💭 𓈒⠀𓈒ㅤㅤ peter parker fucking you from behind , your face pressed against his forearm and bicep in a deliciously sweaty headlock. you feel his weight and sweaty chest pressed against your back , feeling all hot and lost in the pleasure. your teeth would bite deep marks into his bicep to hold in your moans—feeling shy after he praised how pretty you sounded for him, he’d let out a desperate mix of a moan and whine at the pleasurable pain in your ear.
panting and whining in your ear , telling you how good you feel and begging for more as if he didn’t have you in a position where he controlled everything and could take what he wanted. he could overpower you in every single way but no , you had him falling to his knees with just a look , peter truly was putty in your hands.
his eyes would roll back as he felt you clenching around him, the way your nails dig into his biceps, feeling a mixture of your drool and tears of pleasure soaking his bicep and the pillow, how his name sounded coming from your lips. the sounds of skin slapping, the bed creaking and the beautiful euphonious melody of your shared sounds of pleasure, filled the bedroom of the safe house.
the feeling of you cumming around him brought him right to the edge, while the feeling of you pushing back against him, using him to fuck yourself through your orgasm, made him cum deep inside you with a choked out moan. sniffling and placing wet kisses along your shoulders as he tried to calm down from the intense and passionate love making, both of you sensitive and twitching with each little after shock…whispering shared and desperate ‘I love yous’
Ი𐑼 yeah so it’s short , just a little thought and concept but I will definitely write a longer fic about this <3 I’m not prepared for the person I’m going to become when the movie is out … I’m already freaking out from the trailer 🤓
You tell Spider-Man about your crush on an oblivious Peter Parker. Spider-Man recommends giving Peter a signal—a sign, so he knows what you want. [4k words, shy!fem!reader/tasm!peter]
˚₊𓆩༺ 🕷༻𓆪₊˚
The night is sweet and warm.
The sun is setting, and the bakery at the end of the street is closing. You watch from your rooftop as one of their workers smokes a cigarette out back, smoke drifting upward, a sight at odds with the smell of powdered sugar ever-present on the breeze.
You pull your knees up toward you and rub your face with a sleeve-covered hand. The hoodie Peter got you is soft to the touch, smelling of detergent against your nose. You stretch it over your knees and peer down at your socks, black with little flowers on the sole. Peter said they looked Minecraft-y, and then he asked if he could borrow a pair from the pack that you never saw again.
You like thinking of him wearing them. Maybe he thinks of you when he does, or maybe they’re rolled up and forgotten under his bed.
You loose a depressed sigh and lean back in your summer chair. There wasn’t much heat for sunbathing today, but the roof makes for a good place to rest in the agreeable evenings. Less so when it rains, which is often. You eye a grey cloud on the horizon but your reluctance to move nor gather your stuff leaves you frowning. You are trying quite hard to stay away from your apartment and, as a consequence, your evil phone. If you have your phone, you’ll check over and over if Peter has replied to your message, but he hasn’t. He doesn’t, really, reply very often.
The sun goes and goes, presenting a miserable dark sky with little in the way of stars, but there are lights in the distance, buildings and cars, all now flocked in artificial white. It’s no soft glow.
You lay down, sit back up, lay down again. You reach for your book and discard it with a sigh. You count the planes that fly overhead, searching for the next whenever the former flies from view. You think about Peter and his big hands, how hot they’d felt pressed to your waist. How brown his eyes are, how soft his lashes must be when touched.
The swip and thwip of spiderwebs being thrown catches your attention immediately. Spider-Man. He must be near—you’ve seen him in person more times than you can remember, and the sound puts you at ease, that delicate snap and stick as he ejects, lets his weight pull, then cuts the line. You lean over the edge of your chair to look for him–
And almost lose your nose as a suit of red and blue comes flying up toward your rooftop.
“Holy–”
“Fuck!” you say, throwing yourself backward with a shout. You bring your hand to your chest, pressing your heart back behind your ribs as the blur of colour comes to a stop on the edge of the roof.
“Sorry!” Spider-Man says. “Jesus, you didn’t see me? I’m kind of, you know, brightly coloured?”
“You came out of nowhere! You’re going sixty miles an hour!”
Spider-Man rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I got places to be. Well, most of the time.”
You feel your heart jumping under your palm. Spider-Man shifts, his head tilting down as though he’s squinting at you assessingly.
“Hey, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You swallow your nerves. “Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. You scared me, s’all. Sorry for cussing. And yelling.”
He giggles brightly, plonking down on a creaky lawn chair, unperturbed by its green moss. “Yeah, you should be sorry, potty-mouth. Kiss your ma with that mouth?”
You laugh without thinking. “Sometimes.”
Spider-Man lays back in the chair and folds his arms over his stomach. It strikes you that you wouldn’t know if his eyes were open or closed, he looks relaxed, like he could doze. He looks tired, actually. He gives a long sigh and sits up some. Eyes open, decidedly.
“What are you doing up here?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m reading.”
“Reading what?”
You refuse to tell him that it’s a silky sweet romance with a besotted leading man and a beautiful girl, but struggle to think of a lie. The silence lingers until it’s awkward.
Finally, Spider-Man waves a hand at you, his voice genial as he says, “Keep your secrets.”
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
It might be more apt to ask him what it is that he’s doing up here. Surely Spider-Man has more important things to get too than sitting in a rinky-dink chair waiting to snap beneath any weight at all on your dreary rooftop in the cold weather. And more that he doesn’t know you, hasn’t ever spoken to you, no matter how many times you’ve seen him around the city.
“You look tired,” you say softly.
“I’m okay. But, hey, thanks for asking.”
“Sure.”
Awkward silence lingers again. Your blatant confusion as to his presence becomes obvious, and Spider-Man looks away, rubbing at his neck again with that same nervous hand.
“You looked lonely,” he says. “I guess I wondered if you wanted company, or– or a shoulder to cry on, or something. Anything.”
“Is that something you do often?”
“What good is looking after the neighbourhood if everybody in it goes home sad?” Spider-Man shrugs. “You don’t have to tell me anything, I’ll only sit here if that’s cool.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
You’re thinking about Peter again. It’s ridiculous, there’s a superhero on your roof and you’re thinking about Pete, but you can’t help it. Spider-Man reminds you of him, his height and build, even his voice, though Spider-Man is all bravado and gruffness where Peter’s a tiny bit shy. It’s what made becoming his friend possible—he’s shy and you’re worse, you’re immovable, you struggle to talk half the time. If Spider-Man hadn’t scared the fuck out of you scaling up the building, you wouldn’t have been able to open your mouth.
“I have a friend,” you say, buckling under the pressure of the quiet. “And I like him. And I don’t know what to do, so. That’s why I’m all messed up.”
“You don’t look messed up,” he says, bringing a hand to his chin to hold like he’s pondering something deeply. “You like someone? That’s a good thing.”
“I don’t think he likes me back.”
“That sucks, but– okay, sorry if this is weird, but you’re beautiful.” Spider-Man straightens in his chair. “Like, you’re really beautiful. And your voice is so nice, I’ve barely heard it and I already know it’s addictive.”
You laugh again without meaning to, a sputter of sound.
“You’re really pretty. If he doesn’t like you back, I’m sure you can find somebody else.”
“Thank you, Spider-Man, but I don’t want anybody else,” you say softly. “He’s really perfect. Have you ever–” You clear your throat, picking at a scagged thread on your pajama bottoms and avoiding his gaze. “It’s stupid.”
“I bet it’s not.”
Nobody’s ever called you beautiful before. Nobody’s ever…
Peter makes you feel beautiful. Tips your chin up with his pinky finger to get your eyes, takes a good look at you when he’s seeing you for the first time in a while, but he never says anything about it. He smiles and he's sweet, but he doesn’t call you beautiful.
“He makes me feel like the only person in the world,” you confess. “He’s not perfect, like I said. He lashes out, and he forgets all the time, he’s late constantly, but he always says sorry, and you know he really means it? He’s the most genuine person. And he’s–” pretty, you want to say, but you look sideways at Spider-Man and can’t bring yourself to say it. “I want more of him than he wants to give me, is all, but I don’t mind. I like being his friend.”
“You want more,” he says, as though turning the words over in his mouth.
“That’s the hard part.”
“That’s a nice love story.” He exhales slowly. “Lucky guy.”
“It’s not a love story,” you say, trying for happy acceptance and sounding weak.
“It could be. Have you told him how you feel? I don’t see how a guy could hear all that from a girl like you and not at least try to make it work?”
You bring your knee up and rest your nose on the fabric there. “I don’t usually talk to people like this. I find it really hard.”
“Oh, so I’m special?”
“You’re an exception.”
“You don’t talk to this guy?”
You press your face fully to your knee, thighs aching.
“Peter doesn’t answer the phone,” you mumble, hoping Spider-Man won’t hear you. “Can’t talk to him about anything. And what would I even say? I know we’ve been friends for years and all but I like you now, and I’m prepared to make things awkward between us forever?” You whine quietly. “Everything’s so hard.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Spider-Man sounds flustered. Sounds like he took a long plunge from a tall skyscraper. You look up, perplexed, and he’s facing you completely still. It’s like he’s been turned to stone.
“You–” He swallows. “This Peter guy, you really like him?”
“I’ve had a crush on him since forever! And he never notices me, ever!” You scrub at your face. “I know it’s stupid and childish and high school, I know I should tell him how I feel even if there’s not the slightest chance that he’d ever want me back–”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
You squint at him. “You don’t know Peter.”
He laughs, still sounding all flustered and weak. “Okay.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m being really corny, huh?”
“No.” His voice is higher, too, almost like he’s holding his breath. “It’s not corny, it’s nice.”
“He’s really pretty,” you say, lamenting your sad lonely life without him. And now you’ve made a mess all over Spider-Man’s generous listening. If there was a chance he’d come to see you again, you have surely ruined it.
Spider-Man squeaks.
You stare at him. He’s pulling at the edge of his mask, fanning himself, giving you rare glimpses of his pale skin.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“I’m sorry, I’m– super warm.”
“Oh. Is the suit hot?”
“It can be, yeah.”
“I guess I don’t know how to move on,” you say, breaking your gaze to stare at the gravelly rooftop instead. “He’s a great friend, and I didn't always want it so badly. I don’t know why… why it got so much worse lately. I see him and I wish he’d grab me and– and kiss me–” You bite your tongue. “Sorry, Spider-Man. That’s too much information."
“Kiss you how?” he asks.
You jolt a little. “Uh, you know. Just kiss me. A real kiss. He’s kind of affectionate, like, sometimes he tries to hold my hand before we cross the street, and one time he did kiss my cheek, but it was, like, a bit. I want a real kiss.”
“Huh.”
“It’s lame.”
“Love is kinda lame. Corny and cheesy,” Spider-Man sounds oddly pleased. “But maybe he’s got all these lame feelings too, and didn’t want to push you. You seem kinda shy. Maybe he’s worried he’s not reading things right. If you’re the kind of girl who’s easily flustered, how can he know if it’s because of him or not?”
“But what do I do?”
“I don’t know.”
You laugh. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, but whatever you do, if he gets the signal, he’ll reciprocate.”
“How do you know?”
“Girl as pretty as you?” Spider-Man’s voice goes soft as butter. “He’d be an idiot not to.”
—
By the time you’d made it back inside that night, Peter had replied to your message.
In fact, Peter had spammed you. Answered everything you said with detail and then launched into an apology for not responding, cos he had a bunch of stuff to do and Aunt May had the car and his phone died on the subway home, yada yada.
He then asked you out.
Alright, he didn’t. He asked if you wanted to come over and watch a movie the next day, which is pretty standard Peter friendship activity, but has you smiling like a loser at your phone.
Yes, you’d texted him, would love to, I’ll bring dinner?
Do not!!!! I will order in for us when you get here :D
You’re standing in your nicest skirt, a pretty pink thing that ends at the knees and, and your newest converse, which aren’t all that new. Your cardigan is charcoal wool and buttoned all the way up to fight the sudden chill. It’s later than you realised; you spent an hour panic-changing your clothes and lamenting your response Spider-Man’s advice. You have to give Peter a signal, right?
You are dressed very cute for a movie at his place, and you smell delicious. You’re gonna give him a wide-eyed flirty stare and who knows, maybe he’ll finally get the message.
Or he’ll wonder why you’re so overdressed.
The door finally opens, and Peter’s already smiling. His cheeks are red like spring cherries with a flush that crawls down his neck and probably stains his broad chest, too, his hair in order for once, his usual hoodie and jacket traded in for a plain white t-shirt that’s a little tight. Shows the indents of his chest, the lines of firm muscle there.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says.
You want him to call you beautiful forever. “Don’t,” you say instead. He should know better. You fluster at anything.
Peter stands aside to let you in. You’ve been to the Parker house a ton of times, but it’s noticeably clean, and dimly lit. There are a couple of candles lit in the living room and a bowl of popcorn stands on the coffee table, filling the room with the smells of toffee and butter.
“Was it cold?” he asks.
You nod hurriedly. “So cold. I thought it was supposed to be summer.”
“We’re not that lucky. Make yourself comfy, okay? I gotta grab your drink.”
You unlace your shoes and leave them by the doorway, padding into the living room in your socks. The couch is fitted with enough throw pillows to turn a three-seater into a two-seater. You’re forced to plop yourself somewhat in the middle, but you’re too tempted by the popcorn to worry. You sneak a piece while Peter’s gone, humming as the sweetness breaks out across your tongue.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he calls.
“For what?”
“For not answering you!” His voice echoes nearer, and he grimaces his way through the hall into the living room, two glasses of your favourite in his hands. “I’m awful. I’m an idiot, and I never check my phone. I’m sorry.”
“Peter, it’s fine.”
“You sure?”
Your eyes widen of their own accord as he sits down next to you, thigh to thigh, so close you can see the little bits of amber that swim in his irises, all that brown fragmented by shards of sunlight.
“I–” You nod oddly. “Am sure. Of course. I don’t expect you to drop everything–”
“I know you don’t, but still. I have my phone with me. I can answer you more, and you’re important to me. I get distracted.”
“Did you get all your errands done?”
“Sure.” He hands you your glass and puts his own on the coffee table. “Thanks. You’re an angel.”
“You’re not so bad,” you say.
You relax. Peter lets you choose the movie, and you feel warm sitting there pointing his remote at the TV, flicking unsurely through everything, but he’s Peter. You put on Cado Lake and hand him the remote, sure he’ll enjoy a sc-fi flick, and are instantly gratified when the movie hooks his attention. Not too much, though. He’s clear of mind enough to put the popcorn bowl in your lap and nip you with little questions. Who’s that again? Hey, she looks like May. Wow, you smell good, what is that?
You’re about an hour into the movie when Peter’s hand sews itself behind your back.
It’s warm, and big. His fingertips skate over the mall of your back until he’s found your side, where it curls, and he pulls you gently toward him. Your head drops into the space between his shoulder and head, the TV a colourful blur in front of you, your hand paused dead in the nearly empty popcorn like you’ve been frozen.
“Okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” you say. You’re fine.
He’s warm. He’s solid beside you.
“You’re letting me eat all the popcorn…”
His laugh is a huff against your head. “I’ll make some more.”
“No.” You rest your cheek on his arm. Bliss flits through your entire body like a wave. “It’s okay. I won’t eat your share.”
“You do what you want,” he says, and you wonder if he’s relaxing beneath you, too, heat of his body seeping through his clothes and into your skin as his fingers rub gently into your side. “Get you a sack of popcorn, if you want me to.”
“This is nice.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. This is good.”
You struggle to pay attention to the movie for the next few minutes, wondering if this is really what you think. It’s not exactly friendship-level affection to wrap your arm around someone, is it? But Peter’s so lovely, it could be nothing. Why would it mean anything? What could Peter want with you? Of course you have a crush on him, he’s gorgeous, but Peter has no such motivations about you. Does he?
He’s quiet for a while. You think the movie might’ve really snagged him, but then he turns to you with a shy smile that brightens exponentially when you sneak a glance at him and end up smiling back.
He doesn’t look away.
It gets so hot you wish you could peel out of your cardigan, but you don’t wanna move and displace the moment.
“You’re missing the movie,” you whisper.
“I’ve missed so much of it,” he says.
“What?”
“Look.” He swallows. “Look, I don’t know if I’m– maybe I’m way off base here, and all, but,” —his hand climbs your side, folding over your, pulling you even closer— “maybe I’m not? I don’t know.”
“Off base about what?”
“You know.”
“Do I?” you ask. You can hardly speak above a breath, but Peter hears it.
Peter’s gaze darts down.
You lift your chin. Spider-Man, you think, watching as Peter’s brows knit like he’s in pain and his pupils turn to dimes, sunshot brown melding dark, this better work.
Peter inches his face down until your noses are touching, your eyelashes forced shut in a flutter at his proximity.
He lingers there, in the quiet, breathing the air your exhale and holding his tongue as he raises his hand to cup your cheek tenderly. His fingers slip beneath your ear and his thumb drags over your cheek, distending your lips, and his lips brush against yours so softly you aren’t sure if he really has kissed you, or if you want it bad enough to conjure the sensation. But then he presses in for a proper kiss, and the quiet in the room gets replaced by the pounding of your heart in your own ears.
He tips your head a little and kisses upward, parting his lips to encourage you to let him in. You suck in a breath as he wades in for a real kiss, the heat of tongue and the soft plush give of his lips on yours. He encourages your head back quick, your eyes squinting ever so slightly, but he’s only moving you to wade in for the same kissing at a new angle. His nose tip scrunches into yours.
Your thoughts are electric. Your hand vies for a place to anchor, grasping tightly at his shirt, screwing the fabric over his chest into a ball.
“Holy crap,” he says, pulling back a touch.
His eyes are shining. His mouth is damp with spit, but you aren’t certain if it’s yours or his.
“I can’t believe I had the willpower to wait this long for that,” he says, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Shit, you're just as perfect as I thought.”
You laugh in a tangle. “What?” you ask breathlessly.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long. Wow, you taste like toffee.”
“I’m sorry–”
Peter gets his thumb under your chin to tip your face up. “For what? For being perfect?”
“For tasting like popcorn.”
“That is the least of my worries.” He does a one-eyed squint at you, stroking your chin and cheek with his thumb, a caress that makes your stomach ache as much as the kisses had. “Sorry it took me so long to kiss you. You’re a hard girl to read.”
“I know,” you mumble.
He kisses your cheek and ducks his face into the side of your head, gathering you in for a hug that’s strong but careful, too, your thigh curving into his lap. He doesn’t seem to notice the way he’s dragging you onto him as he breathes in your hair.
“Pete?”
“Yeah?”
You struggle out of his arms. “Can you kiss me again?” you ask.
“Yes. Yeah. Oh my god, absolutely.”
Your laugh as he bends your backwards into the mountain of throw cushions is ecstatic. Then smushed, quickly, but it’s fine. The kiss is worth getting cut off.
—
(One month later.)
“I was going to tell you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously, I was! But I didn’t want you to be embarrassed."
“Right.”
“And I didn’t want you to be mad.”
You stare at Spider-Man in your boyfriend’s bedroom, unmasked, Peter Parker with hair like a dandelion and eyes so sorry he’s almost winning you over, the mask clasped in hand.
“You knew who I was talking about,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “and you still made me give you a signal? Do you know how hard that was for me?”
“You can do hard things!”
“Peter.”
“I wanted to be sure. I have a huge crush on you, you know that? It was just as scary for me as it was for you.”
You sniff indignantly. Spider-Man drags himself from his window to take your hands, pouting like a loser for your forgiveness.
“Can you please forgive me?” he asks. “Don’t you think it would’ve given my secret away if I turned up at your door and planted one on you? You do not understand the strength it took to wait.”
“Peter, it wasn’t even twenty four hours.”
“You’re really pretty,” he mumbles.
You forgive him already, not that he needs to know that. You have more important questions to ask.
“So, what’s with the webs?”
“D’you like ‘em?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He whines.
You plant a little kiss on his jaw and make for the bed you’d been planning on napping in before his impromptu return through the open window. “Come hold me while I nap,” you say, moving back his sheets, “please. And maybe I’ll think about forgiving you.” You’re too tired to think about this in depth.
Peter throws himself into the mattress. You crawl into his arms.
“You kinda smell like street,” you mumble, nuzzling his neck, a hint of forgiveness to settle his bad nerves.
His head falls back as he lets out a relieved sigh. “You smell perfect,” he says.
synopsis: after the world forgets who peter parker is, he convinces himself that being alone is the only way to keep people safe. but when his stubborn neighbor accidentally discovers that he’s spider-man, the walls he’s spent years building around himself slowly begin to crumble—just as a new threat sets its sights on the one person who managed to get close enough to break them down.
word count: 11k
warnings: mild spoilers from spider-man: brand new day, some inaccuracies from the film lmao, angst
a/n: hello everyone! i just watched spider-man: bnd a few days ago and i just had to write something lol. if you'd like to check out my other works, you can check the pinned post in my blog :>
i hope you'll like this fic! happy reading!
ִ ࣪𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ
There was something strangely comforting about hearing other people through paper-thin apartment walls.
The sound of someone dragging groceries across the hallway. The distant hum of a television from two floors below. Laughter echoing from somewhere down the corridor at two in the morning because apparently, unlike you, some people in New York actually had functioning sleep schedules.
The elevator dinged as you stepped inside, your backpack hanging off one shoulder and an iced coffee clutched in your hand. Your morning lecture had been canceled, which meant that, for the first time in weeks, you could actually go back to your apartment and catch up on sleep.
Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot between them. The doors slid back open.
Peter Parker stepped inside.
You had seen him around enough times to know that he lived on your floor, only a few doors away from yours. You also knew that he was probably around your age, spent an alarming amount of time outside at ungodly hours, and had a habit of looking like he hadn’t slept in three business days.
You didn’t know much else. Mostly because Peter Parker was impossible to talk to.
“Hey.”
Peter looked up from the floor, startled for some reason, before offering a small nod. “Hey.”
The elevator doors closed.
You shifted your weight awkwardly. “Early morning?”
Peter glanced down at the watch on his wrist as if he’d somehow forgotten what time it was.
“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”
You smiled. “You look exhausted.”
He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Thanks.”
“That wasn’t supposed to be an insult.”
“No, I know.”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward, but the smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
The rest of the ride passed in silence.
By now, you’d gotten used to it.
It wasn’t that Peter was rude. In fact, whenever you ran into him in the hallway or outside the building, he always smiled politely and held doors open for people. He just never stayed long enough for a conversation.
The elevator stopped on your floor. You stepped out first, Peter following close behind.
“You know,” you said, turning toward him as both of you walked down the hallway, “one of these days, I’m actually going to get more than two sentences out of you.”
Peter nearly dropped the keys he was trying to fish out of his pocket. “What?”
You laughed. “I’m serious. We’ve lived on the same floor for, like, months now, and somehow I still know absolutely nothing about you.”
He finally found his keys, although judging by the way he almost dropped them again, the victory was short-lived.
“Maybe I’m just boring.”
You stopped in front of your apartment door and frowned. “I don’t think boring people come home at four in the morning.”
Peter froze for a split second.
You immediately regretted saying it. “Oh my God, that sounded creepy. I’m not keeping track of your schedule, I swear. The walls are just really thin.”
To your surprise, Peter laughed. Like, actually laughed. “No, it’s okay.”
For the first time since you’d met him, he looked relaxed.
And then, just as quickly as the moment appeared, it vanished.
“Well…” he said quietly, turning back toward his apartment. “I’ll see you around.”
Before you could respond, he disappeared behind his door.
~~~~~
The next few weeks went exactly the same way.
You’d run into Peter in the elevator. You’d try to make conversation. He’d answer politely. Then he’d retreat back into whatever corner of his life he kept hidden from everyone else.
It became a routine.
“Long day again?”
Peter, standing in the elevator at midnight with dark circles under his eyes and a suspicious tear in the sleeve of his hoodie, blinked at you.
“You have no idea.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s concerning.”
“I’m choosing to ignore that comment.”
“Thanks.”
For some reason, despite how painfully awkward he could be, you found yourself looking forward to those tiny interactions.
Maybe it was because Peter was one of the only people in the building who was around your age.
Maybe it was because you recognized loneliness when you saw it.
Or maybe it was because every now and then, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch glimpses of someone different beneath all those walls he’d built around himself.
Like the night you came back from the library carrying way too many books and nearly dropped all of them in the lobby.
Peter had somehow appeared out of nowhere. “Whoa, here.”
Before you could protest, he’d already grabbed half the stack from your arms.
“Thanks.”
“You know they make backpacks for a reason, right?”
You scoffed. “I have a backpack.”
Peter looked down at the single notebook sticking out of it.
“That’s impressive.”
“Oh, don’t judge me, Parker.”
“I’m not judging.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m silently criticizing your organizational skills.”
You laughed, pressing the elevator button. “Wow. So you can talk.”
Peter looked away, unsuccessfully hiding his smile.
The elevator doors opened.
As the two of you stepped inside, you glanced at him. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“What wasn’t?”
“Having a conversation.”
Peter leaned his head against the elevator wall, looking exhausted. “You make it sound easier than it is.”
The elevator stopped. Peter handed your books back.
“Thanks,” you said softly.
“Anytime.”
You hesitated before speaking again. “Hey, um… if you ever need anything…”
Peter looked up.
“I mean, we’re neighbors, right? So… sugar, coffee, someone to complain about school to—”
He smiled, smaller this time. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You grinned. “Good.”
“I’ll see you around,” he said.
~~~~~
He wasn’t even supposed to be here, but Peter found himself standing across from Ned on the subway.
Ned was carrying two bags filled with drinks and snacks, occasionally checking his phone and smiling to himself. Peter had spotted him by complete accident, and before he could stop himself, he’d followed him onto the train.
He knew it was stupid.
Four years had passed since Doctor Strange’s spell. Four years since the world had forgotten Peter Parker.
And yet, here he was, trailing his former best friend through New York like some creep who couldn’t let go of the past.
Unfortunately, Peter couldn’t. Not when that past was all he had left.
The train finally came to a stop, and Peter followed Ned from a distance as he made his way toward an apartment building in Brooklyn. By the time Peter reached the top floor, music and laughter were already spilling out into the hallway.
A party.
Peter stood outside the door for a moment, staring at the crowd inside. He should leave.
He really, really should leave.
Instead, he gripped the bouquet of flowers that he’d bought as an excuse tightly.
“Housewarming gift,” he muttered to himself, staring at the bouquet. “Totally normal.”
He entered the room, blending in easily amongst the crowd of people he’d never seen before.
The apartment was filled with people, conversations overlapping with music coming from the speakers in the corner. It felt warm and alive in a way that Peter’s own apartment hadn’t felt in years.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.
Pinned to the wall beside a room was an entire collection of newspaper clippings, blurry photos, and handwritten notes—all centered around Spider-Man.
Peter slowly walked closer.
Pictures from different sightings. Articles about unexplained events around the city. Strings connecting random details that shouldn’t have made sense to anyone else.
And yet his former best friend had put them together.
“You believe in all this stuff too?”
Peter turned around to find Ned standing beside him, holding a drink.
Peter looked back at the wall. “Oh, hey. You made all of this?”
Ned shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s weird, but ever since I was a kid, I’ve always felt like… I don’t know, like Spider-Man means something to me.”
Peter felt his chest tighten.
Ned laughed awkwardly. “Sounds crazy, right?”
“No,” Peter replied quietly. “Not crazy.”
For a brief moment, Peter allowed himself to imagine what life would’ve been like if things had been different. If the spell had never happened. If he could’ve stood beside Ned and laughed about all of this instead of pretending to be a stranger.
But reality had a way of pulling him back.
Across the room, Peter spotted MJ walking towards them. For a moment, it almost felt like nothing had changed.
Peter watched her slowly, holding out the bouquet. “Housewarming flowers.”
MJ blinked in surprise before taking them from his hands. “Oh, wow. Thanks.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“Do you two know each other or…?” MJ’s brows furrowed, eyeing Peter and Ned.
Peter chuckled nervously. “Oh, uhm. Not exactly. I’m Mayne—Maynard.”
“Nice to meet you, Maynard. I’m gonna put these in water.” She smiled politely, thanked him again, and disappeared into the kitchen to put the flowers in water.
Peter watched her go.
Then he saw him.
A guy standing beside the sink, smiling as MJ walked over to him. She nudged his shoulder playfully, and the guy wrapped an arm around her waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Peter immediately looked away.
He had spent four years telling himself that he’d made the right choice. That letting them go had been worth it because they were safe.
But standing in the middle of that apartment, surrounded by people who used to know him, Peter couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d truly let them go—or if he’d simply been left behind.
Suddenly, the room felt too small. Too loud.
Without saying goodbye to anyone, Peter quickly slipped out of the apartment and made his way back onto the streets of New York.
The city was alive around him—cars honking, people laughing, music pouring from open windows—but Peter barely registered any of it. His mind was still back in that apartment, replaying every smile, every laugh, every reminder of the life he’d lost.
He leaped across buildings. By the time he reached his neighborhood, the pain in his wrist had started again.
At first, it was only a dull ache. Then it spread up his arm like fire.
Peter stopped abruptly, grabbing onto the nearest wall as he hissed through clenched teeth.
“Not now,” he muttered.
The pain only grew worse.
He pulled his sleeve back just enough to see the distended veins on his wrists.
His breathing quickened.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Panicking, Peter rushed toward his apartment building, nearly tripping over his own feet as he fumbled for his keys. The pain had become unbearable by the time he stumbled through his front door.
On the other side of the wall, you were sitting at your desk, absentmindedly reading through your notes when you heard something crash.
At first, you ignored it.
Peter was a strange guy. For all you knew, he’d dropped a lamp.
Then came another noise.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you pulled your headphones off. “Peter?”
You were just about to put your headphones back on when a scream echoed through the wall.
Not the kind of scream someone lets out after stubbing their toe.
A scream of pain.
You shot up from your chair so fast that it nearly toppled over.
For a moment, you stood frozen in the middle of your apartment, trying to convince yourself that you’d imagined it.
Then you heard it again.
Without another thought, you ran for the door. You didn’t even bother putting on your shoes.
The scream echoed through the hallway again, louder this time, and whatever hesitation you had vanished the moment you reached Peter’s door.
“Peter?!”
You knocked once.
No answer.
“Peter, are you okay?!”
Silence.
You pressed your ear against the door, trying to make sense of the sounds coming from the other side. Something crashed into a wall, followed by what sounded like muffled groaning.
Your heart dropped.
You grabbed the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked. Instead, the door swung open.
The first thing that hit you was the mess.
Peter’s apartment, which you’d never actually seen before, looked like a tornado had torn through it. Papers were scattered across the floor, tools and wires hung from the ceiling, and pieces of machinery sat abandoned on tables in the corner. It was nothing like you had imagined.
And then there were the webs.
They stretched across the walls, clinging to lamps and cabinets, covering entire sections of the room as though a giant spider had made the apartment its nest.
You stopped in the doorway, unable to process what you were looking at. “What the hell…?”
Another groan pulled your attention toward the living room.
“Peter?”
You rushed forward, carefully stepping over broken pieces of metal and strands of webbing stuck to the floor. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner that you finally saw him.
Peter was collapsed beside the couch, one hand gripping his wrist so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His breathing was uneven, and more strands of webbing slowly releasing from his arm.
For a few seconds, you simply stood there, frozen.
Nothing about this made sense.
The webs. The machines. The strange red-and-blue fabric crumpled beside the couch.
Your eyes darted back to the fabric.
A mask. A Spider-Man mask.
You stared at it, then back at Peter, then back at the mask again.
Your brain was trying to connect the dots.
There was absolutely no way.
And yet, as you looked around the apartment, surrounded by webs and gadgets and the unmistakable suit lying only a few feet away, there was no other explanation.
“Oh my god.”
Peter shifted slightly at the sound of your voice. His eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first before eventually landing on you. For a split second, confusion crossed his face.
Then came realization.
You watched the panic wash over him almost instantly.
“Y/n—” His voice was weak, barely above a whisper.
You immediately knelt beside him. “Peter, what is happening? Are you hurt? Do I need to call someone?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly. “No, don’t—don’t call anyone.”
“Peter, you’re literally lying on the floor!”
“I said don’t call anyone.” The harshness in his voice caught both of you off guard.
Peter shut his eyes, taking a shaky breath as if he regretted snapping at you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Just… don’t.”
You looked down at the hand clutching his wrist.
Your gaze drifted toward the mask again. The bruises that always seemed to appear out of nowhere. The nights he came home at impossible hours. The way he always looked exhausted.
Every weird thing about Peter suddenly made perfect sense.
Your mouth went dry. “Peter…”
He already knew what you were about to ask. You could see it in his expression. He turned his head away, staring blankly at the ceiling.
You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.
“You’re Spider-Man?”
Peter didn’t answer. He didn’t deny it either.
The silence was answer enough. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Despite everything, Peter actually let out a weak laugh.
It lasted all of two seconds before another wave of pain shot through his arm. He doubled over, gripping his wrist again.
“Peter—”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re obviously not okay!”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re covered in webs!”
Peter opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but whatever he was about to say never came out. Instead, his eyes fluttered shut.
“Peter?”
No response.
“Peter!”
You grabbed his shoulder, shaking him gently.
Nothing.
Your eyes widened. “Hey, don’t do this right now.”
You glanced around the apartment, completely lost. You had absolutely no idea what the hell you were supposed to do in this situation.
Normal people didn’t have emergency plans for when their neighbor turned out to be Spider-Man and passed out on the floor.
After a few moments of panicking, you managed to drag a blanket off the couch and awkwardly pull it over him. It wasn’t much, but it was better than leaving him on the cold floor.
Then, after what felt like ten straight minutes of struggling, you somehow managed to move him onto the couch.
By the time you collapsed into the armchair across from him, you were exhausted.
You glanced over at him again, watching his chest rise and fall.
“You’re seriously Spider-Man,” you whispered to yourself. Within minutes, exhaustion finally caught up with you too.
The armchair wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but after the night you’d just had, you didn’t really care.
As sleep slowly overtook you, one last thought crossed your mind.
Tomorrow morning was going to be a disaster.
~~~~~
The first thing Peter noticed when he woke up was that his wrist didn’t hurt anymore.
For a few blissful seconds, he simply lay there, staring at the unfamiliar angle of his living room ceiling, too exhausted to think about why he was on the couch instead of his bed. Then, slowly, the events of the night before came rushing back to him.
Peter shot upright so fast that he nearly fell off the couch.
His eyes darted around the room in a panic. The apartment was still covered in webs. His suit was laying openly on his working table. One of his web-shooters was dangling from a lamp.
And there you were. Curled up in the armchair across from him, your head resting against the side cushion, you were still asleep.
Peter stared at you in horror. You were actually here. In his apartment.
After everything you’d seen.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself, dragging both hands down his face. “Okay, okay, okay…”
He stood up from the couch and immediately got a strand of web stuck to his hoodie.
“Seriously?” The frustration in his voice was apparently enough to wake you.
Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and for a moment, you simply blinked at the room around you, still half-asleep.
Then you saw Peter standing in the middle of the apartment, trying to untangle himself from his own webs.
You sat up so quickly that Peter froze. He looked like he’d rather jump out the window than have this conversation. You honestly weren’t doing much better.
“You’re awake,” you finally said.
Peter glanced down at the floor. “Yeah.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
An awkward silence settled between the two of you.
You looked around the apartment. In the daylight, the whole place somehow looked even more ridiculous. You looked back at Peter.
He was still avoiding your eyes.
“So…” you began carefully.
Peter visibly tensed. “So?”
You gestured vaguely to literally everything around you.
“Do you maybe want to explain…” You paused, looking up at the web-covered ceiling. “…all of this?”
Peter let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like defeat. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”
You blinked. “Peter, you passed out on your living room floor.”
“I know.”
“You were screaming.”
“I know.”
“There are webs on your refrigerator.”
“I know.”
You stared at him for a moment before letting out an incredulous laugh. “Okay, wow. We’re really glossing over the fact that you’re Spider-Man, huh?”
Peter finally looked up.
The panic in his expression from the night before was gone, replaced by something quieter. “I was kind of hoping you’d think you imagined it.”
You snorted. “Yeah, because giant spider webs covering your apartment are a perfectly normal hallucination.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Peter’s mouth despite himself.
You studied him for a moment, suddenly realizing that he looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, and now that you thought about it, so was the same expression you’d seen on his face every time he stepped into the elevator.
You leaned back against the chair. “You’re Spider-Man.”
Peter swallowed. “Yeah.”
It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud in years.
“You know,” you said, “this actually explains a lot.”
Peter frowned. “Like what?”
“The bruises.”
“I walk into things.”
“You absolutely do not walk into things.”
“I could.”
“Peter, normal people don’t come home at dawn with cuts on their face.”
Peter shrugged. “New York is weird.”
You stared at him. “Did Spider-Man just try to convince me that New York is weird?”
“I think Spider-Man would know.” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to continue. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone about this.”
You blinked. “Who exactly am I supposed to tell? ‘Hey, guys, by the way, my neighbor is secretly Spider-Man’? People would think I’ve lost my mind.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“No, Y/n, I—”
“You really think I’d tell someone?”
Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out.
You sighed, standing up from the chair.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with…” You gestured toward his wrist. “Whatever happened last night. And I definitely don’t understand why your apartment looks like a spider nest. But I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Peter looked unconvinced.
You crossed your arms. “Besides, keeping secrets apparently isn’t exactly new territory for us.”
That made him pause.
You immediately regretted saying it.
Peter seemed to understand exactly what you meant because he quietly looked away. “I’m sorry.”
The words caught you off guard. “What?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the floor.
“For lying.”
You frowned. “You didn’t really lie.”
“I kind of did.”
“You just left out the part where you spend your nights swinging around New York.”
Peter let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah.”
You hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”
He looked up.
“Why do you always push people away?”
The question slipped out before you could stop it. Immediately, you wanted to take it back.
Peter froze. “Y/n—”
“No, no, forget I asked that. You don’t have to answer.”
Peter stayed quiet for a long moment. Then, almost too quietly, he said, “It’s safer that way.”
You frowned. “Safer for who?”
Peter didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced toward the window, his expression distant.
You opened your mouth to ask another question, but Peter suddenly stood up. “I should clean this up.”
You looked up at the ceiling.
“Yeah, I was actually wondering how you planned on explaining the fact that your entire apartment looks like an outdated Halloween decoration.”
Peter laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
You smiled, relieved that the tension had eased, if only a little.
As you made your way toward the front door, you stopped and turned back around. “Hey, Peter?”
He looked up from the mess of webs tangled around his coffee table. “Yeah?”
You hesitated for a moment before saying, “For what it’s worth, knowing that you’re Spider-Man doesn’t really change anything.”
Peter stared at you.
You shrugged. “You’re still the weird guy who lives next door.”
For the first time that morning, Peter smiled.
“Wow,” he said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” You grinned, opening the door. “And maybe next time you decide to pass out dramatically, try not to do it alone.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but you caught the smile he was trying to hide. “Noted.”
You nodded once before stepping into the hallway.
~~~~~
The next few days were, without a doubt, the weirdest days of your life.
Not because you had assignments piling up or because you had somehow managed to survive on instant noodles and iced coffee for three consecutive days. No, the weirdest part was that your next-door neighbor—the same guy who once spent an entire elevator ride pretending to be fascinated by the floor numbers to avoid small talk—was Spider-Man.
You had barely stepped out of your apartment when Peter’s door swung open at the exact same moment. The two of you froze, staring at each other from opposite ends of the hallway.
“Hey,” you said.
“Hey.”
An awkward silence followed.
Usually, this was the part where you’d ask him about his day and he’d mumble something before disappearing into the elevator. But things were different now. You knew why he came home at impossible hours. You knew why he always had bruises on his knuckles and dark circles under his eyes.
“So…” you began, falling into step beside him as the two of you walked toward the elevator. “Did you get all the webs cleaned up?”
Peter glanced at you, horrified. “You said you weren’t going to bring that up.”
“I said no such thing.”
“You absolutely implied it.”
The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together.
“I’m just saying, if I found out my neighbor was secretly Spider-Man and then immediately discovered that his apartment looked like a spider’s house, I’d be a little disappointed.”
Peter let out an exasperated sigh. “Please never call it that again.”
“No promises.”
The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and the two of you stepped out into the lobby.
“Well,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, “good luck saving New York today.”
Peter nearly tripped over his own feet.
You stared at him. “Did Spider-Man just almost fall because of a joke?”
“I didn’t almost fall.”
“You absolutely almost fell.”
“I stepped weird.” Peter rolled his eyes, though you could see the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know, you’re surprisingly annoying.”
“Thank you. I’ve worked very hard to achieve that.”
“I can tell.”
You grinned triumphantly. “See? That was practically a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It definitely was.”
Peter shook his head, muttering something under his breath as the two of you stepped outside. The morning air was cold, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then, just as you were about to head in the opposite direction, you heard Peter clear his throat.
“Hey, Y/n?”
You turned around. “Yeah?”
Peter shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, staring at the sidewalk. “I just…” He paused, struggling to find the words. “Thanks. For not freaking out.”
You blinked.
“Peter, I did freak out.”
Peter laughed softly. “You did.”
Your smile softened. “You know, you don’t always have to deal with things by yourself.”
The words left your mouth before you could stop them.
Peter’s expression changed almost instantly.
You wanted to push further. You wanted to ask him why he always looked so sad whenever he thought nobody was paying attention, why he insisted on carrying everything alone, why he acted like letting people get close to him was the worst thing in the world.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
~~~~~
For the next week, things settled into something that neither of you knew how to define.
You still ran into each other in the hallway before you left for class. Peter still came home at absurd hours with new bruises that he insisted were “nothing.” You still made fun of him for having the social skills of a brick wall.
The only difference was that now, whenever he disappeared halfway through a conversation or showed up looking like he’d just fought for his life, you actually knew why.
Well, partially.
Because despite the fact that you’d discovered his biggest secret, Peter Parker was still, somehow, the most secretive person you had ever met.
It was almost midnight when you found him sitting on the fire escape outside your apartment building.
You had just gotten back from the cafe after spending six straight hours pretending to understand a lecture that absolutely nobody understood, and the only thing on your mind was sleep.
That was, until you looked up and saw Peter sitting one floor above you, elbows resting on his knees.
For a moment, you considered pretending you hadn’t seen him.
Then again, this was Peter. If you didn’t start the conversation, there was a ninety-percent chance that he’d sit there in silence for another hour before disappearing back into his apartment.
“Please tell me you’re not brooding up there.”
Peter looked down, startled. “I’m not brooding.”
You crossed your arms. “You’re sitting alone on a fire escape in the middle of the night, staring dramatically into the distance.”
“I’m just thinking.”
“That’s exactly what a person who’s brooding would say.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but you caught the smile that flashed across his face.
“You coming up or are you just going to insult me from down there?”
You blinked. “Was that an invitation?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Oh, it’s already weird.”
He laughed quietly, shaking his head as you climbed up the stairs and sat beside him.
For a few minutes, neither of you spoke.
Below, New York buzzed with life. Cars moved through the streets, people spilled out of restaurants, and somewhere in the distance, a siren echoed through the city.
You leaned back against the brick wall behind you.
“I used to think New York would feel bigger.”
Peter frowned. “Bigger?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Before I moved here, I thought it’d be this huge, exciting place where I’d constantly be meeting people and doing cool things.”
“And?”
You let out a laugh. “And now I spend most of my nights crying over assignments and eating instant noodles.”
Peter snorted. “Sounds about right.”
You nudged his shoulder. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
You stared out at the city lights. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought it’d be easier.”
Peter was quiet for a moment. “Easier to do what?”
“To be alone.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. You immediately looked away, embarrassed by how honest you’d just been.
“That sounded sadder than I meant it to.”
Peter didn’t laugh.
Instead, he looked down at his hands, almost like he was thinking about whether or not to say something. “You get used to it.”
You turned toward him. “Being alone?”
He nodded.
“No offense, Parker, but you don’t exactly sound convincing.”
That earned a small smile from him, but it disappeared almost immediately.
“You don’t get used to it,” he admitted quietly. “You just learn how to deal with it.”
The way he said it made your chest ache. “Is that why you push people away?”
Peter let out a breath, his eyes fixed on the street below.
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
He was silent for so long that you thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Have you ever made a decision that you knew was right, but you hated yourself for it anyway?”
You frowned.
Peter laughed bitterly to himself. “Forget it. That’s a stupid question.”
“No, it’s not.”
He glanced at you, surprised by how quickly you’d answered.
You shifted slightly, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “I think people do that all the time.”
Peter looked away again. “Yeah. Maybe.”
You weren’t sure what came over you, but before you could stop yourself, you asked, “Did it have something to do with someone?”
The question hung in the air between you.
Peter froze. And immediately, you regretted asking.
“You don’t have to answer that,” you said quickly. “Sorry, that was way too personal—”
“It did.”
Your voice caught in your throat.
Peter wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the skyline, somewhere far away.
“Her name’s MJ. We used to be… close.”
The understatement almost made you laugh. “Close?”
He smiled sadly. “Yeah. She’s very special to me.”
You didn’t push. You could tell just from the way he was speaking, that this wasn’t a story he told often.
“There was this guy too,” he continued. “Ned. My best friend.”
Then Peter leaned back against the wall, staring up at the sky.
“A few years ago, something happened. Something really bad. And the only way to fix it was…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “The only way to fix it was to make everyone forget who Peter Parker was.”
You stared at him.
“What?”
He laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it.
“Yeah. Crazy, right?”
You didn’t know what to say.
Because suddenly, everything made sense.
“Wait.” You turned toward him. “You mean they literally don’t remember you?”
Peter shook his head. “No.”
“Not even MJ and Ned?”
“No.”
You stared at him, completely speechless. “Peter…”
He shrugged, like he was talking about the weather instead of the most heartbreaking thing you’d ever heard.
“It was my choice.”
“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”
The words escaped before you could think twice.
Peter’s expression softened. Then he let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “You’re the first person who’s said that.”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s always about how I saved the world or how I did the right thing.” He looked down at his hands. “Nobody ever talks about what it cost.”
The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you understood.
Peter Parker hadn’t isolated himself because he wanted to. He’d isolated himself because he genuinely believed that loving people meant losing them.
You reached over and gently nudged his shoulder.
“Well, I think what you did was incredibly selfless.”
Peter smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
“But I also think you’re an idiot.”
He turned to you so fast that you almost laughed. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Wow. Harsh.”
“I’m serious.” You sat up straighter. “You keep acting like the solution to everything is to shut people out.”
“Because people get hurt.”
“People get hurt regardless, Peter.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.
“You think pushing everyone away protects them, but all it’s doing is making you miserable.”
Peter stared at you.
“And before you say anything, yes, I know that’s hypocritical coming from the girl who spent the first three months in New York eating canned goods alone in her apartment.”
That got a laugh out of him.
“I’m serious, though.” You smiled softly.
The two of you sat there for what felt like forever, the noise of the city filling the silence between you.
“You know, when we first met, I thought you were way too friendly.”
You gasped dramatically. “Way too friendly?”
“You kept talking to me in the elevator.”
“God forbid someone tries to have a conversation with their neighbor.”
“I thought there had to be some ulterior motive.”
You laughed. “And now?”
Peter looked at you. “Now I think you just hate awkward silences.”
You smiled. “You’re half right.”
“And the other half?”
You hesitated before answering. “I saw someone who looked lonely.”
Peter’s expression changed instantly. The teasing smile disappeared, replaced by something softer.
Because the truth was, you’d been right all along.
He was lonely.
You simply sat beside each other, watching the lights of New York flicker in the distance. Somewhere below, taxis disappeared into traffic, distant sirens echoed through the streets, and the summer air carried the sound of laughter from people walking home.
For the first time in a long time, Peter didn’t feel like he was carrying the weight of the city by himself.
Beside him, you absentmindedly rested your chin on your knees, staring out at the skyline.
“Do you ever stop thinking?” you asked quietly.
Peter let out a small laugh. “Not really.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
You smiled sympathetically. “Well, I think you deserve a break every once in a while. Fighting off bad people every other day isn’t healthy.”
Peter glanced over at you, about to make some self-deprecating joke, when suddenly, something felt… wrong.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His expression immediately changed.
You frowned. “Peter?”
He didn’t answer.
His eyes darted toward the street below, instinct taking over before his mind could catch up. There was no obvious danger—just passing cars, people crossing the road, cyclists weaving through traffic.
And yet, every nerve in his body was screaming at him that someone was watching.
“Peter?” You followed his gaze, confused as he abruptly stood from the fire escape. “What is it?”
“I…” Peter scanned the street, his heartbeat picking up. “I don’t know.”
Down below, parked across the street, a dark car sat between two taxis. Through the windshield, he could barely make out the silhouette of someone sitting in the back seat, their face hidden by the reflection of the city lights.
For a split second, Peter thought he saw the figure turn toward him.
Then the engine started. The car pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the traffic before Peter could get a better look.
He remained frozen, staring after it.
“Did you see someone?” you asked, standing beside him.
Peter hesitated. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
He shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t know. It just felt like…” He stopped himself.
Like someone had been watching him.
You glanced down at the now-empty street before looking back at Peter.
“Maybe it’s just your superhero paranoia.”
Peter let out a breathless laugh, though the uneasy feeling in his chest refused to disappear.
“Yeah,” he muttered, still staring into the distance. “Maybe.”
~~~~~
It was barely nine in the morning when you opened your apartment door and nearly ran face-first into him.
Peter stumbled backward, a paper bag clutched awkwardly in his hands. “Oh—sorry.”
You blinked. “Are you just permanently stationed outside my apartment now, or…?”
“What? No.” Peter looked genuinely horrified. “I was just—I wasn’t—”
You crossed your arms, trying to suppress a smile as he completely lost the ability to form coherent sentences. “Relax, Parker. I’m kidding.”
He let out a relieved sigh. “You really need to stop doing that.”
“And deprive myself of the joy of watching Spider-Man panic? Absolutely not.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Only then did you notice the coffee cup sticking out of the paper bag. You narrowed your eyes.
“…Is that coffee?”
Peter immediately looked down at the bag as if he’d forgotten he was holding it in the first place. “Uh, yeah.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And why are you standing outside my apartment at nine in the morning holding coffee?”
Peter stared at you for a few seconds, clearly debating whether or not he could still escape this conversation.
“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You said you had an exam today.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “You know that?”
The second the words left your mouth, Peter looked like he regretted everything. “I just—I overheard you talking on the phone in the hallway last night.”
“Oh, so you’re spying on me.”
“I’m not! I have heightened senses, you know?”
You laughed, reaching for the coffee he was still awkwardly holding hostage. “Well, thank you.”
He shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the floor. “I figured you’d need it.”
You looked down at the cup before glancing back up at him. “Okay, this is actually really sweet.”
Peter almost choked. “What?”
“I’m complimenting you.”
“You’ve spent the last week bullying me.”
“I tease you because it’s funny. Completely different.”
Peter shook his head, mumbling something under his breath as he started walking toward the elevator.
You immediately followed him. “Oh, no. You don’t get to do something nice and then escape before I properly thank you.”
“Pretty sure I do.”
“You absolutely do not.”
The elevator doors opened, and the two of you stepped inside.
“Did you sleep at all?”
Peter leaned against the wall. “A little.”
“Yeah, right.”
“What?”
“That’s a lie.”
He glanced over at you. “How would you know?”
“Because you look like you fought a bear.”
“You’re judgemental.”
“Answer the question.”
Peter sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “There was some stuff going on downtown.”
“Some stuff?”
“Yeah.”
You stared at him. “You’re literally Spider-Man. ‘Some stuff’ could mean anything from stopping a robbery to fighting an alien invasion.”
“Okay, first of all, that’s only happened once.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Twice, maybe.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe this is my life now.”
“Imagine how I feel.”
The elevator doors slid open, and the two of you stepped into the lobby.
Outside, New York was already awake. People hurried down the sidewalks, taxis filled the streets, and somewhere in the distance, someone was yelling at a delivery truck.
You took a sip of your coffee. “Okay, serious question.”
Peter looked over.
“How do you balance all of this?”
He frowned. “Balance what?”
“You know…” You gestured vaguely. “Spider-Man stuff. Life.”
Peter laughed softly. “I don’t.”
“No, seriously.”
“I am serious.”
You stopped walking. “What do you mean, you don’t?”
Peter shoved his hands into his pockets. “I mean exactly what I said.”
For the first time that morning, the teasing tone disappeared from his voice.
“Half the time, I’m in front of my desk, fixing my suit. The other half, I’m too exhausted to focus on anything.” He shrugged. “I’ve kind of accepted that I’m bad at balancing things.”
You frowned. “That’s not healthy.”
Peter opened his mouth, prepared with another joke, but stopped when he noticed the look on your face.
You were actually worried.
Peter looked away first.
“You know,” you said softly, “you’re allowed to take care of yourself too.”
He let out a quiet laugh.
“Funny. You sound exactly like my aunt May.”
The moment the words left his mouth, his expression changed. The smile disappeared.
“Oh.” Your voice softened. “Peter…”
“It’s okay.”
You weren’t sure whether to say something or pretend that the conversation hadn’t just shifted into dangerous territory.
Before you could decide, Peter shook his head and forced a smile. “Anyway, good luck on your exam.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Nice try.”
“What?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Am I?”
“Very obviously.”
Peter laughed, stepping backward onto the sidewalk. “Seriously, though. Good luck.”
You stared at him for a moment before sighing in defeat.
“Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”
Peter smiled. “We’ll see.”
You pointed at him accusingly. “No, don’t ‘we’ll see’ me, Parker.”
He laughed and started walking backward down the street. “Go ace your exam, sweetheart.”
The second the nickname left his mouth, both of you froze.
Peter looked just as surprised as you did.
Your eyes widened. “Did you just call me sweetheart?”
Peter stopped walking. “I—”
“You did!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did!”
He buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”
You couldn’t stop smiling. “Oh, this is never leaving my memory.”
“Can we all agree to pretend that never happened?”
“Absolutely not.”
Peter groaned as you laughed, continuing your walk toward campus.
He shook his head, turning to leave in the opposite direction, but even from several feet away, you could still see the embarrassed smile on his face.
~~~~~
You tried not to think too much as you walked home from campus that evening, convincing yourself that he was probably just busy with superhero things. It wasn’t unusual for him to vanish for hours at a time.
Still, there was an uneasy feeling in your chest that you couldn’t explain.
By the time you reached your apartment building, the sun had already disappeared behind the skyline, painting New York in shades of orange and blue. You stepped into the lobby, fishing your keys out of your bag and nearly jumped when you saw Peter standing completely still in front of the elevators.
“Jesus Christ, Parker.”
He turned around so quickly that you almost took a step back.
For a moment, he just stared at you.
“Peter?”
He blinked a few times, as if he were forcing himself back into reality.
“Oh. Hey.”
You frowned.
“Hey? That’s all you have to say after ignoring me all day?”
“I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“Peter, I sent you three texts.”
“You sent me three memes.”
“They were funny memes.”
Peter let out a distracted laugh, but something was off.
He looked more exhausted than usual. His hoodie was damp from the rain, his hair was a mess, and there was a fresh cut just above his eyebrow.
You immediately noticed. “You’re hurt.”
“What? No.”
“You literally have blood on your face.”
Peter instinctively touched his eyebrow before dropping his hand. “It’s nothing.”
You crossed your arms. “You know, for someone whose entire job is saving people, you’re really bad at taking care of yourself.”
Peter looked away, jaw tightening.
The elevator doors opened with a ding, but neither of you moved.
“Peter?”
He swallowed hard before finally speaking. “Have you ever felt like someone’s watching you?”
The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “For the past few days, everywhere I go, I keep feeling like there’s…” He hesitated. “Like there’s someone there.”
You frowned. “Someone following you?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you actually seen anyone?”
Peter thought back to the fire escape. To the dark car disappearing into traffic before he could get a good look at it.
“Not really.”
You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice. “Peter, are you sure you’re okay?”
He opened his mouth to answer—
“Behind you.”
The voice wasn’t yours.
Peter froze.
His head snapped toward the lobby entrance, but there was nobody there except an elderly man struggling with grocery bags.
“What?” you asked.
Peter stared at the doors, his heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears.
The old man looked up.
“You’re easier to find than you think, Peter.”
Peter’s blood ran cold. The voice wasn’t the old man’s. It was someone else’s, speaking through him.
The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by confusion as the man adjusted his glasses and continued walking.
“Peter?”
He turned back toward you, panic flashing across his face.
“Did you hear that?”
You blinked. “Hear what?”
Before Peter could answer, a woman stepped into the lobby, talking on the phone as she walked past the two of you.
“Everyone has a weakness.”
Peter stiffened.
The woman stopped walking.
Slowly, she turned her head toward him. “You know that better than anyone.”
The air left Peter’s lungs. “What the hell…”
“Peter?” You grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t answer. Because now, all around the lobby, people had started looking at him.
One by one, they turned toward him.
And they all smiled.
“You lost your aunt.”
“You lost your friends.”
“You lost the girl you loved.”
The voices overlapped, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Peter stumbled backward, his breathing becoming uneven.
“You found someone new.”
Peter’s eyes immediately darted toward you.
“So that’s why you’ve been smiling lately.”
Your grip on his arm tightened. “Peter, you’re scaring me.”
Instantly, every face in the lobby returned to normal.
Peter stood frozen in the middle of the lobby, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Peter, talk to me.”
He looked at you, but it was obvious that he wasn’t really seeing you. His mind was somewhere else, replaying the words over and over again.
You found someone new.
“No,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.
“What?”
Peter grabbed your wrist.
The sudden movement startled you.
“You can’t stay here tonight.”
You frowned. “What?”
“Pack a bag.”
“Peter, slow down—”
“I’m serious.”
“What’s going on?”
He looked around the lobby one last time, searching for any sign that whoever had done this was still watching.
“I think someone’s trying to get to me.”
You stared at him.
“And I think…” His voice cracked slightly as he looked back at you. “I think they know about you.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then you shook your head. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Neither do I.”
Peter finally had something left to lose again.
And whoever was out there had just figured that out.
~~~~~
By the time Peter finally explained what was happening, the two of you were already halfway across New York.
Well “explained” was a generous term.
According to Peter, there was someone out there who could somehow speak through other people, someone who had spent the last few days following him, taunting him, and apparently taking a concerning interest in the fact that he’d started spending time with you.
According to you, that sounded completely insane. “You realize how crazy this sounds, right?”
Peter tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Trust me, I know.”
“No, because from my perspective, I went from studying for finals to being shoved into a car by Spider-Man because some random woman might be stalking us.”
“I’m not shoving you anywhere.”
“You practically dragged me out of the apartment.”
“You had, like, five minutes to pack.”
“Exactly.”
Peter let out an exhausted sigh.
The city lights reflected against the windshield as silence settled between you for a moment. You glanced over at him, finally getting a good look at his expression.
He looked terrified.
You looked away, staring out the window. “Who is she?”
Peter hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know her name?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“You’re Spider-Man.”
“Yeah, and believe it or not, I don’t actually know every single person in New York.”
You rolled your eyes, but the joke barely landed. It was obvious that his mind was somewhere else entirely.
The city slowly disappeared behind you, replaced by quieter streets and the dark outline of the harbor. After another few minutes, Peter pulled into a small dock.
You stepped out of the car and immediately froze.
Floating a few feet away from the pier was what looked like a tiny house sitting on top of a boat.
“Where are we?”
“It’s safer than the apartment.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Peter ignored you, already walking toward the dock.
“Peter!”
“I’m serious, Y/n.”
You quietly followed him down the dock.
The house itself was small, warm lights spilling out from the windows onto the water. Peter knocked twice before the door swung open, revealing a man who looked like he’d been expecting him.
The man’s eyes immediately landed on you. Then they shifted back to Peter.
“…You brought company.”
Peter sighed. “Frank, not now.”
“Oh, it’s definitely now.”
“Frank.”
You watched as Frank crossed his arms, trying to suppress an amused smile.
“So, let me get this straight.” He pointed between the two of you. “The world is apparently ending, and this is who you decided to bring to my place?”
“She’s my neighbor.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
Peter groaned. “Can you please not do this right now?”
“I’m just asking questions.”
You bit back a laugh as Peter shot Frank the most exhausted look you’d ever seen.
Frank stepped aside, letting the two of you inside before he disappeared into the kitchen.
“So,” he called out, “you want tea? Coffee? Emotional support?”
Peter buried his face in his hands. “Please stop talking.”
“I’m sensing coffee for the kid and emotional support for Spider-Man.”
You snorted.
Peter glared at both of you.
An hour later, after Frank had finally stopped making fun of him, the three of you sat around the tiny dining table.
Well, technically, Frank was sitting.
Peter had spent the last twenty minutes pacing back and forth.
“Peter, you’re making me dizzy.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re stomping.”
He ignored you.
Frank looked up from his coffee. “Kid, sit down before you wear a hole through my floor.”
Peter stopped pacing, but only because his phone buzzed.
He immediately grabbed it, eyes scanning the screen.
Nothing. Just a news notification.
You watched as he exhaled, disappointed. “You’ve checked your phone seventeen times in the last ten minutes.”
Peter frowned. “No, I haven’t.”
“You absolutely have.”
Frank looked between the two of you. “You guys do realize that you’re acting like a married couple, right?”
You nearly choked on your drink.
Peter looked ready to throw himself into the ocean. “We are not acting like a married couple.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Frank.” Peter stood up so abruptly that his chair nearly fell over. “I need some air.”
Without another word, he stepped outside onto the dock.
You hesitated for a moment before quietly following him. The night air was colder now, carrying the scent of the ocean and the distant sounds of the city.
You walked up beside him, leaning against the railing.
For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Then, quietly, you asked, “How bad is it?”
Peter didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know.”
You looked down at the dark sky in front. “You really think she want to hurt me?”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what she want.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
For the first time that night, Peter looked at you. The fear in his eyes caught you off guard.
“I can’t let anything happen to you.”
The words came out so quickly that it almost sounded like he’d been holding them in for hours.
You stared at him.
“I mean it.” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “I spent years convincing myself that being alone was the only way to keep people safe, and then you came along and suddenly—”
He stopped himself.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Suddenly, he had something to lose again.
The silence stretched between you.
You took a step closer. “Peter, look at me.”
He did.
“I’m scared too.”
His expression softened.
“But you don’t get to decide things for me.”
Peter frowned. “What?”
“You keep acting like you have to carry everyone else’s pain by yourself, like it’s your responsibility to decide who gets hurt and who doesn’t.” You shook your head. “But that’s not fair.”
“Y/n—”
“No, listen to me.” Your voice softened. “I know you’re trying to protect me. I know that. But I’m here because I chose to be here.”
Peter looked away. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
He stepped forward and gently squeezed your hand. Just for a second. Just long enough for both of you to freeze.
Peter pulled away almost immediately, looking just as shocked as you felt.
“I should go.”
And before you could respond, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving you standing alone, watching the only person you’d ever trusted with your heart swing back toward a city that never stopped needing him.
~~~~~
The first thing Peter noticed was the silence.
It was wrong.
His suit was torn near the shoulder, bruises bloomed across his ribs, and every muscle in his body ached as he limped down the dock toward Frank’s home. The morning had blurred together into a mess of adrenaline and panic: tracking Jean across the city, realizing she had taken control of the Hulk, barely escaping the destruction that followed, and worse was that Jean managed to escape.
The lights inside the houseboat were still on.
Peter frowned. “Frank?”
No answer.
He climbed the last few steps and pushed the door open. “Frank, I’m back—”
The words died in his throat.
The living room was a disaster.
A chair had been knocked onto its side. One of the lamps lay shattered on the floor, glass scattered across the wood. Your backpack was gone.
And Frank was unconscious on the ground.
Peter’s heart stopped. “Frank!”
He dropped to his knees beside him, shaking his shoulder.
“Frank, hey, wake up. Come on, come on—”
Frank groaned, slowly opening his eyes. “Kid…?”
Peter let out a breath of relief, but it lasted less than a second. “Where’s Y/n?”
Frank blinked, still disoriented.
“She…” He winced, trying to sit up. “She was here.”
Peter felt the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean, ‘was here’?”
Frank looked around the room as though trying to piece everything together. “There was someone at the door. I thought it was you.”
Peter’s stomach dropped. “No.”
Frank swallowed hard. “Next thing I knew, she was acting strange. Said she had to go home.”
Peter stood up so fast that the room spun around him. “No, no, no—”
“Hey—”
“No.”
He was already reaching for his phone, hands shaking so violently that he nearly dropped it.
Twenty-three missed calls.
And then a message.
Sent ten minutes ago.
From you.
hey :) im back at the apartment. can you come over? we should talk.
Peter stared at the screen. Every instinct in his body screamed at him that something was wrong. You never used smiley faces.
Frank had managed to sit up now, watching Peter’s expression darken. “What’s going on?”
Peter was already backing toward the door. “She’s not there.”
Frank frowned. “What?”
“That’s not her.”
The realization hit him all at once.
Jean hadn’t been captured.
And while Peter had been busy trying to save the city, she’d gone after the one person he had been trying to protect.
~~~~~
The city became nothing but streaks of light as Peter swung through the night.
His breathing was ragged beneath the mask, every thought in his head collapsing into one singular fear.
You.
Every second felt like an eternity. Every red light, every building, every street corner seemed to move too slowly.
Please be okay.
He landed outside the apartment building so hard that several people on the sidewalk screamed and jumped back.
He sprinted through the lobby, ignoring the confused stares around him as he practically launched himself into the stairwell.
The elevator would take too long. By the time he reached your floor, his lungs were burning.
The hallway was empty. Your apartment door was slightly open.
Peter’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. “Y/n?”
No answer.
He stepped inside cautiously. The lights were off except for the glow of the city spilling through the windows. The apartment was silent.
“Y/n?” Then he saw you.
Standing by the window. Your back was turned toward him, your silhouette framed by the lights of the city below.
Relief crashed over him so quickly that his knees nearly gave out. “Oh my God.”
You slowly turned around.
For a brief moment, everything seemed normal.
“Peter.” The sound of your voice almost made him collapse.
He took a step forward. “Are you okay? Frank said that you left and then you texted me and I—”
“I’m okay.” Something about your tone made him stop.
It was your voice. But it didn’t sound like you.
Too empty.
Peter’s entire body tensed. “Y/n…”
“You’re worried.” You tilted your head slightly.
Peter took another cautious step. “Come away from the window.”
A smile spread across your face.
Except it wasn’t your smile.
“No.”
The room suddenly felt ten degrees colder.
Peter’s heart sank. “Jean.”
Your smile widened. “There he is.”
Peter felt sick. “Get out of her head.”
“Oh, Peter.” Jean’s voice echoed through your lips. “You’re making this far too easy.”
Peter couldn’t take his eyes off you.
You were standing much too close to the edge.
“Whatever you want, this has nothing to do with her.”
Jean laughed. “Nothing to do with her?”
Your body turned slightly, glancing out at the city below.
“You spent years convincing yourself that isolation would protect the people you love.” Jean’s voice softened. “And then she smiled at you in an elevator.”
Peter’s chest tightened. “Stop.”
“You let her in.”
“Stop talking.”
“You gave yourself something to lose.”
“Jean, stop!”
For the first time, something flickered in your expression.
For a split second, Peter saw you.
Really saw you.
Terrified. “Peter?”
The fear in your voice was unmistakably yours. Peter immediately stepped forward. “Y/n, listen to me. I’m right here.”
Your eyes darted around the room frantically. “W-what’s happening?”
Then your expression changed again.
Jean was back. And this time, she was smiling.
“Tell me, Peter.” You took a step backward. Right onto the ledge. “How many people can Spider-Man save before he finally fails?”
Peter’s blood ran cold. “No.”
“How many times can Peter Parker lose the people he loves before he breaks?”
“Jean, don’t do this.”
For the first time all night, Jean’s voice lost its mocking tone.
“I just want you to understand.” Instead, she sounded almost sad.
And then you fell.
“Y/N!”
Peter didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t hesitate. He ran.
The window shattered behind him as he launched himself into the open air, diving after you as the city lights blurred together beneath him.
Wind roared in your ears. For a moment, there was nothing.
Then suddenly—consciousness.
You blinked. And realized you were falling.
The scream that tore from your throat was filled with pure terror. “Peter!”
You couldn’t breathe. The ground was getting closer. And then strong arms wrapped around you.
You collided against Peter’s chest as he wrapped his body around yours and shot a web into the nearest building, swinging both of you away from the street below.
You clung to him instantly, shaking so violently that you could barely form words.
One hand held the web. The other was wrapped so tightly around you that it almost hurt.
You buried your face against his shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks.
“I don’t—I don’t know what happened—”
“I know.”
“I was in the boat and then—and then—”
“I know.” Peter’s voice cracked.
Because for one horrifying moment, he hadn’t known if he’d make it in time.
And as he held you against him, thirty stories above New York City, Peter Parker made himself a promise.
Whatever happened next, whatever it took, he would never let you go again.
~~~~~
The rooftop was silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing and the distant hum of New York below.
Peter still hadn’t let go of you.
Not since he’d caught you.
Not since he’d felt your fingers clutch desperately at his suit thirty stories above the ground.
You sat beside him now, shoulders pressed together, both of you staring at the skyline as the first hints of sunrise painted the clouds orange.
Neither of you knew what to say.
Because how were you supposed to act normal after something like that?
“Peter…”
He didn’t look at you. “I’m sorry.”
You frowned. “Why do you keep apologizing?”
“Because I should’ve protected you.”
“You did protect me.”
“No.” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “I was supposed to keep this from happening in the first place.”
You turned toward him. “Hey, that’s impossible.”
He laughed bitterly, staring down at his hands. “Yeah, well, I’ve spent the last four years trying to do the impossible.”
The words hung between you.
You watched him quietly, noticing the way his shoulders sagged beneath the weight of everything he carried.
“You know that’s not your fault, right?” you whispered.
Peter finally looked at you. The expression on his face almost broke your heart.
“After May… after MJ and Ned…” He swallowed hard. “I promised myself that I would never do this again.”
“Do what?”
Peter let out a shaky breath. “Care.”
You felt your heart stop.
“Because every single person I’ve ever loved…” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I’ve lost them somehow.”
“Peter—”
“And then you showed up.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“You kept talking to me in elevators when I clearly didn’t want to talk. You kept making fun of me. You kept showing up with coffee and stupid jokes, and…” He looked at you, eyes shining in the early morning light. “Somehow, you made me forget what it felt like to be alone.”
You couldn’t speak.
“I tried to stay away from you.” He shook his head. “I really did.”
Your eyes welled with tears.
“But every time you smiled at me, every time you waited for me to come home, every time you sat next to me on that fire escape…” He laughed weakly. “It just got harder.”
The silence between you became unbearable.
And then Peter whispered the words he’d spent months trying not to feel.
“I love you.”
The world seemed to stop. Peter immediately looked away, almost like he regretted saying it.
“I know it’s selfish,” he continued quickly. “And maybe I shouldn’t have said anything because everything in my life is complicated and dangerous and honestly, I don’t even know what tomorrow looks like, but when I saw you falling—”
His voice broke.
“When I saw you falling, the only thing I could think was that I never told you.”
Peter let out a shaky breath, staring at the city because he couldn’t bear to look at your reaction.
“I love you,” he whispered again. “And that’s the scariest thing that’s happened to me in years.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you reached for his hand.
Peter looked down, almost surprised to find your fingers intertwined with his.
“Peter Parker,” you whispered, squeezing his hand, “you are such an idiot.”
He blinked. “That’s not exactly the response I was expecting.”
You laughed and shook your head. “Because I’ve been in love with you since before I even knew you were Spider-Man.”
Peter just stared.
“You brought me coffee before my exams, sat with me when I was lonely, and somehow made me feel at home in a city that never felt like mine.” You smiled softly. “I didn’t fall in love with Spider-Man.”
You stepped a little closer.
“I fell in love with the awkward guy from the elevator.”
Peter’s eyes immediately filled with tears.
And for the first time since the spell, since May, since losing everyone he’d ever loved, Peter allowed himself to believe that maybe losing people wasn’t the only ending he deserved.
He laughed shakily, pressing his forehead against yours.
when sub!peter’s arachnid hormones start causing him to act up, the change is so obvious. that little part of his brain that really wants to be dominant and be good at it is intensified by 1000%. but his brain isn’t really rewired, his actions are just skipping over the overthinking step. so he’s trying to force his brain to just focus on the simple things. you, your body, your reactions, and what he can do to pull those good reactions out of you. and he’s so focused on you and your pleasure, he almost forgets about his own.
it doesn’t take long to catch up with him, though. even while his brain is stuck on you and the breathy moans slipping from your parted lips, his body is quickly feeling overwhelmed. his dick is throbbing at the feeling of you squeezing him, his stupid spider senses causing an overload of stimulation. but he can’t stop. for months he’d wanted this. he was in control, he wasn’t feeling completely lost and awkward in his body, and most importantly, he could tell that you were fucking loving it.
still, part of him wanted to hear you say it, hear you tell him what a good job he was doing. how strong he was for continuing to fuck you into the mattress, even as tears were streaming down his face from the painful feeling of his overwhelmed senses. but he pushed through it and his instincts that told him to let you take over, letting himself be in control for once. he soaked in the feeling of your tight pussy sucking him in, completely unaware to the painfully amazing feeling it gave him.
yet his desperate whines didn’t stop from his new attitude, if anything they only got worse—and you weren’t complaining. he was rutting into you almost pathetically while moaning and muttering, “i’m gonna come. please, can i? fuck—you’re so tight, oh my god. i need to—” shooting his entire heavy load into you without a second thought, moving on pure instinct. “shit. shitshitshit, i’m so—jesus—i’m so sorry.” and he feels so so bad but he just can’t stop, not when he sees the creamy ring around his cock as he relentlessly pounds into you, how you squirm when you’re the one being overstimulated. not when he hears your moans and sees you gripping the sheets like your life depends on it while telling him, “don’t stop, oh my god. peter.”
masterlist
note someone requested this and i accidentally deleted it so i’m sorry to whoever that was but i hope this lives up to what u were thinking !!
peter eating his college gf out while she studies! ⋆ 18+ (mdni)
“go on, baby,” peter sighs between your legs, patting the side of your thigh as a gesture to redirect your attention to your notebook. “you were studying so well.”
your notebook is clenched between your fingers, the quivering grip you have on the paper starting to loosen and tighten at the same time. through your window you can see the moonlight starting to leak between the skyscrapers.
the underlined words — something that has to do with quantum physics — start to blur, and one shaky hand snakes into your boyfriend’s hair, trying to still the push and pull of his face between your thighs. “peter— uhm—”
“hm?” the brunet mumbles, the timbre of his voice vibrating through you. his lips are greased with your slick, dripping all over his chin. his eyes are set in a pussy-drunk gaze as he looks up at you, tongue rolling over your clit with gentle, yet tormenting stripes as he looks at you. “focus, baby.”
“the maximum kinetic energy—” you start to speak, your voice breathy and light as you feel peter’s tongue push into your entrance. a single, glycerine tear awaits to escape when you feel his tongue poke at your clit.
you look down and— it looks like he’s enjoying it more than you. he pushes his face further into your pussy, his cheeks against the insides of your thighs. all your thoughts are snuffed out, turned into meaningless dust when the sticky sounds of your juices cloying against peter’s tongue travel through the room. “oh my— peter—”
“y’were talkin’ about kinetic energy, right?” he ignores you, his lips closing around your pulsing bud before he gently sucks. it makes you jolt, ecstasy coursing through your veins. “tell me more, baby.”
“fuck—” you say one more time, eyes on the verge of fluttering shut as they roam over the ruled page. you can’t even register anything, read anything, understand anything you’ve written down. “something with… mass and velocity—”
you can feel a wet patch starting to form under you, peter’s sweaty hair sticking to the crease of your thighs. “reduced planck consta—” you trail off when peter moans into you. “can’t think, peter, seriously—”
with the tantalising slide of his tongue between your folds, his hot mouth on you, how the fuck are you supposed to focus on your crappy notes?
“d’awwh, c’mon beautiful,” peter mumbles, still not letting up the wet strokes of his tongue, his lips try to suck all of your juices up between his words, “know y’have it in you. always so smart f’me—” his warmer hand soothingly slides over the side of your thigh.
an excited glint in your boyfriend’s eyes twinkles back at you. “again— what about kinetic energy?”
a/n: drop reqs in my inbox and i’ll get to them after my vacation? 🤧
thinking about fucking Peter Parker and he’s just babbling incoherently and trying to get away from how tight you are!!
your leg lock him once he’s tried to get up from laying down, a manicured claw pushing down on his chest with strength that could match his.
nothing makes sense to Peter anymore. his eyes roll back once you start moving again, bouncing on top of him and rolling your hips to hit the spot inside you /so you can cum. his legs twitch, abs spasming as he writhes away from your every touch.
it’s genuinely pathetic how Peter’s mewling and sobbing at how you’re using him, it’s even more pathetic how knowing you’re using him to make yourself cum, not caring he even does, makes him even harder.
he moves again, flinching when he accidentally catches your glare. “i-i can’t!! there’s so much cum baby, i need a break, just five minutes!!”
he begs you with tears in his eyes, pleading with you to let him get a break, to catch his breathe even.
you only smile, continuing your movements as he chokes on another sobbing moan. “fuck— i can’t!! babybabybaby please!! shit, i can’t, i can’t cum anymore”
Peter just babbles on as you keep riding him, eventually shoving two fingers in his mouth to final silence his incessant rambling.
bicepsssss 🤤 you should lowkey write about a headlock. maybe peter puts reader in a head lock after she kept begging for it or his arachnid hormones make him rougher with
you should’ve known something was off with peter as soon as the door slammed when he got home, barely acknowledging you as he stepped into your shared apartment. his arachnid senses were going crazy and the way you just stared at him with doe eyes wasn’t exactly helping how needy he felt for you. it was bad as it was when the arachnid hormones weren’t sending him in overdrive, but like this, everything you did seemed to be extra arousing.
“peter? are you okay?” your soft voice registered in his mind, sitting there all pretty on the couch, brows furrowed in confusion as you got up. he could hear your heart beating faster, gasping softly as you noticed the black in his eyes and the sweat dripping from his brow.
everything was ten times more intense, from how loud your moans were—practically sounding like screams to his ears—to the sweet sensation of your warm pussy, welcoming him as you fell limp against the bed, fucked out by his relentless pace. he knew he was being rough with you which is partially why he hated fucking you when he was like this, he didn’t want to hurt you. he’d rather die than ever make you feel pain, but the sopping squelching of your pussy was the perfect reassurance that you were in anything but pain.
your glistening cunt was soaking his hand, dripping down his wrist as his fingers found that hypersensitive little button of yours, reveling in the way your body jerked forward, a throaty, cut off moan leaving your lips.
“p-peter, hmph!”
your hand snaked over to reach for his arm, whining in harmony to the squeaking of the bed as he fucked into you. “arm” you babbled, blinding grabbing at his strong limb as he continued his relentless attack on your aching clit.
delivering a sharp smack to your ass, your let out a pained, pitiful whimper. “use your words, baby, can’t read your mind.”
you forgot how mean he could get when he was possessed by those extra spider hormones, yet with how fuzzy your brain was already, it was just so hard to form words and he knew it. slowing his pace, he reached over, taking ahold of your chin, his big, rough hand cupping your jaw until he maneuvered your head to look back at him.
“cmon, pretty, i can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me, ask nicely, honey, you know how.”
his condescending tone had your eyes rolling back, mewling as incoherent babbles left your lips, trying your very best to ask for what you needed.
“c-choke!”
you managed to stutter out, earning you a gentle caress down your back, a contrast to how roughly he was fucking using you. “atta girl, that’s more like it, knew you had it in you, sweetheart.”
it wasn’t the first time you asked for him to choke you. every time you had sex for the last two weeks, you had asked begged him to be rougher and just squeeze your neck, but he always refused, too scared to hurt you with his superhuman strength. however, he was careless in this state, leaning his weight over your back as he kept your pliant on all fours, taking his cock dumbly. you’ve been on your best behavior all night, so who was he to refuse his sweet girls request?
before you knew it, he was granting your plea, with his arm tightly squeezing around your neck, head lolling into the crook of his bicep, drooling onto the sheets below you, staggered, high pitched moans leaving those glossy lips, looking utterly fucked out as he let out low groans above you.
he squeezed harder, ripping a loud yelp from your lips that would’ve been concerning if you didn’t suddenly gush around him, milking his cock as your eyes shut lazily. he could tell you were close with the way you tightened and your body tensed, more gibberish fell from your lips as he kept rubbing your puffy clit, pushing you over the edge as you came, followed shortly by his own release, leaving your pussy and thighs a creamy, sticky mess, the black in his eyes clearing as he relaxed.
as you both caught your breath, your hands came up to his forearm, gently tugging at it, a silent request to let you go and film you over. once he did, you smiled softly at him, hand coming up to cup his cheek, arching up to kiss him. pulling away, he could see the pure love and subtle concern floating in your eyes, “feel better?”
he didn’t even bother to verbally responded, scooping you up and resting his body weight on you, enveloping you in a hug as you let out a giggle, hand tangling in his hair as wrapped yourself up in him.
the two of you stayed that way, warm in each others embrace before he kissed your cheek, peeling away and muttering, “let me clean you up.” only for you to protest, pulling him back onto you and wrapping yourself slightly sweaty arms around him, “no, no, stay, want a round two anyway.”
with the blissful look on your face and the way you nuzzled into him, how could he ever deny his ever so perfect and helpful girlfriend?
Bullshit repeats itself / Is that how the saying goes? / Been here a thousand times / Selective memory though
You say we're drifting apart / I said "yeah I fucking know" / Big deal we've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow
Overview: A headass couple: people acting in a "slightly delusional, somewhat cheesy bubble," oblivious to how cringy or ridiculous they appear to others.
For some reason, you'd thought yourself to be the untouchable exception to the rule that all relationships eventually hit a rough patch. Peter and you were perfect, best friends first, and then dating. There wasn't a better match than the two of you. Except, of course, until there was. Your perfect image is shattered as you realize he's hiding more from you than you'll ever know. After a rough breakup, only one person seems able to cheer you up. A certain webbed viglinate. But, wait... why does his voice sound so familiar?
a/n: There will be the occasional ridiculous name/reference; if you catch them, they're all real (including Jumbo’s Clowns)
wc: 10.0K
They say that the best foundation for a relationship is built on friendship. And you used to believe that. When you first met Peter, it was like coming together with a missing piece of yourself. Even before the romance, the dates, the sex. When it was nothing more than something wonderfully platonic, you thought everyone was right.
But you were delusional. Your head had been too far up your ass to realize the truth of your relationship. You weren’t soulmates. You weren’t any more special than anyone else dating their best friend.
You would think, though, that being friends with someone for years would build enough respect for them not to blatantly mistreat you. To not lie to your face when they hide where they are at night. Sure, maybe other couples who didn’t know each other lied. But not you and Peter.
That’s what you thought, at least. Shows what you know.
Two Months Earlier
“Hi,” Peter rushes into your apartment, breathless and flustered as always. You get a firm kiss to the cheek before he disappears into your bedroom.
Laughing slightly, you peer around the corner and try to get a glimpse of him. “Everything okay, Petey?”
You get a slight hum of acknowledgment before he goes back to what sounds like rustling through papers. Shaking your head, you bring the popcorn bowl over to the couch and wait for him to reemerge.
It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes until he’s strolling back toward you, a slightly cocky pep to his step. You narrow your eyes at him but fail miserably at holding back a grin. “Whatcha up to, Parker?”
“Who, me?” He shrugs, playing dumb as he jumps over the back of the couch, landing on the cushion beside you. You spot something folded in his hand before he tries to hide it.
With little warning, you lunge forward, reaching for his hand. “Hey!” He jumps back, unable to hold in his laughter. “That’s cheating, you know?”
You don’t acknowledge him, grunting in frustration as he holds his hand further and further away from you. “Alright, well, what happened to no secrets?” You push, slightly embarrassed at how breathless you sound.
“Oh, wow,” his hand comes up, cupping your jaw as he pulls your face closer to his. “That’s playing dirty,” he whispers. You can’t subdue your smile, inching closer until your noses are brushing.
“You like it when I play dirty.” Peter’s eyes widen, a visible flush on his face as your lips just barely brush together. The whisper of a kiss. He was so focused on that, he failed to notice you ripping the paper from his hands.
He groans as you lean back on the couch with a triumphant grin. “You’re too easy, Parker,” you tease.
He props his chin on your knee, “Only for you.”
“Oh God, you are so cheesy.” He opens his mouth, a stupid grin on his face. You pinch his lips together and laugh, “Don’t say it again. For the sake of our relationship, please.”
You release him and he presses a quick kiss to your hand before leaning back. “Well,” he nods toward the paper in your hand. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve won?”
Excitement bubbles inside you as you unfold the small piece of paper. The print’s slightly smudged from your wrestling match, but when you bring it closer, you can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes you.
“Peter!” He’s smiling widely, posture relaxed and completely smug as you gush. “I can’t believe you managed to get tickets.”
“One of the guys in my lab knows someone at the museum. He owed me a favor,” he shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal. Like he didn’t just get you into one of the most exclusive exhibitions in Queens.
He lets out a slight grunt when you toss yourself at him, arms wrapping like a vice around the back of his neck. You can feel the exhale of a laugh as he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, arms quick to wrap around your waist.
“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to get a proper look at him. He keeps his grip firm, reluctant to let you get much further.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” he tells you and he has all the conviction of a man who really believes it.
“That’s a big promise,” you smile. “Sure you can keep it?”
“‘Course I can.” When you lean in to kiss him this time, you make sure it's real. Not the whisper of a touch, but something deeper as he pulls you into his lap completely. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how wonderful it is to be loved by Peter Parker.
“Christ,” you blow into your gloved hands and hope some of the warmth bounces back to your face. You knew it was going to be cold today, but you hadn’t thought it would be a problem. Peter had said he was going to meet you outside the museum, but it’s already been fifteen minutes and you’re losing feeling in your nose.
He does have a mind going 100MPH most days. Usually, you like to give him a leeway on timing. But it’s absolutely freezing today and snowflakes have just started falling. If you were with your boyfriend, this would be like a scene out of a romcom.
Instead, it’s about to be a nature documentary on wild stood-up girlfriends freezing in Queens tundra.
Pulling out your phone again, you bite the thumb of your glove and tug it off. You’ve sent Peter about twenty messages, none of which have even so much as gotten a ‘read.’ You try calling him this time, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear as you hurriedly tug your glove back on.
“Hey, this is Peter, you know what to do.”
You roll your eyes at his voicemail. “It’s your girlfriend, Pete. But, I swear, if you make me wait any longer in this damn snow, I’m going to be your ex.”
“Good thing you don’t have to wait.” With a squeak, you whip around to find Peter standing behind you. You slap his shoulder and he bounces back with a laugh. The tip of his nose has been nipped red by the cold and his cheeks aren’t much better.
“You’re lucky I like you,” you snap.
“Extremely,” he agrees, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. It softens you slightly. When you can feel your fingers again, you’ll consider forgiving him. He throws his arm over your shoulder, struggling slightly with the scarf triple-wrapped around you.
Glancing down to hang up the call, you see a little news notification pop up.
Spider-Man & Molten Man Spotted in Times Square
“What’re you looking at?”
You shake your head, tucking your phone away. “Nothing.”
You send him a smile that he returns eagerly. He passes the staff your tickets and opens the door for you as you step into the museum. You’d like for the first thing you appreciate to be the gorgeous mural on the wall in front of you. But you are far more interested in the blast of heat coming from the vents above.
“Oh, thank God,” you grumble, blocking the door as you greedily soak up all the warmth you can.
“Come on, bug,” Peter laughs, tugging you along so the line of people can get by. “We’ll get you an overpriced coffee at the cafe.”
“You’re paying,” you tell him sternly. “I still can’t feel my nose.”
“Deal.” Peter doesn’t hesitate, just leans down and presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. It’s the type of thing you used to see others do in public and gag.
You’d think about how you would never be one of those touchy-feely couples. Peter makes it feel so natural, though. As if you’ve been together all your life and this is just another one of your daily routines.
The giddy smile on your face is wide and can’t even be hidden behind your scarf as you lean into him. He chuckles as he pulls you closer, taking you toward the cafe. “What do you want to see first?”
“I read online that they’ve got a bunch of Monets by the south entrance, we’ll go there and then circle back to the front.”
“You’ve had this planned since you saw the tickets, haven’t you?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Since I read about the exhibit. Remind me to thank you again when we get home.”
Peter glances down, brows raised with a cheeky look on his face. You snort and push his face away. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did,” you tease. Peter laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get in line for a coffee. You don’t even feel like you need it anymore. You’ve been warmed inside-out just by Peter’s presence.
God, when did I become such a cliche?
9:50
where the hell are you
they keep talking about distillation columns and thermo-something
you know I don’t understand nerd
Checking the time on your phone for the nth time, you feel your leg begin to bounce. Something uncomfortable has tied itself around your stomach, squeezing until you can’t stand one more sip of your beer.
Peter’s labmates celebrate around you. They keep jostling each other’s shoulders, talking in technobabble. You have never felt as stupid as you did when Marcy asked you what your thoughts were on a plug flow reactor. Whatever the hell that is.
You’d just said, “Oh, yeah, they’re great.” She’d smiled and slowly backed away, eagerly jumping into the next conversation.
It’s not that they’re not nice people, but this clearly isn’t where you’re meant to be. Not without Peter, at least. You’d promised to come thinking, oh, you know, that your damn boyfriend would be here.
10:30
Peter
Please
I feel so stupid
Nausea is thick in your throat as you hunch over the bar. Peter’s friends have all moved to a table, but you didn’t feel like following. It’s not like they were talking to you anyway. They didn’t know how and you didn’t either.
“This is so stupid,” you mutter, dragging your hand down your face. You push away your empty beer and find yourself drawn to the TV, looking for any sort of distraction.
It’s the news and, of course, Spider-Man’s swinging around the city again. His suit is bright against the night sky, and there’s an odd shape on his head that’s catching the snow. Leaning forward slightly, you snort when you see he’s wearing a red beanie.
“Of course, New York gets the weirdo for a hero,” you mutter. You grimace as you watch Spider-Man get punched down by a man who looks like he’s made himself a megazord. Pulling back the sleeve of your blouse, you sigh at the time.
There’s a tight pinch in your chest as you slide off the barstool.
11:02
I’m going home
You debate saying anything else but decide not to. Tugging on your winter attire, you stop by the others’ table and bid them all goodnight. They’re nice enough to say bye, but you’re pretty sure they thought you had already left.
The wind pushes against the bar’s door as you make your way outside. Snowflakes are quick to whip at your cheeks, landing in your lashes and melting into your scarf. You pull the scarf tighter and trudge forward.
The cold isn’t bothering you any more than your absentee boyfriend is. You’ve always been gracious with Peter about being late. It’s a chronic sickness for him at this point and you’ve been around it the majority of your life.
But it feels different now that you’re dating. Waiting outside an arcade or a restaurant for a friend isn’t a big deal. But when you’re sitting on your own at a table in a crowded restaurant, that’s absolute humiliation.
He’s been dropping the ball a lot more lately and that hurts. But he hasn’t given you any other reason to worry about the state of your relationship. So, despite the sting, you’ve resolved to just swallow down the embarrassment and keep on going.
You hear a small thud behind you and your hand instinctively goes to your purse. Swallowing thickly, you keep walking, hoping it’s nothing more than your paranoia. Then you hear the crunch of snow behind you, the clear footsteps matching your pace. Your hand wraps around the mace Pete bought you and you whip around on them.
To your absolute horror, Peter’s standing behind you. He throws his hands up and lets out a nervous laugh. “Okay, an hour late is really bad, but please don’t mace me.”
You tilt your head and give him a flat look. “Two hours, actually.”
His face screws up and you cross your arms. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry.”
You shake your head and turn back around. “Forget it, Pete. Just go celebrate with your friends.”
Peter jogs to catch up with you and darts in front of you, a frown on his face. “Wait, no, come on. Why don’t you head in with me?”
You let out what can only be described as a guffaw and push past him. “And suffer through more questions about plug flow-whatever’s? Pass.”
“Plug flow reactors?”
You glare at him over your shoulder and he fails horribly at hiding the amused look on his face. “Trying to speak nerd with them was humiliating, Peter.” His face softens at that and he reaches forward to pull you closer.
Out of pure stubbornness, you should resist. But standing outside in the cold is making you desperate for Peter’s insane body heat. “Come inside, just for a little while,” he brushes a hair off your cheek and smiles softly. “I swear, I’ll teach you all our science jargon.”
You roll your eyes, but he knows he’s won when you sink into him. “You’re way too persuasive,” you snap. Peter does his best to lace your mittened hands together as he turns you back toward the bar.
“Yeah, but you love me.”
“Unfortunately,” you glare at him, but your smile gives you away.
For once in your relationship, you’re the one running late. Something you know Peter is about to take far too much joy in. He’s already sent about fifteen texts. The majority of them bemoan being all alone and then asking if this is how you always feel. Those were followed by an influx of apologies.
You’re not thinking about the texts, though, as you jog down the street. You spot Peter waiting outside the diner, leaning against the wall. He’s got his phone in his hands, fingers moving rapidly across the screen.
Sure enough, you can hear your phone ding with yet another passive-aggressive text. “Would you quit it?” You demand, completely out of breath, as you stop in front of him.
He tosses his head back dramatically and groans. “God, finally. I thought you were just going to leave me out here to freeze.”
“Would serve you right,” your brows furrow. “When’d you get this?” You flick the edge of the red beanie shoved over his hair.
Peter shrugs and readjusts it. “I dunno, I’ve had it forever.” You frown, biting your lip as you think. You swear to god you know it from somewhere, but you must’ve just seen Peter in it before and forgot.
He holds the door of the diner open for you and lets out a relieved breath as you both step into the warmth. You would feel bad for him if he hadn’t done this to you five times within two weeks.
“How come you wanted to…” The go to this place so bad trails off into a laugh. You should have known when he kept badgering you about coming here.
Plastered floor to ceiling are comic book characters, clips from the stories, and various forms of memorabilia. You’re absolutely surrounded by a hundred different fandoms, and you’re honestly surprised Peter hasn’t had a heart attack yet.
“I really should have seen this coming.”
Peter laughs and leads you over to an empty table. A busty woman with a purple leotard stares you down from where she’s painted on the wall. You give Peter a flat look and he flushes.
“I mean… the name is Strips.”
“Oh, seriously, Parker. Why would my mind immediately go to comics? I was worried you were taking me to a strip club or something.”
Peter wrinkled his nose and frowned. “That’s way too on the nose. I’d take you somewhere classy like Jumbo’s Clown Room.”
Your lips part and you just shake your head. “I don’t want to know if that’s a real place. And if it is, I don’t want to know how you found out about it.”
“Blame Flash,” he mutters as a waitress comes over with a coffee pot.
You smile and thank her as she walks away. “Oh, I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you about this, yet.” Peter perks with interest and a wide smile blooms on your face. “You know how I was trying forever to be Professor Beeter’s TA. The position never opened but,” you trail off slightly as the people behind you start getting loud.
“Oh my god, he is wrecking this place!” Frowning, you glance over your shoulder and take a look at what they’re watching. Someone’s phone is propped in the middle of the table and you see yet another ridiculous villain punching through the Chrysler building.
Rolling your eyes, you settle back in your seat. “What was I saying?”
“Um,” Peter’s leg bounces under the table and his gaze shoots toward the door. “I’m not sure.”
You frown, watching him warily as he grows more antsy. “Oh, it’s about Professor Beeter. He offered me a-”
“Sweetheart,” he interrupts you and jumps to his feet. “I’m so sorry, but I just remembered I promised I would help May today.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“What? Peter! You wanted to come here!” He’s already running out the door. You watch, astounded, as he races past the window like hell’s nipping at his heels. You sink back into your seat with a stunned expression and your heart aching.
Clearing your throat, you look up to find your waitress giving you a pitying look. She offers you a sympathetic smile that only makes you sick to your stomach. Grabbing your bag and coat, you jump out of the booth, rushing outside.
What the hell is going on with him? You think, glaring down the street where Peter had gone. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you swallow down a lump in your throat and decide to just head back home.
After his abrupt exit, you haven’t heard from Peter all day. You’ve sent him a few texts, checking in on him and asking about May, but you only got one answer before he went AWOL.
You:
Everything good with May?
Petey:
Yeah
Her pilot was out had to make sure she had heat
After that, you’ve gotten nothing from him. Also, as far as you’re aware, May doesn’t use gas for heat. Peter hooked her up with better appliances forever ago.
It’s as you’re dialing May’s number that you have to try and convince yourself you haven’t gone total psycho girlfriend. It’s perfectly normal to want to check on your boyfriend. Especially after how he was acting today. The line only rings a few times before she picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, May.”
She says your name and you practically hear the smile in your voice. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?”
“Fine,” you answer quickly. “I just wanted to be see how Pete’s doing?”
She’s silent for a moment too long. She clears her throat and you frown at the pitch of her voice. “Oh, yeah, Pete’s fine. I’d let him talk to you, but he’s busy right now.”
You hum, fingers twisting your hoodie (Peter’s hoodie) strings as your stomach ties itself into a knot. “Right. Uh, what’d he say he was helping you with, again?”
“Cleaning out the gutters. Apparently, it can be a fire hazard or something, I’m not sure.”
Your body goes cold while something venomous rushes up your throat. “Okay,” you can barely hear your own voice. “I’ll let you go, then.” You hang up before she can respond, phone slipping from your hand and clattering to the ground.
“Oh, my god,” you let out a panicked whisper, smoothing your hands over your hair as you try to think of a reasonable explanation. But there are no anniversaries, no birthdays, nothing special coming up that he might be lying about for a surprise.
You’re honestly more shocked that May would lie to you. Growing up, she’d always seemed like the type of woman to protect a girl from sleaze-bag boyfriends.
So maybe that means Pete isn’t doing anything bad. Maybe she’s covering for him for a good reason.
So, why can't you think of one damn reason May would lie to you?
You don’t want to start spiraling for no reason. People lie, not just boyfriends, and not always for insidious reasons. Plucking your phone off the floor, you call Gwen. She’s usually good at pulling you out of your head when you start getting bad.
The phone rings a few times before she finally answers. “Hey, what’s up?”
You frown and cross your arms across your stomach, trying to keep the nausea down. “Why do you sound so out of breath?”
“What?” She clears her throat but that only makes her sound worse. “No, I’m not. Did you need something?”
“Uh,” slightly taken aback by her tone, you struggle to find the right words.
“Gwen!” Your heart beats ruthlessly against your ribs as your entire body stills.
“Is that Peter?” You know it is. You could pick his voice out of a crowd if you were blindfolded.
Gwen lets out a tense hum. “Yeah, it is. Uh, he was helping me with some chem stuff. So, I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?”
She’s hanging up before you can say anything else. Your hands are trembling as you set your phone on the table. Squeezing your throat to try and keep the lump back, you shake your head.
There’s a reasonable explanation for everything. Right?
The nausea’s still coiled tight around you by the time Peter gets to your apartment. Your eyes are staring blankly at the wall, the only light coming from your window. You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there. Trying and failing to sleep as you consider all the reasons Peter might have lied to you.
Why he would be with Gwen instead of you.
You hear him padding through the hall and shut your eyes, tugging the blanket slightly over your head.
“Bug?” He calls softly. He’s quiet as he approaches the bed. He brushes a hair off your cheek and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “You awake?”
Part of you wants to tell the truth. She wants to spring up and start laying into him, demanding to know why he lied. And the other half, she’s a coward. So, you stay curled into a ball, eyes closed, and pretending like you’re not falling apart.
Peter lets out a low groan as he settles in your bed behind you. It takes everything in you not to jerk away when he wraps his arm around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. The last thing you want right now is to have him touching you. But saying that requires being awake.
And that’s more painful than a sleepless night.
Peter wakes up slowly, his body aching after last night. He’s not sure who decided a “living robot” was a good idea. But his ribs are paying the price.
Stretching, he ignores the twinge of pain along his side. His arm gropes blindly along the sheets, searching for you, for your warmth. When his fingers brush against the wall, he reluctantly opens his eyes.
He frowns when he realizes you’re not in bed beside him. Turning toward the rest of the apartment, he doesn’t hear you. You’re not in the shower or humming in the kitchen.
With something cold settling inside him, he gets out of bed. “Sweetheart?” He calls out, hoping to hear you answer. It’s Saturday, and while it’s never been something you’ve both spoken aloud, traditionally, you spend all day in bed together. Just crashing from stressful weeks and overloaded uni schedules.
“Bug?” He tries again, wandering through your apartment. He already knows, deep down, that you’re not in here. But he doesn’t want to accept it. He’s barely had any time for you this week and he was really looking forward to just being lazy with you all day.
In the kitchen, pinned to your fridge, he finds a pink note with his name on it.
Prof. Beeter asked me to come in. Someone messed up last week’s research log
Should be home for lunch <3
The only thing stopping him from spiraling is the little heart at the bottom of the note. He knows it’s silly, but he’s slightly worried that you’re mad at him. He can’t explain where the feelings are coming from, but it's gnawing along the back of his mind.
Peter glances at the clock and groans. It’s only 9, and lunch to you is usually 2 O’Clock. He’s not sure if he’s patient enough to last that long. Peter glances at the note again and leaves it on the counter to go get dressed.
He had Professor Beeter last semester and they got along pretty well. He’s sure the older man wouldn’t mind Peter bugging you for a little while.
Still heavy with the feeling that he’s done something wrong, Peter brought along your favorite sweet treat from the cafe on campus. Hopefully, that will soothe his worries and give you a boost for the day. He knows you look forward to Saturdays just as much as he does.
Peter’s heading toward the lecture hall when his brain finally catches up with the rest of your note. What research were you talking about? You hadn’t told him you were a part of any projects.
He’s always yapping to you about his labs. He figured you would do the same. Maybe it’s new, he thinks.
Pushing open the door, he spots you immediately. You’re at a desk, papers and books piling all around you. There are three other people with you, each of whom he has a vague recollection of.
“I mean, I don’t even know how we’re supposed to salvage this.” Your voice sounds strained, completely pulled taut. Peter frowns, wishing he could just take your problems and shoulder them for you.
“It’ll be okay,” one of the girls assures you.
You finally lift your head from your hands. “Twelve pages with zero references, we’re going to be at this all damn day.” Peter draws back slightly, suddenly wondering if this is such a good idea.
He knows how testy you can get about school. Especially major projects. Sometimes just leaving you alone seems to work better than smothering. But, then, before he can back out, one of the girls, he thinks her name’s Mila, catches sight of him.
“Peter?” She calls out. Your eyes instantly snap to him. If he thought you were angry at him before, he does not feel any better now. Your gaze is sharp, lips in a flat line, and there’s absolutely nothing on your face except perpetual irritation.
“What’re you doing here?” You snap and your voice is way sharper than he was expecting. Holding his hands up slightly, he approaches slowly. He doesn’t want to treat his girlfriend like a stray dog, but you look ready to go for someone’s jugular.
“I thought you might want something to eat. Figured you didn’t have any time before you left to get something.”
Mila and the other girl both aw over him and it gives him the briefest amount of hope. But then you’re shoving out of your chair and storming toward him. Peter swallows roughly as you approach. He almost wishes he were fighting that living-fire guy right now.
You snatch his sleeve in your hand and drag him back toward the door. “Peter, why are you here?” You demand, voice lowered so the others can't hear.
He frowns and shrugs helplessly. “It’s Saturday, we always spend Saturday together.”
You cross your arms, a sharp, derisive look on your face. Okay, definitely mad. “Oh, so you can remember dates now? What’s next? Are you going to show up on time for once?”
“Hey,” he objects, hoping to lighten the mood. “I was on time yesterday.”
Your eyes narrow and something on your face goes blank. He can’t place it exactly, but it’s like there’s a wall where he can usually read you so well. “Yeah, doesn’t count if you ditch me ten minutes later, babe.”
The venom in your voice makes him take a step back. He looks down, knowing you’re right. But he doesn’t want you any more mad than you are, instead of addressing it, he nods toward your desk.
“What’s going on here?”
“We’re working on the dementia research project with Professor Beeter.”
Peter wants to light up, to hug you, and congratulate you for finally getting an in with the professor you’ve been trying to work with since last year. But you deliver him the news so flatly he feels like you’d only get more mad.
“You didn’t tell me about that,” he says instead. Which is very clearly the wrong answer, by the way you back off with a sharp scoff.
“I’m not sure when I would have, Peter. I got placed two weeks ago and I haven’t seen you for more than an hour since then. Besides, when I tried to tell you yesterday, you fucking bolted to May’s.” You pause, and your lips curl up into something cruel. “Or was it Gwen’s place? Sorry, I can’t remember which lie you bullshited your way through.”
Peter feels his heart drop to his feet. It’s like a film goes over his eyes as his mind scrambles for any explanation that isn’t ‘I was busy beating up a robot with a weird, creepy human brain in it.’ Because he’s pretty sure that would be grounds enough for you to dump him right now.
You really don’t give him a chance, either way. You snatch the bag from his hand and the smile drops from your face. “Thanks for the visit. You can go now.” You turn back toward your teammates without another look at him. “Hungry?” You call out to Mila.
She gives a hesitant nod and you toss Peter’s pastry at her. “Dig in.” Even when you sit down, you don’t look up from your books. Not even a twitch as he opens the door.
Peter walks out, still slightly numb from the whole… argument? Did that even count as an argument? Or was that just you finally calling him out?
You’ve let him get away with a lot and maybe he took advantage of that, but he’s worried you might have the wrong idea. He doesn’t know why you would bring up Gwen, but the tone of your voice was so accusatory that he feels sick to his stomach.
Yes, he was at her house last night. But that’s because he needed to be stitched up. She’s known about Spider-Man since high school. It was either bleed out or have her use her beginner's sewing kit.
Peter lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair restlessly. You’ve both gotten into worse fights before. It’s not like you were a perfect couple. Surely, you could find a way to get over this. He just needs a half-decent excuse for his lying.
Peter perks up as he hears you step into the apartment. He glances at the clock and grimaces. You’re going to be pissed that you had to stay there until 6, fixing someone else’s screwup. When you round the corner and see him, he hears you let out one of the most exhausted noises he’s ever heard from you.
“Peter,” he finally turns to meet your eye. “Why are you here?”
His chest clenches as he forces a smile. “I figured you would be hungry.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you ever at your own place?”
Ouch. “I just wanted to make you dinner. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as it’s done, bug.”
You shrug off your jacket and take a seat at the kitchen island. Peter takes your silence as agreement and goes back to stirring the pasta. When you speak again, his ears practically touch his shoulders. This dreadful feeling in his stomach has just been mounting all day. He feels ready to vibrate out of his own skin.
“Peter, where were you last night? I want the truth.”
Peter’s hand clenches around the spoon and he keeps his back to you. “Went over to May’s to help around the house and then I saw Gwen.”
You let out a loud scoff and your hands slap against the counter. “Did you all get your stories straight? Am I hearing the right lie, now?”
Peter drops the spoon and turns to face you. He expects anger, maybe sadness. But you’re not giving him anything. You’re just… cold and Peter hates it. He’s seen you use that look before. It’s always been directed at people you don’t care about. You don’t hate them, you don’t love them, you just… don’t care. He doesn’t want to be someone you don’t care about. He can’t be.
“Look me in the eye,” you command. “Tell me the truth.”
Peter takes in a steadying breath, doing his best not to make it obvious. “Sweetheart, I swear, I went to help May with the heat and the gutters. Gwen called and she needed my help on her chemistry project. I’m sorry that I got home late-”
“I can’t,” you clear your throat and the way your voice cracks makes his heart ache. “I can’t believe that you’re just going to stand there and lie to me.”
He shakes his head and takes a desperate step forward. “No, bug, I’m-”
You hold your hand up and his jaw snaps shut. “You’ve talked Peter, now it’s my turn. I have put up with a lot from you. If anyone treated me the way you do, you know what you would tell me?”
He opens his mouth and you shoot him a look that makes him shrink into himself. “Do not answer that, I am still talking. You would tell me to cut them out. If someone doesn’t respect my time, my dates, if they lie straight to my fucking face, then that’s not someone who deserves to be in my life. You are never on time, if you even show up at all.”
He wants to object, he really does, but he knows you’re right. Still, you must sense his apprehension. “Scroll through our texts from the past two months. It’s just a block of me asking where you are and telling you how stupid I feel. Then you show up, make everything better, and I just let you get away with it. Because I have known and loved you for so long, I let you disrespect me. I can handle missing dates, I can handle not being on time, always being at my place and never letting me over at yours. But I can’t do this, I can’t just swallow down you lying straight to my face. Getting your aunt and my best friend involved in this is sick, Pete. What do you expect me to think when Gwen’s lying about why you’re at her place?”
“No, sweetheart,” he finally speaks, rushing toward you, voice breaking on something desperate. He reaches for you, but you jerk back and he swears something cracks open inside him. “I would never.”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Why would I ever believe you?”
Peter flounders. He tries to think of anything. Anything that isn’t a lie and isn’t the truth about who he is. But his mind is blank. The panic flooding through him is overriding anything that might get you back, might get you in his arms again.
You suck your teeth and give him a jerky nod. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder, he might actually cry.
“I think this has been happening for a long time, Peter. It’s just your first time realizing it.”
No, no, he can’t handle that. He can’t handle knowing that this awful, barbed feeling ripping through him is how he’s made you feel for so long. But he can’t just spill his guts and tell you everything.
Right after Gwen had discovered him, it was like the bad guys had a missile lock on her. She kept getting thrown into danger, nearly dying, because of him. He can’t be the reason you get hurt. He can’t live with that.
But he’s hurting you either way and for once, he can’t think of a way to make this all smooth over.
You take in a sharp breath and turn away from him. You walk to the stove, turning off the burner as the food begins to smoke. “I think you should go, Peter.”
“Bug,” but he doesn’t have anything to say and you still won’t look at him. He just wants you to look at him. He feels as if you did, if you saw how sorry he was, something here might be fixed.
“I’m going to take a shower. When I’m done, I expect you to be gone.” You toss the pot in the sink and head down the hall, not another word spared for him. And Peter…
He just spirals. Every mistake, every time he showed up late, just pummels into him as he realizes this is all his fault.
You turned off your phone yesterday. The missed calls and texts from Peter were bordering on obnoxious and you couldn’t take it anymore. Even Gwen kept trying to call you. Kept texting you that it’s not what you think.
But did they ever offer any other explanation?
No, they fucking didn’t.
So, not only did you lose your boyfriend, the man you’ve been in love with as long as you’ve known him. You also lost your best friend.
Best. Week. Ever.
Sick of being sad in your bed, you decide to go be sad outside. Maybe just grab a pint of ice cream from the bodega and lock yourself inside your apartment for the rest of your life. That sounds like a decent plan.
Leaving your phone, you grab your keys and some cash. It’s still cold outside, though the snow has calmed down a little bit. It soaks through your tennis shoes, now, seeps along the hem of your sweatpants. No part of you can be bothered to care about that as you trudge toward the shop.
It’s unusually quiet as you walk inside. Usually it’s a lot busier this time of night. Maybe the universe decided to give you a break.
Digging through the freezer section, you frown when you don’t see your favorite flavor. You turn toward the shop owner, Al, who has gotten used to you coming down here the past few days. “You guys don’t have any more Turtlesaurus Rex?”
Al’s silent and you frown, finally turning to fully face him. A man in a black jacket lingers by the counter, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Al gives you a tense smile, and your brows furrow as dread picks at you.
“All out. Maurie down the street might have some.” There’s something about how wide his eyes are that’s making you think you probably should have brought your phone. Especially because you definitely just saw the handle of a gun in that man’s jacket and you really need to call the cops. (Even though they probably won’t do anything.)
“Yeah, I’ll go check over there.”
“Have a good night.”
You try not to sound stiff as you return the sentiment. But you’ve barely made it to the door when you hear the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back.
“You think I’m stupid?” What a wonderful time this would be for a freak in red and blue spandex to show up.
You turn slowly and shake your head, absolutely zero idea how to defuse this.
“I think the lady’s just being polite. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone encapsulate the term ‘mouth-breather’ so well.”
Your eyes widen, and you whip around to see Spider-Man standing at the entrance of the bodega. What the fuck is your life?
“Hey, jackass,” you hiss, and his head whips toward you. “Who’s he pointing the gun at?”
Spider-Man shrugs, “What gun?” You barely have a second to blink before a thick white string is twhip-ing past you and jerking the gun out of the man’s hands.
“Smartass,” you mutter under your breath.
“I think you mean, ‘thank you, Spider-Man for saving my life,’” you shoot him a flat look and walk out of the bodega. Maybe it’s time to just accept that you’re not meant to be in the outside world. You’re better off cocooned in your bed.
There are no robbers there. No cheating boyfriends and conniving best friends.
About a minute later, you hear rapid footsteps approaching. “I don’t have a purse, phone, or wallet.”
“Wow, great mugger-deterrent. I totally don’t want to rob you now.”
You plant your feet in the snow and hear Spider-Man let out a sharp breath as he skids around you. “I thought you were the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Not the quippy, neighborhood pervert who follows girls around at night.”
Spider-Man lets out a noise that can only be described as a guffaw. “I’m making sure you get home safely. Since clearly you don’t care. I mean, who walks around this late at night without mace at least?”
“Me,” you tell him flatly.
“Pretty girls shouldn’t be walking around here on their own.”
Your lips curl and you gag as you continue toward your apartment. “Okay, first of all, totally not helping with your creep angle.” He groans and you almost laugh at the defeated sound. “Also, I’m fresh off a break-up, so keep the compliments to yourself.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Spider-Man quickly jumps in front of you and you frown as he blocks your way. “Breakup,” his voice is pitched so high, you swear it almost sounds familiar. “You broke up with someone?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“R-really?” He tries to lean against a lamppost, slips, and then straightens awkwardly like he meant to do that. “Because you know sometimes people think that it’s just a break and not a breakup, you know? Big difference. Are you sure this isn’t just a break?”
He’s talking so rapidly you can barely understand him. It doesn’t help that he’s got that mask on, so you can’t try to catch the words on his lips to decipher them. You think you might have gotten half of that word-vomit.
“Well, I’m the one who did it. I feel like I should know.”
“Does he?” He holds up his hands, quick to correct himself. “Or she? Spider-Man doesn’t judge.”
“Oh, good to know, he’s a pervert, but at least he’s an ally.” You push past him. “Look, if he doesn’t know, then he’s a lot stupider than I gave him credit for.”
You hear a low, “Ouch,” behind you and figure you might be being a tad harsh about Peter. But what the hell would Spider-Man care?
“You know,” Spider-Man continues after you.
Jesus, he’s like a damn dog.
“I’ve always believed that everyone deserves a second chance.”
You glare over at him and swear you see the eyes of his mask turn down. You’ve never seen a mask emote before; it’s incredibly bizarre. “Do they deserve a second chance after sleeping with your best friend?”
Spider-Man shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you have evidence that it happened, though?”
“Dude,” you snap. “What do you care? And what other evidence would I need besides the fact that he wouldn’t tell me the truth? If there was nothing to hide, why would he continue to hide shit?”
You hear his inhale of breath and shake your head, holding your hands up. “No, you know what, no. Alright? I didn’t get my Turtlesaurus Rex and I am not going to listen to some weirdo in a unitard give me relationship advice.”
“Unitard?” He scoffs. “I’m not a weirdo.”
“Oh, yeah?” You call over your shoulder. “Then stop following me home!” It takes a few minutes to believe he’s actually gone and you can finally breathe again. What weird ass fever dream was your life turning into?
You sit on the ledge of your roof’s building, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You’re scrolling through all the texts Peter’s sent you in the last three hours. There are at least fifty of them. But it’s the one at the end that really catches your eye.
Is this really it? Are we done? Bug-
You stop reading at the nickname and put your phone down. Reluctantly, Spider-Man’s words from the other night pop into your head. Some people think it's a break, not a breakup.
How could Peter not have gotten the message by now?
“Fancy meeting you here.”
You let out a screech and jolt forward. Arms winding wildly as you try to regain your balance. The city tilts below you until something’s latched onto the back of your shirt and you’re suddenly being pulled into a firm chest.
“Why would you sit on the edge?” Again, his voice gets an impressively shrill pitch.
Shoving away from him, you whip around and slap his shoulder. “Why would you scare someone sitting on the edge?”
You can hear his sharp intake of breath before his argument fizzles out. “That’s what I thought Spider-Boy-”
“Man.”
“Whatever.” You walk back to the edge and rewrap yourself in your blanket. With a pointed glare over your shoulder, you hop right back on your perch. Spider-Man lets out a world-weary sigh before he jumps up beside you.
“You know,” he drawls. “Most people say thank you when a superhero saves you.”
“Oh,” you laugh. “Is that what you are, now? A superhero?”
“Dude. What is your problem?” His voice goes so flat, all humor sucked out of it, that, for some weird reason, it’s the first thing he’s said to get a real laugh out of you. He seems just as confused as you are if the way he tosses his hands up means anything.
“I cannot figure you out.”
You shake your head and brush a stray curl from your eyes. “It’s not you, Bugboy-”
“Rude.”
“It’s life,” you spread your palms out, gesturing to the sprawling city across from you. “Just broke up with the love of my life. Lost my bestie. The research project I’ve been trying to join for a year is falling apart at the seams. Oh, and I almost got shot yesterday.”
You point your face to the sky and let out a dramatic sigh. “God hates me.”
There’s a light nudge on your arm and you look over to see that Spider-Man’s moved closer to you. “God doesn’t hate you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t let you get shot. I’d say that’s pretty damn lucky.” You snort and from the mask, you think he’s… pleased? It’s really hard to tell.
“I guess that’s fair.”
Spider-Man lets out a satisfied hum as he turns to the city. “You gotta stop being so hard on yourself, bug.”
Your entire body goes still. Your eyes widen as they stare down at your lap, adrenaline rushing through your blood as you turn toward Spider-Man. “What’d you say?” You ask, voice so low you’re surprised he even registers it.
He shrugs, “I said to stop being so hard on yourself.”
“No, you called me something. What’d you call me?”
“Bug,” Spider-Man drawls and you swear you’re going crazy because that voice is painfully familiar. “You called me Bugboy, I thought it would be fair.”
It’s too hard to distinguish whether this swooping feeling in your stomach is relief or disappointment. And you hate yourself for not knowing which one you want it to be.
“Right,” you scoff and rub your eyes. “I’m going crazy, now.”
Spider-Man lets out a long sigh as he watches you. “You kind of seem like you’re having a mental breakdown. Maybe, I don’t know, get off the edge of the very tall building.”
“Oh, don’t tell me Bugboy’s got a crush.”
Your lips curl at his scoff. “You’re impossible.”
Feeling only slightly guilty for the hell you’ve given him, you slip off the edge and get your feet planted firmly on the ground. “Better?”
He surveys you suspiciously before nodding. You pick your phone up off the ledge and, for some reason, are compelled to open up the texts with Peter. You should have guessed how nosey Spider-Man was going to be about it.
“That the ex?”
You shoot him a flat look as he kicks his legs over the ledge. “Yeah. That’s the ex.”
“So, what are you going to tell him?” He motions toward the last text. “Break or breakup?” Your mind snags on how Peter called you bug and Spider-Man’s weird slip-up before you force yourself to dispel the thoughts.
“Breakup. I guess I should have made it more clear.” Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you shoot Spider-Man a look. His back has gone weirdly tense and you frown. “Hey, you’re a guy. How’s the nicest way to tell him it’s done.”
“Don’t.” His voice is clipped, almost angry. “He’ll get the hint. Trust me.”
Your brows furrow as you eye him warily. “Are you okay?”
“Gotta go. Superhero business, you know?” You shrug, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s already leaping off the ledge, thwip-ing his way to the building across from yours.
“Weirdo,” you scoff.
You figured that after Spider-Man’s abrupt departure on the roof, that would be the end of it. But, no, it’s only gotten worse for you. He’s everywhere now. He’s somehow more consistent than your ex ever was.
Walking home from late research sections, look who wants to be a walking buddy.
Heading to the bodega for a midnight snack, somehow, Spider-Man had the same idea.
Your life is now a Sunday comic strip in the paper. It’s like there’s some sadistic artist out there exploiting your misery for humor. It’s not just him, either. It’s the month. In all your drama with Peter, you’d failed to keep up with the dates.
Now, freshly single for the first time in a couple of years, you sit alone preparing yourself for the next week. Valentine’s Day is Saturday, which means suffering through pink streamers all over campus and girls walking around with gift baskets lovingly curated by their boyfriends.
“I don’t like how often I find you on this ledge.”
You spare a glance over your shoulder and smile. “I don’t like that you still haven’t learned not to scare me.”
“Touche,” Spider-Man breathes out, taking quick strides toward you. “You seem tense. Feel like sharing? I’m a great listener.”
“Nothing big, just Valentine’s Day. I’ve had a boyfriend for so long I forgot how bitter and annoying it is for single people.”
“Tell me about it,” he sighs.
“Really? The Spider-Man is single?”
“I appreciate the surprise in your voice, no matter how forced it is.” You let out a wry chuckle and you swear you can hear a smile in his laugh.
“Probably a good thing, though. I can’t imagine any girlfriend would be happy with the amount of time you spend on this ledge with me.”
“No,” he agrees, “probably not.” The next noise he lets out is soft, tired in the kind of way that resonates with you. For the most part, your interactions are shallow. There’s banter, stupid quips, and then he’s off. You don’t usually hear something so real from him.
“Freshly single?” You ask. His head whips toward you and you shrug. “I recognize the misery of your sigh. It resonates within my withered heart.”
Spider-Man swats your shoulder lightly and you grin. “Yeah, it’s fresh. I still don’t think I’ve accepted it.”
You prop your chin in your hand and smile at him. “What level of not accepted are we talking here? Stalking? Or just crying over Instagram posts?”
Spider-Man goes quiet and you pull back. He recognizes the suspicion on your face and waves his hands. “No, no, no, this doesn’t count as stalking. Not really. I mean, it’s consensual?”
He sounds more unsure of himself at the end than you did. “Let's just not talk about that,” you offer. “I don’t think I want to know what your idea of consensual stalking is.” Spider-Man snorts and you shake your head.
A billboard across from you catches your eye. It’s Gwen’s favorite band, an announcement that they’ll be coming through soon. There’s a sharp ache in your chest when you remember you can’t just text her about stuff like that anymore.
“Gwen would love that,” you say, almost without thinking.
But what’s worse is when the man beside you doesn’t think either. “Oh, yeah, she would.”
Consensual
Stalking
Oh. My. God.
Your entire body stiffens as you turn to Spider-Man/maybe your ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to realize his slip-up and that just makes you freeze up. You don’t know what to do. You can’t just blindly accuse him of being Peter. If you start hinting at secret identities, he might stop talking to you.
Loathe as you are to admit it, you’ve begun to enjoy his company. The main reason being he reminded you of how it was with Peter before you guys started dating.
Oh, Jesus, you’re gonna throw up off the ledge of your building. When the pavement below seems to swim up to you, it’s time to slip off the ledge. Slowly, fighting off the vertigo of your discovery, you drop back to safety.
Spider-Man watches you, head tilted in question. “Um, I have to go.” You search for an excuse, but none comes. “Yeah, I have to go.”
“Oh,” he seems taken aback, but doesn’t comment. “Alright. I’ll see you later?”
You let out a noise between a hum and a squeal as you rush back into your apartment building. Your mind is racing while you scramble through the door of your apartment. Like a detective, you flit through different memories, red string connecting each one as you start to line up Peter’s disappearances with Spider-Man's greatest hits.
Every missed date, every time he showed up late, it was all right there. But you never thought to connect it because… Well, why would you? Peter is Peter. He’s not a superhero. He definitely doesn’t have webs. Please, don’t let him have webs.
Scrambling for your phone, you dial the first number you can think of. It’s barely ringing before it’s getting picked up. “Gwen,” your voice is incredibly shaky as you try to calm yourself down. “I’m going to ask you something and if you don’t tell me the truth, we’re never talking again.”
Spider-Man/Peter Parker/ex-boyfriend-
No, no, too many titles. Peter has not been around in the past week. Not as his alter ego, and not at his lectures. Unfortunately, a lot of your schedule seems to intersect and the majority of your day is spent hiding in a hoodie and trying not to make eye contact.
But there hasn’t been any of that at all this week.
Maybe Gwen told him you know. He’s probably losing his mind right now.
But, no, she swore she wouldn’t and you know she’s not going to risk hurting your friendship again. Though you did profusely apologize for ever thinking that she could do that to you. And then she berated you about thinking she would ever be attracted to Peter.
Which… Ouch.
It’s Saturday, which used to mean days spent with him. Instead, it now means watching people get all mushy on Valentine’s Day. That used to be you, disgustingly in love, kissing way more than you should in public.
Now, you watch it all on the subway with that same old glare you used to have before Peter. You’re thinking about him a lot more than you want to. Especially given that he’s supposed to be an ex.
After your long speech on respect and boundaries and honesty, you should be completely over him. But it sort of makes sense now. Especially after Gwen told you what happened to her when she found out about him.
Peter wanted to protect you. You can understand that. But it doesn’t just erase all of the pain you felt while you were in the dark. You let out a low groan, ignoring the people around you as you walk home. You just keep going in circles over and over again.
The streets around you begin to thin out the closer to home you get. You’re still so deep in thought, you don’t notice the man dangling in front of you until your forehead is smacking into his.
“Ow,” you hiss, pressing your palm to the bruise that’s probably already forming. Backing up, Spider-Man, Peter, is dangling from the small overpass, upside down, as he waits for you.
“Dude,” you drawl. “How long have you just been hanging out here?”
He shrugs, “An hour, maybe.” Only in Queens would people pass by a dangling man in spandex and not question a thing.
One of his hands is tucked behind his back, and the other is holding onto his webbing. “Here,” he says. “I’ve got something for you.”
He untucks his free hand and passes you a bright pink, smothered in glitter, Valentine's Day card. You can hear his proud smile as he asks, “Be my Valentine?”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you shake your head with a low laugh. This is the dork you fell in love with. The boy you swore you would follow anywhere. It’s not his fault he’s such an idiot, not really.
Something soothes the ever permanent ache in your heart as you imagine the smile he’s probably got plastered on face. God, you bet he’s so proud of himself for this silly little Valentine.
A deep longing echoes through you and you reach up, going for the edge of his mask, when he reels back. “What’re you-”
“Relax, Parker,” you whisper. He goes completely still and you take hold of the mask.
“Did Gwen tell you?”
“You did, dumbass. You know, you’re really bad at the whole secret identity thing when it comes to consensually stalking your ex.” He lets out a low groan as you peel down his mask, just enough for his lips to be visible.
Pulling back, you take his face in your hands and smile. “Do you want me as your Valentine, or not?”
“What do you think, bug?” With a soft laugh, you lean forward and press your lips to his. It takes a second to get the angle right, what with his chin brushing your nose and all. But you don’t need perfect, you just need him.
Pulling back, he’s got a goofy grin on his face and you smirk. “Parker?” He hums as you fix his mask. “If you ever lie to me again, I’ll cut a hole in the crotch of your unitard. Or, worse second option, I’ll tell Jonah Jameson where you live. Got it?”
He goes still and you raise a brow. “You’re not joking?” You shake your head, expression flat. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Smiling, you press a kiss to his cheek and step back. “Be home by six,” you tell him. “And bring some takeout.” You walk around him as he swings himself back up to the top of the overpass.
“I love you!” He calls after you.
“I know you do, Bugboy!”
𝘞𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘜𝘱 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 ♥︎
⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻
⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵
💿 We've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow 💿
a/n: this was meant to be angstier but, well, I started writing him in the Spider-Man “voice” and folded like a wet paper towel
