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.
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
would love to see some aftercare w tasm!peter where reader is just soo sleepy and he is so tender <3 i adore the way you write him
Thank you for requesting!
cw: mature themes (mdni please), afab reader
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 551 words
Peter might be a pervert for thinking you’re most beautiful like this, but he’s not that worried about it.
Maybe he is a pervert. It’s only for you, specifically, so whatever. He has a feeling you’ll forgive him.
You’re lying on the bed, your limbs lax now, like the last hour or so has taken it out of you so completely that you can’t move a muscle. Peter loves that he gets you like this. Completely unselfconscious. Your lips are kissed swollen, and there are little love marks on your chest to match the ones on Peter’s neck and shoulders, and your eyelids are as droopy as if they have weights sewn into them. He loves to get you like this too; completely tuckered out.
You rouse enough to hiss when Peter brings a wet washcloth between your thighs.
“Hey,” you say, almost scolding. It makes a laugh bubble up in Peter’s chest, which he generously swallows.
“Sorry.” He tucks his grin inside your knee, kissing softly. “I’ll be quick.”
He sweeps the cloth through your folds, and you hiss again, one leg coming up protectively as though you can’t help it. Now, Peter frowns.
“Is it really that sensitive?” he asks you.
He guesses he couldn’t blame you. You and Peter spent more time teasing each other tonight than you have in a while, and you weren’t exactly begging him to go easy on you. Your labia are as kiss-swollen as your mouth, maybe more.
The look you give him says you know he knows. “Yeah.” You heave a sigh, like speech is exhausting, your eyes drifting shut again. “I’m sore all over. Aren't you?”
Peter is, but he also spends his free time doing acrobatics and heaving himself around by his arms. If he twinged a bit walking to the bathroom and back, he bets you’re feeling worse.
He rubs over your hip consolingly. “Wanna take a bath?”
You think on it for a while. You’re tempted, Peter can tell. “I don’t feel like getting up.”
“I’ll carry you.”
You hum somnolently. “Thanks, but you…” You fumble for Peter’s hand. When you find it, you squeeze his fingers, his sweetheart. Peter squeezes back. “You have to get up early for work.”
“Yeah, but I don’t mind.” He catches his voice softening, as if he’s trying not to disturb your sleep when really he’s trying to keep you awake. He doesn’t do anything to correct it. “I’ll have coffee either way. Let me give you a bath, pretty girl.”
It’s a visible effort to open your eyes. You look at Peter like he hung the moon. “Sure?”
He grins. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You’d do that?”
Peter groans, his head dropping to your leg. He lets his voice buzz against your skin. “Are you serious? God, I know you’re tired, but let’s use our brains for a second.”
He picks his head up to take yours between his hands. You look slightly more awake than you were a moment ago.
“I would do anything for you,” he says. “Got it?”
Peter watches your surprise meld into a more startled kind of pleasure. He kisses it right off your lips.
“Dramatic,” you accuse, settling back into your pillow as Peter stands to start your bath.
Summary: You discover Peter’s secret identity after inviting him upstairs to tour your new apartment.
Content Warnings: Kissing, grinding/dry humping, mentions of a suit kink(?), use of "good girl," and implied sex.
Author's Note: Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's song by the same name! Please let me know if you liked this and would like to see more! Comments, reblogs, or even asks are always appreciated. Hope you all enjoy <3
TASM!Peter Parker Masterlist
“Thank you for dinner, baby. I had a really great time.”
The corner of Peter’s mouth curves up into a smile, fully registering your words and gently squeezing your hand. “I’m glad. I know it was last minute, but after they closed the lab for cleaning, I figured I could seize the opportunity to see my girl.”
“Your girl?” You could see his smile widen in your periphery as you questioned his choice of words.
“My girl.” He repeats, dropping your hand and pulling you in by the waist until you are tucked into his side. “Definitely my girl.”
You lean into his side, “For a man who’s only taken me on four dates, you’re really staking your claim.”
“Well, you didn’t seem to mind being my girl after our last date,” he teases, craning his head down just enough to whisper in your ear, “My good girl, if I recall correctly.”
“Peter!” You scold, smacking his chest as the heat of memory creeps up your neck.
“It’s true!” He muses, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Plus, you call me baby. I think calling you my girl is fair game.”
A rebuttal rests on the tip of your tongue. If this were any other date with any other guy, you would’ve shot down the playful possessiveness. But this wasn’t any other date with any other guy; this was a date with Peter: your friend and the guy you’ve had a crush on since Betty introduced you to him at the Daily Bugle’s holiday party two years ago. Being his girl was a title you wanted, and if he was willingly bestowing it upon you, you saw no reason to argue against it. “I suppose it is.”
He hums in response, clearly satisfied with your answer. “I forgot to ask, have you been to the restaurant before?”
You shake your head as the two turn the corner onto your street, “I have not. I’ve been wanting to since I moved into the neighborhood, but hadn't had the chance until you suggested I choose the spot when you called.”
Peter nods and gives your waist a soft squeeze. “I’m glad we got to try it together. I also had a really great time.”
“Did you, now?”
“I’m with you, how could I not have a good time?”
“Sweet talker,” you playfully accuse, stepping forward once the red hand of the walking sign changes to the person walking.
“Sweet enough to come upstairs and see your new apartment?”
You raise your eyebrows at him, pleasantly surprised by his ask. “You helped me move in, Pete. You’ve seen my place.”
“But I haven’t seen the place since you furnished it,” he counters.
“I see…so you want the house tour?” You tease as you reach the entrance to your apartment building.
“I want whatever you’ll let me have, sweetheart.”
You brace against the brick wall, turning to face him, taking the time to admire the way he looks under the golden glow of the street lights. There was something so romantic about the way he looked standing in front of you in a half-zipped puffer jacket that exposed the white button up and tie he had on underneath, cheeks and nose a little red from the cold air nipping at his face, with his fluffy hair left unstyled in the perfectly messy way it always was. “And if all I want is for you to come inside?”
Peter grins at your question, stepping closer and resting his hands on your hips. “What are we waiting for then? Lead the way.”
—
“Take your shoes off, baby. House rules.” You tell him as you unlock the door to your apartment, step inside, and turn on the lights
Peter shuts the door behind him, kicking his shoes and neatly placing them in front of your shoe rack. He glances around the apartment, taking in the open layout of the space and shrugging off his coat. Your cozy little kitchen was the first thing you saw when you walked in. The dark brown cabinets and wooden countertops complemented the many magnets and photographs on your fridge nicely.
He hangs his coat next to yours and steps further into the apartment, eyes roaming over the pictures before landing on a photo strip of the two of you from when he was your plus one to a friend’s wedding a few months back. He glances over his shoulder at you, watching you unzip your boots, “You know, May took this from my apartment when I told her I finally asked you out to show her book club?”
“I know and I’m honored,” you half joke, putting your boots aside and joining him in the kitchen.
“You know?”
“May and I gossip, baby. She told me all about nabbing the picture and you refusing to tell her about our dates. And I gotta say she made a shaky but damning case about how she and her friends had been waiting too long for us to get together for you to hold out on them now.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Since when do you gossip with my aunt?”
“Since I called her a few months ago to ask if she wanted to come to the dinner party I threw to celebrate my promotion. It was supposed to be a quick call, but then we started talking about our days, and you and it just spiraled from there. Now we chit chat every other week.”
“So that’s why she stopped asking me about our dates,” he thinks aloud.
You shake your head and reach for his hand, tugging him out of the kitchen, past the small dining table, and into the living room. “Partly. She knows she won’t get anything out of me aside from telling her that the date went well and that you were the gentleman she and your uncle raised you to be.”
“And that’s all you say?” He asks, glancing around at the way you decorated your living room. Everything was so…you. From the sofa to the throw blanket hanging over the arm, to the pillows, to the books scattered across the coffee table, to the framed pieces of artwork mixed in with pictures. Your apartment felt so lived in, considering you moved in only a few weeks prior.
“I don’t kiss and tell, Parker."
“I know. I know you don’t,” he responds, taking a seat on the sofa. “I love what you’ve done with the place, by the way.”
“Do you?” The question rolls off your tongue with ease and affection.
He looks up at you, the smile on his face widening into a grin as you stand between his legs. “I do,” he affirms, stretching his palms out until they were firmly planted on your hips. “I really really do…definitely a view I can get used to seeing,” he continues, eyeing you up before tugging you into his lap.
Your hands press flat on his chest, pushing him back against the couch just enough for you to readjust your position and comfortably straddle him with your knees on either side of his hips. You lean back on his thighs and admire the dopey smile he was sporting. “If you’re lucky, I might even let you admire the view in the morning too.”
“Yeah?” He questions, tugging you closer and stifling a groan when your hip rolls over his. “And how lucky do I have to be to admire you in the afternoon?”
“My nights, my mornings, and now my afternoons? I’m beginning to think you have a thing for me, Parker.”
A familiar smirk graces his face at your teasing comment. “Am I that transparent?” He asks, sliding his hands down to the curve of your ass and kneading your flesh over the skirt of your dress that was riding up.
“Mhm,” you hum, craning your head down to kiss him.
The kiss, like all your kisses had been, started off slow with his lips moving gently against, letting you set the pace but allowing himself to be a little selfish in the way his hands roamed your body. He caresses your thighs, squeezing them as you start to rock against him.
Peter groans against your mouth, his hands jumping back to your hips to guide your movement, and taking the chance to try and deepen the kiss by running his tongue over your bottom lip.
“So eager,” you mumble, rocking harder against his growing bulge, grinning when he lets out a moan.
“Can you blame me?” He breathes out, hiking up the fabric of your dress a little further until it bunches at your hips. “Look extra pretty tonight.”
“So beautiful,” he whispers, kissing along the length of your neck and reveling in the low whimpers you were letting out as you grind against him. “Can’t believe I get you all to myself.”
His quiet praises never failed to make you flustered, and tonight was no exception. “Such a sweet mouth.”
“I can get a lot sweeter,” he jokes, nipping at your pulse point.
Your hands move off his chest and towards his neck, loosening his tie and then traveling back down to toy with the buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”
“Who’s eager now?”
“Still you,” you quip, rolling your hips over the tent in his pants to prove your point as you start to unbutton his dress shirt.
His head rolls back with a shaky moan, “Sweetheart, cmon—“
“What the fuck!”
Peter’s head snaps up to look at you, a panicked look on his face as he tries to figure out what prompted the wide-eyed expression on your face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
You stammer over your words as you hesitantly touch his chest, “Y-your…are you…Is this real?”
He glances down at your hand tracing over the webbing of his spider suit and freezes. “Is this real? Are you Spider-Man?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but the words get caught in his throat. He knew he'd have to tell you at some point, especially if the budding romance between the two continued to bloom, and he was ready to do so at a later point when things were more official.
“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who dress as him and hustle tourists for money. Wait, is this a sex thing?”
“What?” He laughs, the question immediately making the anxiety weighing in his chest disperse.
You smack his chest, “Don’t laugh! I’m serious! I don’t mind a bit of roleplay, but a heads up would have been nice.”
“Not a sex thing,” he tries to assure, through stifled laughter. “It’s not, I promise. And I’m not one of those guys that walk around taking pictures with tourists in Times Square either.”
“So you’re the real deal? You’re actually Spider-Man?”
“I am.”
“Prove it.”
“Is the suit not enough?”
“You know how many guys probably have a spidey suit tucked away in their closet?”
He raises his eyebrow, “Do you know guys with a Spider-Man costume on hand?”
“Three excluding you.”
“Three?”
“Is it that surprising? Spider-Man has a ton of fans.”
“Yeah, but it’s mainly little kids that dress up as me. I’ve seen a few adults on Halloween and the ones in Times Square, but that’s it.”
“You still haven’t proved that you’re him. You could just be some guy in spandex.”
“I’m your guy in spandex,” he counters.
“But is my guy the real Spider-Man or just another fanboy?” You question, your fingertips gliding over the spider logo on the suit.
“So skeptical,” he teases as he unbuttons the cuff of his sleeve and reveals a wristband with a red device attached to it. “These are my webshooters. They have an optical sensor and when I move my fingers, it recognizes the gesture and shoots out the web.”
He aims his hand at your dining table, curling his middle and ring finger towards his palm until a loud thwip! echoes through your apartment, and a web shoots out and covers the wood.
“Woah!”
“They dissolve in about two hours.”
“Wow. I want to touch it,” you blurt out, starting to move off his lap, only for him to catch your waist and hold you in place.
“Don’t. It’s really sticky, and I don’t think either of us are interested in waiting two hours for you to get unstuck.”
You nod and sit back against his thighs. “I’m guessing this isn’t how you were planning on telling me.”
“Not at all. I completely forgot I had the suit under my clothes. Admittedly, I didn’t think the night would end like this. I thought I’d walk you home, maybe get a couple kisses before you send me on my way, but then we started flirting, and I made the comment about coming up, and then you said I could, having the suit on didn’t really cross my mind.”
He squeezes your waist and pinches the fabric of your dress between his fingers. “It’s really really hard to think about all of that when you’re on my lap and kissing me and grinding on me.”
“Too horny to think,” you conclude with a light laugh.
“Yeah,” he huffs out. “Is this a deal breaker for you?”
“Definitely not. I’m a little worried about your health and well being, but this doesn’t change how I feel about you. Or well it does, but not in a negative way.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your big brain and even bigger heart are two of the many reasons why I’m crazy about you, Pete. You being Spider-Man is just an enhancement of what I already knew; you’re a good man.”
He breathes out and drops his head to your shoulder, “Good. That’s good. This is good. I know you probably have a lot of other questions, and I’ll answer them.”
You hum in agreement and thread your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “I do have a lot of questions, but I’d much rather finish the house tour before we get to that.”
“Finish?”
“Haven’t even seen the bedroom yet, baby. What kind of tour guide do you take me for?”
You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your shoulder before he picks his head up to look at you. “I see. Wouldn’t want to leave things incomplete now, would we?”
“No, we would not.” You whisper, leaning in to give him a fleeting kiss and sliding off his lap. “If you’d follow me this way, I’d love to take you there. It’s my favorite room.”
He stands up and reaches for your hand, letting you lead him down the hallway. “Any reason why?”
“There’s a theory that it's a place where your dreams come true. You’re a man of science, do you want to test that theory?”
“What kind of scientist would I be if I said no?”
I love casual dominance. It’s always the smallest things. It’s one thing to be intentionally dominate in bed, but when they’re doing it out of pure instinct it’s almost sexier. They don’t even realize how attractive it is. Like today, for whatever reason you’re nervous and it’s obvious if not by the way your leg is shaking under the coffee table. And as always, he’s found his spot besides you- maybe his hair is messy because it’s early and you’ve slept in. He nurses a hot black coffee with one hand, and he may tell you twice to stop bouncing your leg but you won’t hear it a third time. He won’t even look away from whatever’s got his attention before you feel the pressure of his hand on your knee. Pressing down until your knee can no longer bounce back up, his grip almost bruising. But his thumb moves to rub gentle circles on the area, a silent apology.
Other times, yeah, it does show up in bed. Like when he’s hitting that spot so good, too good, that you stop breathing for a few seconds. He’s literally taken your breath away, and he’s got you folded you in half. You don’t even realize it’s happening but he’s so in tune with your body that he picks up on every little thing. He won’t stop his movements either, still feeding you deep strokes, hand behind your head to soften the blow of the headboard. And when he notices, he’ll place his hand on your cheek so gently and say, “Breathe, baby.”
synopsis :: peter has been working himself to the bone, but never forgets to visit his favorite bakery before it closes to see his favorite person…the food is nice too ig. but what happens when his midnight loopy rambles turn into him forgetting what he said the night prior.
warnings :: fluffff (had me giggling and kicking my feet writing it my gods) peter being a cute stuttering teenager stuck in his 22 year old body
word count :: 2k
pairing :: peter parker x fem!reader
marvel masterlist
a/n :: this can be read using any pater variant btw, I just got back from watching brand new day for the third time already so obviously tom holland is itching in my brain the most currently
The bells above the bakery door chimed, a sound you usually only heard when the sun was higher and the streets were busy. You looked up from wiping down the marble counter, a greeting already on your tongue, but the words caught in your throat.
Standing in the doorway, bathed in the bright morning sunlight, was Peter.
For the past four months, Peter had been your midnight regular. He always showed up exactly ten minutes before closing, looking like he was running on nothing but sheer willpower and cheap coffee. Half the time, his hair was a wild, windblown mess, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, and he would mumble through conversations, completely forgetting what you two had talked about the very next night. You had grown used to his sleepy, charmingly loopy late-night visits, always making sure to save him a warm pastry and a listening ear.
But seeing him now, in the middle of the day, felt entirely surreal.
"Peter!" you said, a wide smile breaking across your face as you set down your towel. "Wow. It is incredibly nice to see you in the daylight. No offense, but you usually look like a zombie when you walk through that door."
Peter blinked, looking a bit startled, though a soft, tired smile tugged at his lips. He adjusted the strap of his backpack, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Yeah, uh, hi. I was just in the neighborhood and realized I’ve never actually seen what this place looks like when the sun is up. It’s nice. You’ve got a really great setup here."
"Thanks," you chuckled, leaning against the counter. "I’m just glad you’re awake enough to appreciate it. Though, I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you until tonight. I’m really excited for our date, by the way."
Peter froze.
The color drained from his face, his jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widened in pure, unadulterated panic. He stared at you, his mind clearly racing, trying to dig through a foggy haze of sleep-deprived memories that simply weren't there.
"Our… our what?" Peter squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. "Our date? Tonight?"
You blinked, observing the utter confusion radiating off him. Then, the pieces clicked into place. The late nights. The heavy eyelids. The way he could barely remember his own name on some days.
"Oh no," you said, a soft, sympathetic laugh escaping you. "Peter, do you not remember?"
"I—I am so, so sorry," he stammered, his hands flying up in a frantic, apologetic gesture. His cheeks flushed a bright, burning red. "I swear I’m not doing this on purpose. My brain has just been absolute mush lately, and I—I honestly don't remember asking you out. I feel like the biggest jerk on the planet right now. I am so incredibly sorry."
"Hey, hey, breathe. It’s okay," you reassured him gently, waving off his apologies with a warm smile. "Seriously, Peter, it’s fine. You don't have to apologize. I know how exhausted you've been lately. Look, it’s totally okay if you don't remember. And honestly, it’s also totally okay if you don't actually want to go on a date with me. You can absolutely back out, no hard feelings. I get it."
"No!" Peter blurted out, a little too quickly, a little too loudly, causing the elderly lady who had just walked in to startle a little. He cleared his throat, his eyes locking onto yours with sudden, intense earnestness. "No, it’s not that at all. I—I actually would really, really like to go on a date with you. Like, a lot. I've wanted to ask you out for months." He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish, breathless grin replacing his panic. "Clearly, my subconscious had more confidence than I did. I just… um… where exactly did we say we were going?"
You let out a delighted laugh, charmed by his sudden burst of honesty. "You didn't say. You told me it was a surprise."
Peter blinked, a look of comical defeat washing over him. "Of course I did. Sleep-deprived me really set the bar high, huh?" He shook his head, a genuine, excited smile finally taking over his face. "Okay. A surprise. I can do that. I will figure something out, and I will be back to pick you up tonight."
"Actually, hold on a second," you said. You grabbed a small notepad and a pen from beside the register, quickly scribbling down a few lines. You tore the piece of paper off and handed it across the counter to him. "Just pick me up from my place instead. I’m closing up the bakery a little early tonight to get ready."
Peter took the paper, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a spark of nervous excitement through both of you. He looked down at your address, a beaming, radiant smile spreading across his face.
"I'll be there," Peter promised, his voice soft but full of genuine excitement. "I won't forget. I promise."
"I'll hold you to it," you teased gently.
As Peter turned and walked out of the bakery, the morning sun catching the edge of his jacket, he couldn't stop the massive grin from taking over his face. For months, those late-night stops had been his only sanctuary from the chaos of his life. He adjusted his backpack strap, glancing down at the paper in his hand one more time. He couldn't believe his luck. His midnight bakery visits had somehow landed him a date with a truly beautiful woman, and for the first time in a long time, Peter Parker couldn't wait for the sun to go down.
You opened your apartment door, the words already forming on your lips to ease his anxiety, but Peter beat you to it.
"I am so, so sorry," he rushed out, standing on your welcome mat with his shoulders hunched, breathing heavily. He looked adorable in a nice button-down shirt and clean jeans, but his hair was a messy, windblown crown. "The subway was completely stalled, and then my phone died, and I just—I swear I didn't forget this time, I just—"
"Peter, hey, look at me. It's fine—" You cut yourself off, your eyes catching on something bright and wet at his hairline.
Just above his temple, hidden slightly beneath his brown curls, a small trickle of fresh blood was peeking out and staining his skin.
Before he could finish his next frantic sentence, you lunged forward, grabbed the collar of his jacket, and haphazardly pulled him straight into your apartment. You slammed the door shut with your foot and immediately stepped into his personal space, your hands lifting to his face.
"Oh my gosh, you're bleeding," you gasped, your fingers gently parting his hair to inspect the cut. "What happened? Did you get hit? Did you fall? Are you okay? Does your head hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Should we go to the hospital? Peter, talk to me!"
Peter blinked down at you, completely frozen by how close you were and how fast you were talking. His heart hammered against his ribs, partly from his sprint over here, but mostly because your hands felt incredibly warm against his skin. He gently took your wrists, pulling your hands down a fraction to stop your frantic inspecting.
"Hey, hey, I'm okay, I promise," he said, trying to brush it off with a casual, lopsided smile. "It's just a scratch. I, uh, I actually ran into some trouble on the way here. There was this person getting mugged in an alley near the station, and I couldn't just walk past, you know? I stepped in to help, and things got a little… messy. But the guy was safe! I just took a little tumble."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He had saved someone from a mugging. He just conveniently left out the part where he did it while wearing a red and blue spandex suit and swinging from a building.
You let out a long, heavy breath, the tension leaving your shoulders. "You got hurt helping someone?" You looked into his eyes, searching for any signs of a concussion, but found only genuine sincerity. "Wow. Okay. If that is the reason you're late, then it's more than okay. You're a good person, Peter Parker."
Peter’s cheeks flushed a light pink, completely caught off guard by your praise.
"Sit," you commanded gently, pointing to one of the chairs at your small kitchen table. "Don't move. I'm going to get the first aid kit."
You turned and hurried toward the bathroom, opening cabinets and rummaging through shelves. Left alone in the kitchen, Peter finally took a moment to look around.
Your apartment was lovely. It was filled with the warm, comforting scent of vanilla and sweet cinnamon—exactly like the bakery, but softer, more personal. The space was decorated with cozy lights, thriving potted plants on the windowsill, and framed art that made the whole place feel incredibly inviting. It was so much nicer and cleaner than his own cramped, drafty apartment. It looked exactly how he had pictured it would.
"Found it!" you called out, jogging back into the kitchen with a white and red plastic box.
You pulled up a chair right next to him, opening the kit and pulling out an antiseptic wipe. "Hold still. This might sting a little."
Peter sat perfectly still as you leaned in. He barely felt the sting of the wipe—his advanced healing was already working on the cut anyway—but he definitely felt the gentle, careful way your fingers brushed through his hair. You applied a small, neat bandage over the wound, smoothing down the edges with a satisfied nod.
"There. All patched up," you said, closing the first aid kit. You looked at his tired eyes and then out the window, where dark clouds were starting to roll in. "You know… considering you just fought off a mugger and look like you're about to collapse, what do you say we just stay inside tonight? We can cancel the surprise plans."
Peter blinked, a look of mild panic returning. "Wait, really? But I actually did figure something out! I have a whole plan, I promise—"
"And it can be saved for next time," you interrupted smoothly, offering him a warm, reassuring smile.
Peter relaxed back into his chair, his shoulders dropping as the stress fully left his body. "Yeah? Okay. Next time sounds great."
Then, a beat passed.
Peter’s brain, slow as it was from a long week of superhero things, finally fully comprehended what you had just said. He jumped slightly in his seat, his eyes locking onto yours in utter shock.
"Wait," Peter squeaked, his voice cracking again. "Next time? We're… we're gonna have another date?!"
You chuckled, amused by his sheer disbelief. "I mean, yeah. If you want to?"
"Are you serious?" Peter asked, leaning forward, his expression a mix of awe and confusion. "You still want to put up with me? Even after I completely forgot we had a date this morning, and then showed up to your apartment late, bleeding, and ruined your plans tonight? You still want a second date?"
You just shrugged, a playful glint in your eyes as you stood up from the table and walked over to the fridge. "Peter, you got a concussion—or, well, a cut—saving a stranger. I think I can forgive a little lateness. Besides, I like a guy with a good heart." You pulled out some fresh pasta and ingredients from the fridge, setting them on the counter. "Now, how do you feel about homemade pasta? I'm making dinner."
Peter sat at the table, watching you move around the kitchen. His shocked, wide-eyed expression slowly melted away, replaced by a massive, beaming smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Peter knew he was exactly where he wanted to be.
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roommate!peter who first catches your eye during a high-division lecture.
he ducks his head, secretively scribbling in the back of his notebook, flipping between the pages hastily when the professor calls his name.
roommate!peter who correctly answers every equation and every formula with flippant ease.
roommate!peter who you exchanged socials with after bumping into him at a star wars convention.
he cosplayed han solo. it was hot.
roommate!peter who was so mature and considerate during the leasing process and doesn't make a big deal of financials.
roommate!peter who lets you buy whatever trinkets or collectibles you please to fill the apartment with.
roommate!peter who lifts all your heavy bags and boxes up to the apartment without breaking a sweat.
while unpacking you notice that some of his junk looks rather unusual and inticing.
roommate!peter who gets awkward and shuts down when you bring it up. he somehow always finds a way to change the subject.
roommate!peter who's always in a rush. tripping over his shoes out the door with a poptart wedged between his lips, a stack of textbooks under his arm.
sometimes he gets home awfully late, looking miserable, beat up, and depleted.
roommate!peter who pulls all-nighters working tirelessly on his models and prototypes, humming to himself in the dark.
roommate!peter who's super grateful when you share a cup of coffee with him even though you both should be asleep.
roommate!peter who challenges your takes and theories during weekend binges.
he'll shovel handfuls of microwaved popcorn into his face, arguing his dorky little points through chewing.
roommate!peter whose laugh is so raw and vibrant like a melody to your ears.
roommate!peter who has the sexiest smile ever.
roommate!peter whose musky scent lingers in the bathroom after steamy showers.
he emerges from the bathroom in a tank and sweatshorts, the towel draped over his shoulders, his hair finger-tousled and glistening. his skin has a little peachy flush and his lashes look extra full.
roommate!peter who doesn't even need to look in your direction to sense you leering.
roommate!peter whose jaw clenches and fingers start to get tingly when another dude strikes up conversation with you at a party.
he's in the worst mood when you get home afterwards, huffing and brooding until your offer of a midnight super smash bros session coaxes a cheeky grin.
roommate!peter who's just as amazed are you are that it took him this long to get you in his lap, fingers scrunched up in his brown locks, smacking his lips against yours.
roommate!peter who doesn't rush you and doesn't pry. he's cherishing this moment just holding and kissing you.
roommate!peter who's the most respectful guy ever - with frequent verbal check ups, handling your body with his gentle, reverent touch.
little do you know that when you both retire to your individual rooms, he's palming himself to the thought of having you in his bed.
roommate!peter who reluctantly shares his location with you after your bond has been strengthened.
there must be something wrong with it. some nights you try to check on him and the little emblem just darts from block to block, traveling miles within seconds.
spider-man who crashes through your apartment window one fateful night, bloodied and wheezing.
you're frozen in shock as he stumbles toward you and collapses into your chest, dropping his masked head onto your shoulder.
spider-man whose embrace feels so strikingly familiar. the defined shapes of his arms and hands, his lithe, powerful frame etched into your memory.
spider-man whose low, unmistakable voice spills from the mask as he mutters into your ear.
"there's something you should know about me."
🜏 regards... guess who watched brand new day today lmaooo i missed him bad y'all i felt like 12 year old ruin again longing for that man in the theater... i am an mcu!peter truther but this is written for every version, tasm!peter and og!peter :)
you’re at home chilling on your couch when you feel him. the shirt you’re wearing is pulled over your ass, and hands massage the flesh. there’s a smack before your butt is spread. a hand wipes down your slit as you let out a breathless moan.
“you been wet all day baby? hmm?” your boyfriend’s voice is like honey to your ears. another hard smack is laid on your ass, causing you to jolt forward. “ah!” you let out a squeal as you feel his large hand against your flesh. “answer my question, baby.”
“yes i’ve been so wet for you peter.” you whine as he continues playing with your slit, collecting the wetness on his fingers. “that’s a good girl.” he turns you over, and that’s when you notice his mask is still on. bare in every aspect but one.
you can feel yourself getting wetter as you stare at the white eye lenses. he pulls your legs up, placing them on his shoulders. your hand makes its way to your clit as you gently play with yourself. peter smacks your hand away before grabbing his cock.
it’s heavy and you feel it when he slaps his girthy long dick against your awaiting pussy. “you want it?” you nod before he slaps your pussy. “use your words.” your clit twitches from anticipation and a breeze of air. “i want it inside me so bad peter.”
you pout, as your hands lift up your shirt to reveal your tits. nipples hardened to a peak as you gently rub them. truly a scene from a porno. that’s all it takes for peter to get inside of you.
he doesn’t take his time; he goes all in. as he sinks into you, your head falls back onto the couch. peter keeps a steady but deep pace. “oh-oh my fuck-it’s so good,” you moan out as peter rearranges your insides.
“that’s right sweetheart take this dick.” the more he fucks you, the more turned on you get. this mask thing was seriously hot. peter starts to quicken his pace, as you see stars. your fingers still play with your nipples, as your hips lift up to meet his thrusts.
“keep fucking me please, i’m almost there.” you beg hard. you can’t see his face, but you know there’s a huge grin hidden beneath the mask. his hands move from beside your head to palm your tits, replacing yours. “these perfect titties sweetheart.”
his pace never slows; instead, he maintains the depth and the speed. you’re seeing stars. your hands reach out for him as they lift the mask up below his nose. “what’s wrong baby?” he asks, slightly slowing down.
“wanna kiss.” you ask, now able to see that familiar smirk. he obliges your request, speeding his pace up. your tongues mingle as you share a heated moment. one of his thrusts hits you in just the right spot, making your tongue fall out, and a huge moan erupts from you.
“oh my fucking god.” you moan, the mask still covering the majority of his face as your eyes roll into the back of your head. “you want it inside?” he asks, rubbing your clit in a circular motion. you bite your lip, “yes.” nodding as you do.
“gonna cum in my pussy okay baby.”
a bunch of freaks. unfortunately this is not apart of the shy!reader universe
