smile that appeared on Peter's face made your stomach perform that now very familiar flip.
The conversation drifted aimlessly after that.
Neither of you mentioned the mutation again.
Instead, you argued over whether pigeons secretly hated Spider-Man, laughed about one of Ned's conspiracy theories, and spent twenty minutes trying to remember the name of a movie neither of you had actually finished.
Somewhere in the middle of it...
Carefully, you reached for one of the throw blankets draped over the back of the couch and gently pulled it over him before switching off the television.
The apartment fell quiet.
Smiling to yourself, you curled up beneath your own blanket on the opposite end of the couch.
It wasn't until you shifted onto your side that you realized your legs were lightly pressed against his.
And somewhere between the steady rhythm of Peter's breathing and the quiet hum of the city outside your window...
You woke to an empty couch.
The blanket Peter had used the night before was folded neatly on the opposite cushion, and the apartment window sat cracked open just enough for the cool morning air to drift inside. He was gone.
A small part of you had expected that. It was such a Peter thing to do—slip out before you woke, quietly cleaning up after himself as if he hadn't completely turned your life upside down over the past month.
You slowly sat up, stretching your arms above your head as your back protested with a loud crack. Sleeping on the couch definitely wasn't your first choice.
Somehow, that made every ache worth it.
Still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you wandered into the kitchen where something bright yellow immediately caught your attention. A small sticky note rested beside your favorite coffee mug, a thin curl of steam still drifting from the top.
Your lips curved into a smile before you had even picked it up.
Thank you for everything.
Your coffee should still be warm.
You stood there longer than you probably should have, reading the note once.
The smile refused to leave your face.
Carefully, you picked up the mug and took a sip.
Still made exactly the way you liked it.
Peter never forgot the little things.
Your eyes drifted back toward the note as you leaned against the kitchen counter. Somewhere between late-night study sessions, movie nights that usually ended with the two of you talking over half the film, coffee runs, migraine episodes, and somehow doing Spider-Man's laundry... something inside you had quietly changed.
It had been changing for a long time.
You'd just been too afraid to admit it.
A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you stared into your coffee.
"...I'm in love with Peter Parker."
The words hung in the empty apartment.
You expected your stomach to drop or your brain to immediately tell you how impossible it was.
It had nothing to do with Spider-Man.
Nothing to do with the suit.
Nothing to do with the powers.
If tomorrow he woke up without any of it—if the mutation disappeared, if Spider-Man somehow ceased to exist—you'd still love him.
The awkward science nerd who somehow remembered exactly how you took your coffee. The boy who apologized far too much, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and still found room to worry whether you'd remembered to eat lunch. He had every reason to become bitter, every reason to stop caring after everything he'd lost.
And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, you'd fallen hopelessly in love with him.
The realization should have terrified you.
Instead, it felt strangely peaceful.
The hard part wasn't admitting how you felt.
It was wondering if you'd ever be brave enough to tell him.
Running a hand through your hair, you glanced toward the clock before letting out a quiet sigh. You still had errands to run today, starting with the library. There was an embarrassing stack of books sitting on your kitchen table that had spent the last month collecting dust while your life revolved around mutations, patrol schedules, and Peter Parker.
After finishing your coffee, you made your way through your morning routine. A hot shower washed away the last of the exhaustion clinging to your body before you threw your hair together, brushed on just enough makeup to look awake, and pulled on a pair of jeans with one of your oversized ESU sweatshirts.
By the time you slung your bag over your shoulder and tucked the library books beneath your arm, your phone was already in your hand.
‘Thank you for the coffee and the note. I'm heading to the library. Text me when you're done with... whatever ridiculously dangerous thing you're doing today. Maybe you can swing by after? :)’
You stared at the message for a second before laughing quietly to yourself.
You hit send anyway, slipping your phone into your pocket before grabbing your keys from the counter.
Maybe one day you'd finally work up the courage to tell Peter how you felt.
Or maybe you'd spend the rest of your life pretending friendship was enough.
You couldn't picture a future that didn't have Peter Parker somewhere in it.
With that thought lingering quietly in the back of your mind, you stepped out of your apartment, locking the door behind you before making your way toward the library, completely unaware that before the day was over...
Everything was about to change.
You made your way toward the library, taking your time as you wandered through the familiar rows of shelves one last time before returning the stack of books tucked beneath your arm. Your eyes lingered over a few new releases, fingers brushing absentively across their spines before you sighed.
Between Peter, the mutation, and somehow balancing what little was left of your own life...
You barely had time to sleep anymore.
Checking out another book would only guarantee another overdue apology.
The librarian smiled knowingly as you slid the books across the counter.
"Running a little behind?" she teased.
"A little?" you laughed. "More like... a month."
She waved it off with a smile, wishing you a good day before handing you your receipt.
You thanked her before stepping back out onto the busy New York sidewalk.
The city buzzed around you as if nothing in the world had changed.
People hurried to work with coffee cups clutched in their hands. Taxi horns echoed down the street while someone played a saxophone on the corner. A little girl laughed as she chased a flock of pigeons across the pavement, her mother calling after her.
You pulled your phone from your pocket, your thumb instinctively opening your messages.
Peter had read your text.
He was probably hanging upside down somewhere eating a bagel.
Or stopping someone from stealing one.
Pocketing your phone again, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder.
Fresh strawberries actually sounded pretty good.
The thought barely had time to finish before the deafening scream of tires ripped through the street.
Your head snapped toward the sound.
A black van jumped the curb so violently it nearly clipped a parked taxi before skidding to a stop directly outside the bank beside you.
For one suspended heartbeat...
Then the back doors burst open.
Six men dressed entirely in black spilled onto the sidewalk carrying assault rifles.
People scattered in every direction.
Someone shoved past you hard enough to nearly knock you off your feet.
The thought screamed through your head.
You never made it a step.
Rough fingers hooked into the back of your ESU sweatshirt, yanking you violently backward.
The force stole the air from your lungs.
You twisted desperately, trying to wrench yourself free as panic flooded every nerve in your body. Your hands clawed at the fabric around your neck, half tempted to rip the sweatshirt over your head if it meant escaping.
For one split second...You almost did. Then another hand seized your wrist. Hard. Pain shot up your arm as you looked up. The barrel of an assault rifle stared back at you.
"Where do you think you're going?" His voice was low.
Cold. Every instinct inside you froze. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Without another word, he shoved you toward the bank entrance. You stumbled. Tried to catch yourself. Failed.
The marble floor rushed toward you as you crashed hard against it, pain exploding across your face.
Before you could even push yourself upright—Gunfire.The first shot shattered the silence. Then another. Then another.
Glass exploded somewhere overhead as bullets ripped through the ceiling, chunks of plaster raining onto the polished floor.
People screamed. Someone cried out for help.
Bank alarms immediately erupted into a deafening wail. Your ears rang so violently you could barely hear your own breathing.
You forced yourself onto your elbows, blinking through the haze as something warm trickled over your lips.
Your hand instinctively touched your nose.
You barely had time to think before another burst of gunfire echoed through the building.
You flinched so hard your entire body recoiled.
"THIS IS A ROBBERY!" The voice thundered through the lobby.
Nobody moved. Nobody dared.
Your head spun as adrenaline and the metallic scent of blood filled your senses.
People huddled together across the lobby floor, some openly sobbing while others clung tightly to strangers they'd never met.
A little boy couldn't have been older than seven cried into his mother's shoulder.
An elderly man struggled to kneel beside a row of overturned chairs.
Your body finally remembered how to move.
Keeping as low as possible, you crawled behind one of the customer service cubicles where an older woman sat trembling uncontrollably.
Tears streamed down her face.
"It's okay," you whispered automatically, even though you weren't sure you believed your own words.
"We're... we're going to be okay."
She nodded without looking convinced.
Another gunshot echoed through the lobby.
You instinctively ducked lower, your hand flying over your mouth to smother the gasp that threatened to escape.
From beneath the opening of the cubicle, you watched six pairs of boots pace methodically across the polished floor.
They weren't rushing. They weren't panicking. They'd planned this.
Distant at first. Growing louder.
Your hands shook so violently you almost dropped your phone pulling it from your pocket.
You opened your messages as quietly as you could, your fingers barely cooperating.
You attached your location.
Your thumb hovered over the screen for only a second before pressing send.
Peter Parker would hear you.
Peter landed lightly on the edge of a rooftop, the familiar thud of his feet against the concrete almost comforting after another long patrol.
For once...It had been quiet.
He reached up, peeling his mask halfway off before letting out a slow breath. The cool morning air hit the sweat clinging to his face, carrying with it the familiar sounds of New York waking up. Taxi horns echoed below, construction crews shouted across the street, and somewhere a dog barked at absolutely nothing.
His head still ached faintly from the migraine the night before, a dull pressure lingering behind his eyes, but compared to what he'd been dealing with lately...
His thoughts drifted without permission.
Back to the way you'd looked at him when he admitted he was scared.
"Maybe you don't need to be."
The words hadn't left his head.
He'd spent the last month trying to outsmart the mutation.
Trying to pretend it wasn't becoming part of him.
But sitting on your couch last night...
He wondered if you were right.
Maybe he wasn't supposed to keep fighting forever.
A small vibration buzzed from inside his suit.
His lips instinctively curved into a smile.
He didn't even have to look.
Maybe reminding him to eat.
Maybe asking if he'd survived another patrol.
Maybe another terrible Spider-Man joke.
He pulled his phone from one of the hidden pockets in his suit, the smile still lingering as he unlocked the screen.
Peter's stomach dropped so violently it felt like all the air had been ripped from his lungs.
His thumb instantly hit the call button.
He hung up and called again.
"Come on..." he whispered, his voice shaking.
His pulse thundered in his ears as he shoved the phone back into his suit, yanking the mask over his face in one practiced motion.
He didn't remember jumping.
One second he was standing on the rooftop.
Web after web shot from his wrists as he launched himself across the city faster than he ever had before. Buildings blurred together beneath him, traffic becoming nothing more than streaks of color as adrenaline drowned out every other thought.
Police sirens screamed somewhere ahead.
The police scanner integrated into the inside of his suit crackled to life.
"All available units respond—active hostage situation. Multiple armed suspects. Shots fired inside First National Bank on Lexington..."
Peter's breathing stopped.
"Suspects believed to be six armed males..."
His web slipped from his fingers a fraction too late, sending him crashing shoulder-first–nearly missing a brick building.
The word barely escaped his lips.
Another wave of panic hit him as he pushed himself forward, swinging even harder than before.
It exploded through the base of his skull without warning.
Peter cried out, one hand instantly flying to the side of his head as the world lurched violently around him. His vision doubled for half a second, the skyscrapers bending unnaturally as another brutal migraine tore through him.
His next web missed completely.
He dropped nearly two stories before desperately catching another building, his shoulder slamming against the rooftop of a building hard enough to send another jolt of pain through his body.
His breathing became ragged.
Every instinct screamed for the inhibitor.
His hand reached toward the back of his neck before freezing halfway there.
It was still lying somewhere on your apartment floor.
He shoved himself off the building again, ignoring the pounding in his head as he forced his body to keep moving. Every swing sent another wave of pain crashing through his skull, but none of it mattered anymore.
The bank came into view only moments later.
Police cruisers blocked every entrance, their lights painting the surrounding buildings in flashes of red and blue. Officers shouted behind overturned squad cars while civilians crowded behind barricades, desperately trying to see what was happening inside.
Peter landed silently on the rooftop across the street, crouching low as he stared through the shattered front windows.
There you were–barley visible but he caught a glimpse of you hiding behind one of the customer service cubicles, he could see the thatstained the front of your sweatshirt. You had one arm wrapped protectively around an elderly woman beside you.
It felt like hours had passed.
It had barely been a few minutes.
Every second inside the bank stretched endlessly, each passing moment making the air feel heavier. The alarms still screamed overhead, mixing with quiet sobs and the distant crackle of police radios outside. Your heart pounded so hard you were sure everyone around you could hear it.
This wasn't just a robbery.
These men weren't rushing.
They were looking for something.
And with every passing second, the sick feeling in your stomach only grew stronger.
You weren't sure anyone was walking out of here alive.
The elderly woman beside you trembled uncontrollably, her breathing becoming quicker with every shout that echoed through the lobby. You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gently squeezing her hand while your mind desperately searched for a way out.
Some way to get these people home to their families.
Your thoughts drifted somewhere they shouldn't have.
You would've finally told him.
The shouting outside grew louder.
Commands being yelled through bullhorns.
You carefully shifted your head just enough to glance through the shattered front windows.
For only a split second...
You caught a flash of red and blue standing silently on the rooftop across the street.
Relief flooded your chest so suddenly it almost hurt.
You never doubted he would.
The feeling lasted less than a second.
A rough hand suddenly wrapped around your throat, ripping you backward from behind the cubicle before you even had time to scream.
The world spun violently.
Your feet left the ground as you were thrown across the marble floor, your shoulder taking the full force of the impact before your back slammed painfully against the polished stone.
The air exploded from your lungs.
Pain shot through your entire arm.
The elderly woman cried out, instinctively reaching toward you before the same robber that grabbed you shoved her back behind the cubicle.
You barely managed to push yourself onto one elbow before the cold barrel of a rifle pressed against your forehead.
The man towering above you laughed.
You glared back at him through the blood dripping from your nose.
Without thinking, you spit.
The mixture of blood and saliva landed across the toe of his boot.
You coughed, fighting for breath.
His finger curled around the trigger.
Everything happened at once.
A blur of red and blue crashed through the lobby.
The robber disappeared from in front of you so violently that he slammed into the back wall of the bank hard enough to crack the drywall before collapsing to the floor in a dazed heap.
For one impossible heartbeat...
Your eyes snapped upward.
He stood between you and the remaining gunmen, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, his fists clenched so tightly the fabric around his gloves stretched across his knuckles.
Something was different. You could see it.
The way his head tilted ever so slightly as if he was listening to every heartbeat inside the building at once.
He was barely holding himself together.
The remaining five men immediately abandoned the safe, spinning toward Spider-Man with their rifles raised.
No one was looking at the hostages anymore.
Your voice echoed through the bank.
For a brief moment, no one moved.
People scrambled to their feet, running towards the exit of the nightmare they had been trapped in.
Gunfire erupted through the lobby once more.
The deafening cracks echoed off the marble walls as bullets tore through glass, drywall, and the abandoned customer service desks. Peter moved faster than you'd ever seen him move before. It was almost impossible for your eyes to follow him. One second he was standing in front of you, the next he was halfway across the room, ducking beneath a hail of bullets before launching another robber across the bank.
Webbing exploded from his wrists.
Thick white strands shot forward instinctively, wrapping around one robber's rifle before violently ripping it from his hands. Another web fired without Peter even seeming to think, slamming a second man into one of the marble columns hard enough to crack the stone.
The remaining robbers barely hesitated before raising their assault rifles toward him, emptying magazine after magazine in frantic bursts. Bullets ricocheted off the marble floor, shattered more glass, and punched holes through the walls as Peter twisted and flipped between them with terrifying speed.
No one was paying attention to the hostages anymore.
You forced yourself to move.
"Come on!" you shouted, grabbing the little boy and his mother by the hands. "Let's go!"
The woman looked frozen, tears streaming down her face.
"It's okay!" you urged, pulling harder. "Run!"
She stumbled after you, clutching her son tightly against her chest as you rushed them toward the shattered entrance.
You doubled back without thinking.
She was still crouched behind the cubicle, shaking too violently to stand.
You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, helping her to her feet despite the pain still radiating through your own shoulder.
Her knees threatened to give out halfway there, but you refused to let go.
Behind you another explosion of gunfire rang out.
Not until the elderly woman crossed the threshold where officers immediately rushed forward to pull her outside.
Your eyes darted around the lobby.
The older man beside the overturned chairs.
You sprinted toward him, dropping beside him and hooking his arm over your shoulders.
"We're almost there," you breathed.
Together you staggered toward the doors while shattered glass crunched beneath your shoes.
The moment the officers grabbed him from your arms, you looked back.
Everyone...Everyone was out.
Relief lasted all of half a second. Peter was still inside.
Every logical part of your brain screamed at you to keep running. The police were outside. The hostages were safe. Spider-Man could handle the rest. You should've walked through those doors.
Instead...You turned on your heel....and ran back into the bank.
The thunder of gunfire swallowed your footsteps as you dove behind another customer service cubicle, pressing your back against the wood while your heart hammered against your ribs.
What the hell were you doing? You couldn't fight armed robbers. You didn't have powers. You couldn't help Peter.
Maybe you could distract one of them. Maybe one second of hesitation would be enough.Enough for Peter to end this.
You carefully lifted your head just high enough to peek over the counter.
Three men already lay unconscious across the lobby.
One was cocooned completely in thick strands of webbing that looked far denser than anything Peter's web-shooters had ever produced. Only two remained.
Peter stood in the middle of the destroyed bank, chest heaving beneath his suit.
Something about him looked...Different. His posture had changed. He stood straighter. Broader. Almost predatory. Every movement was sharper. Harder.
Each punch carried enough force to send a grown man flying several feet through the air. His fingers flexed strangely between strikes, as if they hurt due to the amount of strength he possessed.
The mutation was getting worse. Then Peter froze.
A strangled cry ripped from his throat. His entire body seized as both hands flew to the sides of his head.
He staggered backward, his breathing turning ragged as if something inside him was tearing itself apart.
His knees buckled. He crashed onto both knees, the thud sending a chill down your spine. Your entire body reacted before your brain could.
You shot up from behind the cubicle without thinking.
Peter's head snapped toward you through the pain. His mask hid his face, but you knew exactly what was behind it. Fear. Not for himself.
"GO, Y/N!" he screamed, his voice strained through gritted teeth. "RUN!"
The two remaining robbers slowly turned. Their eyes landed on you.
For one terrible moment... No one moved. Then they smiled. The rifles lowered from Peter...
...and lifted toward you.
Your breath caught painfully in your throat. Every instinct screamed at you to run, yet your feet only carried you backward one slow step at a time.
If they focused on you...Maybe they'd stop shooting at him.
Maybe...Maybe this was the time he needed.
The time he'd been denying himself for weeks. The time to finally stop fighting the mutation..
Your breathing came in heavy, uneven gasps as you slowly stepped backwards. The two remaining robbers didn't rush you. Instead, they smiled. It wasn't relief or confidence. It was recognition. Like something had finally clicked into place. Spider-Man knew you. Not as another civilian caught in the crossfire. Not as another hostage. You. The realization spread across their faces with cruel satisfaction, and your stomach twisted. They'd figured it out. They finally knew exactly how to hurt him.
Every instinct screamed at you to run. The shattered entrance was only a few yards away. Police officers were waiting outside. You could make it. You should make it. But your feet refused to move. Your eyes stayed locked on Peter.
He hadn't gotten back up.
His hands had fallen limply to his sides, his chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. It was different. A moment ago his breathing had been ragged, strained with pain. Now... it was slow. Controlled. Almost unnaturally calm. Very slowly, one shaking hand reached toward his mask. He peeled it away without hesitation, letting it fall onto the marble beside him as though it no longer mattered who saw his face.
From where you stood, you could only see the side of his face, but it was enough. Blood ran from a cut near his temple, drying against bruised skin. Sweat dampened the curls that clung to his forehead. His eyes remained tightly shut, his jaw clenched so hard the muscles twitched beneath his skin. He looked exhausted. Worn down. Like he'd spent weeks fighting a battle no one else could see.
You were so focused on Peter... you never saw the robber move.
A hand wrapped around your throat before you could react, ripping you backwards. A strangled gasp escaped you as your feet left the floor. The man hurled you forward, your body slamming painfully against the marble as you landed directly in front of Peter. Before you could even push yourself up, the cold barrel of a rifle dug hard into the small of your back, forcing every muscle in your body to freeze.
"...Peter..." Your voice barely came out above a whisper.
Behind you, slow footsteps echoed through the destroyed bank. The second robber was making his way toward Peter, probably planning to make sure he stayed down this time. You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second. Peter had spent the last month terrified of what the mutation was doing to him. Fighting it every chance he got. Refusing to let himself become whatever was waiting beneath the surface.
But if he kept fighting now...
The robber who had the rifle connected to your back–laughed quietly. "C'mon, hero," he sneered. "Thought you were supposed to save people."
Your throat tightened as you looked at him one last time.
“....are you Peter Parker.” the words quiet enough for only him to hear.
“....or are you Spider-Man..”
For one impossible heartbeat, it looked like he'd stopped breathing. Peter's eyes opened. Your breath caught. There wasn't a trace of brown left. They were completely black.
For a split second, you didn't recognize the boy you'd fallen in love with.
Peter slowly lifted his head, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, calm... almost haunting.
The word had barely left his mouth before everything exploded into motion.
A thick strand of web shot from Peter's bare wrist, wrapping around the rifle pressed against your back. With one violent yank, the barrel folded in on itself with a deafening crack before the weapon was ripped completely out of the robber's hands. Peter moved so fast your eyes struggled to follow him. One second he was kneeling on the floor. The next, he was standing.
The first robber barely had time to register what was happening before Peter's fist connected with his jaw, launching him clear across the lobby. His body tore through the bank manager's office wall in a shower of drywall and shattered glass. The second man reached for the pistol at his side, panic finally flashing across his face, but Peter was already there. Another web snapped from his wrist, wrapping around the man's torso before hurling him headfirst into one of the marble columns hard enough to crack the stone.
The entire fight lasted only seconds.
It was over before either of them had the chance to understand what had just happened.
You slowly pushed yourself up onto your elbows, every muscle in your body protesting the movement. Your shoulder throbbed from where it had slammed against the marble floor, and every breath sent a dull ache through your ribs. The bank had fallen eerily silent.
Peter's back was toward you.
He stood perfectly still in the middle of the destroyed lobby, surrounded by shattered glass, broken marble, and thick strands of webbing that clung to nearly every surface. The two robbers lay unconscious several feet away, neither of them moving.
He wasn't breathing heavily anymore.
For the first time in weeks...
There wasn't an ounce of pain in it.
The only sounds left were his quiet breaths and the occasional groan of the damaged ceiling overhead as bits of plaster and insulation drifted onto the marble floor with soft thuds.
Your voice was barely louder than a whisper.
His head turned so quickly it almost startled you.
Those impossible black eyes...
Were gone. Warm brown eyes met yours instead.
For just a second, neither of you moved.
His gaze darted over you so quickly you could almost see his mind racing. The dried blood beneath your nose. The swelling beginning to form along your cheek. The tears still clinging to your eyelashes. The way you struggled to keep yourself upright.
"P-Peter..." you breathed again.
He was beside you in an instant.
He dropped to both knees so fast they slammed against the marble with a crack you barely registered before his hands were gently cupping either side of your face. His touch was almost impossibly careful, as though you might break beneath his fingertips.
His eyes searched every inch of your face.
The dried blood beneath your nose. The bruise already darkening your jaw. The scrape across your forehead.
"You're okay," he whispered, his voice trembling despite the calm in his eyes. It sounded less like a question and more like something he was desperately trying to convince himself of.
You couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.
He shook his head almost immediately, a shaky laugh escaping him.
"No..." His thumbs brushed gently beneath your eyes, wiping away tears you hadn't even realized were still falling. "No, you're not."
You laughed through a wince.
"I've... definitely been better."
A breath of relief escaped him—small and quiet—but it carried weeks worth of fear with it. Before you could say another word, he pulled you into him. It wasn't a dramatic embrace. It wasn't rushed. It was desperate.
One arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while the other rested carefully against the back of your head, holding you as though letting go wasn't an option anymore.
His forehead rested against yours. For several long moments...Neither of you spoke.
You could feel how steady his breathing had become. No hitching. No trembling. No pain. You slowly wrapped your arms around him despite every ache in your body.
"...It stopped….didn’t it?" you whispered.
"The headaches, the pain."
Almost as though he'd forgotten.
Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you before cautiously lifting one hand to the side of his head.
His eyebrows pulled together in disbelief.
You smiled, tears welling in your eyes all over again.
His gaze drifted down to his hands.
He slowly flexed his fingers.
His breathing stayed perfectly even.
He looked around the destroyed bank almost like he was seeing it for the first time before his eyes found yours again.
"You were right," he whispered.
A real one. The first genuine smile you'd seen from him in weeks.
You reached up, gently brushing a blood-stained curl away from his forehead.
"You finally found yourself."
After the bank fiasco, Peter practically forced you into the care of the first EMT he could find.
You'd barely managed to tell him you were fine before he was scooping you into his arms, his mask already pulled back over his face as he carried you through the shattered entrance of the bank. Police officers rushed around him while paramedics shouted over one another, but Peter hardly seemed to notice any of it. He carefully set you down beside the nearest ambulance before crouching in front of you, both hands resting gently against your knees as if he needed to make sure you were really there.
"I'll be right back," he promised, his voice still shaking from everything that had happened. "Don't move."
You couldn't help the exhausted smile that tugged at your lips. "Peter... I don't think I'm going anywhere."
He let out the smallest huff of a laugh before taking off toward the officers waiting to question Spider-Man about what had happened inside the bank.
The ambulance ride to the hospital felt like a blur. Adrenaline had finally begun wearing off, leaving nothing but pain in its place. Every bump in the road sent another ache through your ribs, and by the time you arrived, Peter was already there waiting outside the emergency entrance. You still weren't entirely sure how he'd beaten the ambulance.
The doctors diagnosed you with a broken rib, a sprained shoulder, and enough bruises to leave your entire body aching for days. Peter didn't say much while the doctor was in the room, but the second the door closed behind him, he dragged both hands over his face and muttered a string of curses under his breath.
"You got hurt because of me."
You sighed, reaching over to take his hand despite the pain shooting through your shoulder. "No. I got hurt because I ran back into a bank full of armed robbers."
"You ran back because of me."
"I ran back because I wasn't leaving you."
He looked down at your joined hands, his jaw tightening. "I should've gotten there sooner."
His eyes finally lifted to yours.
For a long moment, he didn't say anything. Then his fingers tightened around yours, and somehow, that said more than words ever could.
You only spent one night in the hospital. Peter only left once to patrol before returning a few hours later carrying a terrible vending machine coffee and your favorite candy bar, insisting he'd "brought dinner." You laughed so hard your rib immediately reminded you why that had been a bad idea.
That had been two weeks ago. New York had a funny way of pretending nothing had happened. The broken glass had been replaced. The news stations had moved on to the next tragedy. People still hurried through the streets with coffee in one hand and phones in the other as if a hostage situation hadn't unfolded in the middle of Manhattan.
You wished moving on was that easy.
The nightmares started almost immediately. Some nights you woke convinced you could still feel the cold barrel of a rifle pressed against your back. Other nights you heard gunfire echoing through your apartment before jolting awake, your heart pounding so hard you could barely breathe. You'd hoped you wouldn't be one of those people who carried the trauma home with them.
You should've hoped a little harder.
Peter started staying over most nights after that. Neither of you ever officially talked about it—it just... happened. You'd order takeout, watch whatever terrible movie one of you picked, and eventually fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch. At least, that was always the plan.
The first time you woke from a nightmare, you shot upright with a gasp, desperately trying to catch your breath. Peter was already awake. His spider-sense had alerted him minutes before you'd opened your eyes, and by the time you'd realized where you were, he was already sitting beside you with one hand rubbing slow circles across your back.
"It's okay," he'd whispered. "You're home."
After that, it became routine.
Every nightmare ended the same way. Peter reminding you that you weren't in the bank anymore. That you were safe. That he wasn't going anywhere.
The good news was that after Peter accepted the mutation... everything stopped. The migraines disappeared. The tremors were gone. The constant pain that had followed him for weeks had vanished completely. Sometimes you'd still catch him absentmindedly touching the side of his head, almost expecting another migraine to come, only to smile quietly when it never did.
For the first time since all of this had started...
Peter looked happy again. And somehow, as long as he was okay...
You knew you'd eventually be okay too, there was only one problem.
You still hadn't told him how you felt.
Every morning you'd tell yourself today was the day. Every evening you'd find another excuse. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe after patrol. Maybe after movie night. Maybe when things finally felt normal again.
But normal had never really been your thing.
Your phone buzzed in your hand.
‘Meet me on the rooftop?’
A smile spread across your face before you could stop it. You reacted to the message with a heart before making your way toward the elevator.
You were tired of pretending your heart didn't skip every time he smiled at you. Tired of swallowing the words every time they threatened to spill out. If Peter didn't feel the same... it would hurt. God, it would hurt. But living with the question hurt even more.
The rooftop door clicked shut behind you as the warm evening air wrapped around you. The sunset painted the New York skyline in shades of orange, pink, and gold, the city somehow looking peaceful despite everything the two of you had survived.
A familiar thud landed behind you.
There he was. Suit on. Mask off.
Your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might actually throw up.
"Hey," you smiled. "How was patrol?"
Peter shrugged, slipping his mask into one of the hidden pockets of his suit. "Good, actually. I'll probably head back out in a couple hours, but... I figured I could make it back in time for rooftop takeout."
You grinned. "Did you actually remember to bring food this time?"
His face immediately fell.
You burst into laughter before instantly grabbing your side with a groan.
Peter was in front of you before you'd even finished wincing.
"Easy," he murmured, gently steadying you by your elbows. "I've got you."
The worry on his face slowly melted into something softer.
That same look he'd given you in your apartment over a month ago.
The words caught in your throat.
You'd rehearsed this conversation a hundred different times.
None of them prepared you for what happened next.
It sounded less like a confession and more like a surrender. Like he'd spent months forcing those three words back down every time they threatened to escape, only for them to finally slip free before he could stop them.
You simply stared at him.
You had come up here fully intending to tell him how you felt—to finally get the weight off your chest, no matter what happened afterward. You'd prepared yourself for rejection, for awkwardness, for losing him. You had never prepared yourself for this.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out.
Peter's eyes widened almost immediately, like he hadn't expected the words to leave his mouth either. A shaky breath escaped him as he dragged a trembling hand through his already messy curls.
His voice came out quieter this time, steadier somehow.
"I've loved you for... for a while now." He let out a nervous laugh that carried no real humor. "Honestly... probably longer than I even realized."
His gaze dropped to the rooftop beneath his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I wanted to tell you so many times. I actually had this whole speech planned." Another awkward laugh escaped him before he shook his head. "...It was terrible."
Despite the storm raging inside your chest, the corner of your mouth twitched into the smallest smile.
"I kept waiting for the right time," he continued. "Then everything with the mutation happened."
"I couldn't even look at myself without wondering what I was becoming." He swallowed hard before finally lifting his eyes to yours. "How was I supposed to ask you to love someone who might not even stay... me?"
Your heart clenched painfully.
"You deserved better than someone who might wake up one day and not be able to control himself." His voice cracked around the words. "Someone who could've hurt you."
A tear threatened to spill down your cheek.
"So I buried it," he whispered. "I figured if I never said anything... maybe you could move on. Find someone who didn't disappear every night. Someone who didn't constantly end up bleeding on your apartment floor." He laughed again, quieter this time. "Someone... normal."
Silence settled between the two of you. Somewhere below, the city buzzed with its usual chaos—cars honking, distant sirens echoing through the streets—but up here, none of it seemed to exist.
"But then..." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "The bank happened."
"I watched torment you–" His breathing faltered as he blinked rapidly, like he was forcing himself not to relive every terrifying second. "And for a few minutes..." He looked away, shaking his head. "I thought that was it."
You could still see it in his eyes.
The unbearable certainty that he was about to lose you forever.
"I realized..." he whispered, "...if I'd lost you without ever telling you..." He couldn't even finish the sentence. "I don't think I ever would've forgiven myself."
His fingers fidgeted nervously at his sides before he forced himself to look at you again.
"So... if you don't feel the same..."
A weak smile tugged at his lips.
Your voice was barely above a whisper as you stepped toward him.
He stopped speaking instantly.
You closed the distance until only a foot separated the two of you. Your eyes searched his, taking in every ounce of uncertainty written across his face. This beautiful, selfless, hopelessly awkward idiot actually believed you were about to reject him. A watery laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.
Peter's expression immediately fell.
He looked down, already retreating into himself.
Everything stopped. The city. The breeze.
The thoughts racing through both of your minds.
"I've loved you for months."
His eyes widened, searching yours as if he wasn't sure he'd heard you correctly.
"I loved you before you called that night when you were stuck on that rooftop" A tear finally slipped free as you smiled through it. "I was just too scared to admit it to myself... let alone say it out loud."
A disbelieving breath escaped him.
"I kept convincing myself I was imagining the way you looked at me," you continued softly. "I thought I was reading too much into every late-night study session, every movie night, every excuse you found to stay over after the nightmares."
Your smile grew, warmer now.
"I thought maybe I was the only one."
"You weren't," Peter breathed.
You reached forward, gently slipping your hand into his.
You squeezed his hand softly.
"I love the awkward genius who forgets to bring takeout."
A tiny laugh escaped him through the tears gathering in his eyes.
"I love the idiot who blames himself for everything."
His shoulders shook as he let out another shaky breath.
"I love the man who would throw himself in front of a bullet for someone he'd never even met."
"And I even love the part of you that was terrified the mutation made you unlovable."
You shook your head, tears freely falling now.
"It never did. It never could. I love all of you."
His hand slowly lifted, hesitating just inches from your face.
Almost like he was afraid you'd disappear if he moved too quickly.
His fingertips brushed against your cheek with impossible gentleness, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before his thumb slowly traced across your skin. His eyes searched yours one last time, overflowing with a kind of tenderness that nearly stole the breath from your lungs. After everything the two of you had survived, after every close call, every sleepless night, every moment spent wondering if tomorrow would ever come... he still asked.
The question was barely above a whisper, carried away by the evening breeze.
A smile spread across your face despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.
That single word was all the permission he needed.
Peter closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in the softest kiss imaginable. It wasn't rushed or desperate. There was no urgency behind it, no fear that time was running out. It was slow, gentle, almost hesitant at first, as though neither of you wanted to risk breaking the moment by moving too quickly.
Months of lingering glances.
Late-night study sessions that somehow turned into sunrise conversations.
Movie nights where neither of you paid attention to the screen.
Bandaging cuts after patrol.
Comforting you after nightmares.
Every heartbeat swallowed behind nervous smiles.
Every moment spent falling hopelessly in love without ever saying the words aloud.
You smiled into the kiss, feeling Peter smile against your lips almost instantly. A quiet laugh escaped both of you, muffled between the soft kiss, and somehow it made the moment feel even more perfect. Even after everything... Peter Parker still had a way of making you smile without even trying.
When the kiss finally ended, neither of you pulled very far away. Your foreheads rested together as the two of you simply stood there, breathing the same air, smiling like complete idiots. The city stretched endlessly around you, sirens echoing in the distance and traffic humming below, yet for the first time in what felt like forever... the world seemed completely still.
"I can't believe..." Peter whispered, letting out a breathless laugh. "You actually love me."
You frowned almost immediately.
His smile faltered just enough for you to notice.
"I don't know." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "After everything with the mutation...bleeding all over your apartment..." He looked down with an embarrassed chuckle. "I guess I convinced myself there wasn't much left to love."
Without another thought, you wrapped your arms around his neck, carefully pulling him into another embrace. Peter instantly melted against you, his own arms sliding around your waist before pausing for the briefest moment.
"Your ribs," he murmured.
"They're worth the risk."
He let out the softest laugh before adjusting his grip, making sure to avoid your injured side while still holding you as tightly as he could. You buried your face against his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the suit.
"I love every part of you," you whispered. "The awkward genius who forgets to bring dinner. The idiot who blames himself for things that were never his fault. The man who would throw himself in front of a bullet for someone he'd never even met." You squeezed him a little tighter. "I love the parts of you that you struggle to love yourself."
Peter's breathing hitched.
"The mutation never made you any less... you." Another tear slipped down your cheek. "It never made you harder to love." You paused, "It just made me want to fight harder to remind you that you already were."
Peter closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours again.
"I don't think anyone's ever said something that nice to me before."
A genuine laugh escaped him then, bright and warm, the kind you hadn't heard in what felt like months.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I know." you smiled, "And I'm going to spend the rest of my life reminding you how loved you are."
His eyes shimmered as he smiled back.
For a while, neither of you spoke. There wasn't anything left to say. You simply stood together beneath the painted evening sky while the wind gently drifted around the rooftop, committing the moment to memory.
Then, somewhere across the city, the familiar wail of police sirens echoed through the streets.
Peter sighed dramatically.
You laughed, shaking your head.
He glanced toward the skyline before looking back at you, a smile spreading across his face.
There wasn't even the smallest flicker of hesitation as you smiled back.
Those two words settled over him in a way nothing else could.
And maybe, for the first time in a very long time...
Peter finally believed in himself too.
You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek.
"I'll actually remember the takeout this time."
"Peter... the vending machine candy bar doesn't count as dinner."
"You've forgotten takeout twice."
A laugh escaped both of you, echoing across the rooftop as the last rays of sunlight painted the buildings gold.
Peter reached up one final time, gently cupping your cheek before pulling his mask back over his face. The familiar white lenses met your eyes for just a second before he stepped backward toward the edge of the rooftop.
With one final wave, he leaped from the rooftop.
A web shot into the evening sky, catching the side of a nearby building as he swung effortlessly between the skyscrapers, disappearing into the brilliant orange and pink sunset that stretched across New York City.
You stood there watching until he became nothing more than a distant silhouette against the skyline.
The city was still loud. Still messy. Still dangerous. There would always be another emergency.
Another villain. Another impossible choice. Life would never be perfect.
But for the first time since this journey had begun...You finally believed everything was going to be okay. Because no matter what tomorrow brought... You knew you wouldn't have to face it alone.
And somewhere out there, soaring above the city he loved...
Peter Parker knew that too.
________________________________________________
the end. hehe hope ya'll liked it
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