Note: English isn't my first language, so sorry in advance for any mistakes.
My Masterlist
"Are you mad?" Peter poked his head out from behind the doorframe, his voice barely a whisper against the hum of the fridge.
"No." you said, your tone laced with ice as the sharp scrape-scrape-scrape of the whetstone echoed through the dimly lit kitchen.
"So sharpening knives at two in the morning is just a hobby?" He took a few cautious steps forward, bringing his whole frame into view.
"Yes."
He took another slow step onto the cool tiles. "You're not very convincing right now." Even without looking at him, you could sense the faint wave of panic rolling off him. His heightened instincts were completely helpless against a domestic dispute.
"Are you afraid of small knives now, Spider-Man?" you asked bitterly, running a thumb carefully along the bevel of the knife.
"No, I'm just afraid of my dear wife's wrath." he offered weakly. "Can we go to sleep now, pretty please?"
Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you. His arms wrapped snugly around your waist from behind, his chest warm against your back. He rested his chin on your shoulder and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. As if a few sweet words and a kiss could magically erase the absolute nonsense that had come out of his mouth an hour ago.
You set the knife down on the kitchen worktop and turned in his grip, planting both hands against his chest to shove him back. "No, fuck off. I won't talk to you."
He stumbled back a step, crossed his arms, and pouted like a scolded child. Quite the look for the neighbourhood's friendly Spider-Man.
"Are you still angry because I said your favourite character is not that handsome?" he questioned. "It was just an opinion!"
"Yes."
"So you won't come to our bed?"
"No."
Peter let out a long groan, leaning his head back towards the doorframe. "Y/N, come on! It's two in the morning! I'll take it back! He's breathtaking! He's a ten out of ten! Just please put the cutlery away and come freeze me out under the duvet instead."
You locked eyes with him, picked up the knife again, wiped it down, and turned back to the whetstone. "The sofa is comfortable, Parker. Go test it out."
Peter threw his hands into the air, his voice cracking slightly in a desperate bid for sympathy. "I'm a real person! I'm your actual, legally wedded husband!"
"I will get a divorce!"
"What?! No! No, you won't! You're just mad at me!" Peter's voice shot up an entire octave, his tired eyes practically bursting out of his head. The mock-defiant stance he'd been holding instantly melted into pure, unadulterated panic.
"You can't cite a fictional nose in divorce court, Y/N! The judge will laugh us out of the building!" He reached out, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to grab your hands, but he settled for gripping the edge of the granite like it was a life raft. His knuckles turned white.
Ignoring his spiral, you continued smoothly, "I'll keep the flat. And the cat. You can take your spider-suits, your weird nose opinions, and sleep at Aunt May's."
Peter gasped, pulling back far enough to stare at you in absolute, wide-eyed betrayal. "That ugly cat is staying with you, and you're getting a divorce just to get rid of me?!"
You set the knife down on the worktop. "Well, Waffles is a distinguished gentleman, and he doesn't insult my taste in men." you replied smoothly. "And he's not ugly! Don't argue with me about appearances again or I swear I'm changing the locks while you're out on patrol." you finished, narrow-eyed and unyielding.
Peter clutched his hands over his heart. "Waffles! His name is Waffles! He looks like a burnt loaf of sourdough that someone dropped on the pavement and then slapped a pair of angry yellow eyes on!"
"He is a purebred rescue Persian and he has a condition!" you snapped, pointing a wooden spoon at him like a loaded weapon.
Peter took a step sideways, keeping his distance. "His condition is that he spends twenty-three hours a day plotting my untimely death from the top of the fridge!" he argued. "I saw him knock my toothbrush into the loo last week, Y/N. He looked me dead in the eye while he did it! He knows what he's doing!"
"He was trying to clean it for you." you said deadpan. "Unlike certain superhero husbands, Waffles actually cares about domestic hygiene."
Peter let out a noise that sounded like a tea kettle coming to a boil. "I can't believe this. I am competing for my marriage against a fictional character with a questionable nose and a flat-faced cat who hates my guts."
He raised his hands in a tentative peace offering. "Look. Okay. I'm sorry. I apologise to you, I apologise to the actor, and I apologise to Waffles. Who, deep down, is a very... unique-looking gentleman." He dropped his hands to his sides and looked down at you with those wide, ridiculous brown eyes that always managed to make him look sixteen again.
Before you could grab another kitchen tool, he stepped into your space and carefully wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. "I'll buy him those expensive little lickable treats he likes." he coaxed softly. "The seafood ones that smell terrible and cost eight quid a tube. I'll even apologise to him directly tomorrow morning."
You let yourself rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his soft shirt. "If you ever call his nose weird again, I'm taking the duvet."
Peter buried his face in your hair, letting out a long sigh of relief. "Deal. Absolutely. He has the best nose in Hollywood. Now come to bed, please. I'm freezing and your cat is currently sitting on my pillow waiting to murder me. And please don't throw a kitchen appliance at me."
You sighed; you couldn't stay angry at that silly man, no matter how hard you tried.
You finally let your arms thaw, bringing them up to wrap around his back and burying your face into the warm crook of his neck. "You're an idiot, Peter Parker."
His body instantly relaxed. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot." he murmured happily. The tension drained out of his shoulders, and he squeezed you a little tighter. "Does this mean the divorce is off? Are we still legally bound in holy matrimony?"
"The divorce is merely postponed." you murmured against his skin, though the laugh bubbling up in your chest completely ruined the threat. "Pending your full, written apology to Waffles."
Peter let out a soft, breathy chuckle, the vibration humming pleasantly against your collarbone as he rested his forehead against yours. "I'll draft it up first thing in the morning. Formal letterhead, signed in blood, maybe a sacrificial tin of wet food."
Before you could protest, he shifted and seamlessly scooped one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you off the cold kitchen tiles. You instinctively reached up, hooking your arms around his neck as he carried you down the hallway towards the bedroom.
"You know," he whispered, nudging the door open with his foot and stepping inside, "for a second there, when you threatened to change the locks, I actually calculated how hard it would be to break into my own flat without blowing my cover to the landlord."
"And?"
"And Mr Henderson sleeps right below us with a broom ready to hit the ceiling if I drop a coin," Peter muttered, carefully lowering you onto the mattress. "I didn't stand a chance."
As he climbed in beside you, the duvet rustling between you both, a dark, shadowy figure shifted near the foot of the bed. A low mew echoed in the darkness, followed by the heavy thud of a flat-faced cat landing on Peter's feet.
Peter froze mid-motion, clutching the blanket to his chest. "He heard us. He knows I talked about his sourdough complexion."
You smiled, pulling the duvet over your shoulders and settling against Peter's chest. "Be nice to him. He's watching over your soul."
"He's estimating how much flesh he can strip before I wake up," Peter corrected, but his arm settled warm and heavy over your waist anyway, burying his face into your hair. "Goodnight, Y/N. Goodnight, handsome fictional guy. Goodnight... Waffles."
A quiet, rhythmic purr eventually started up near the pillows, and Peter finally relaxed, his breathing slowing into the deep, easy rhythm of sleep.
Actually, I don't like it when the reader forgives all the horrible things the character has done and they kiss and live happily ever after. I want the reader to slap him in the face and leave him.
summary: after pushing away the only people he has left, Peter is forced to face the one thing he's always feared the most: letting someone stay.
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of character death, grief, emotional confrontation, found family, happy ending.
my masterlist ☆
important: english is not my first language !! this is my first fic and post, hope u like it🫰🏻
He says he doesn't believe anything much he hears these days
He says, "Why fall in love, just so you can watch it go away?"
Peter is struggling. It became so obvious a couple days ago, the baggy eyes, the late arrivals to class, skipping nights out with friends, yeah, that kinda give it out for you. And you are not the only one who sees it.
"You look like shit", it's the first thing that Thomas says when you all sit in the coffee table, Thomas sitting on your right and Peter right in front of you.
"What he's trying to say...", you start talking after kicking Thomas under the table for being so direct, "Is that..., well, we noticed that you have been kinda... weird? I mean, we can tell that you are not feeling well. We are worried, you barely leave your house..." Peter bites his lip to hold a laugh, if you both knew what he does every single day, which is clearly not staying home.
"I thought we were going to get some coffee", says Peter cutting your speech mid way, "But this feels like a planed intervention". His tone makes it clear that he's getting irritated. "Last time I checked, neither of you is my mom, so I don't need to explain myself. Go find another project, okay?" Yeah, something is really wrong. 'Cause he would never treat you both like that.
"Stop that, we are not going anywhere. We are your friends and we care", you say right before Thomas could blurt out something he'll regret later.
Peter close his eyes, he knows that, and that's exactly the problem. When he started college, the ghosts of his uncle, Gwen, Harry... every single person he had let down still haunted him. Every time he walked to class, went to work, took a test, or even grabbed something to eat, he felt guilty. Why was he there? Why did he deserve to be alive when they weren't?
The only reason he kept up with college was May, but the only time he truly found comfort was when he was wearing the suit.
Being Spider-Man was easier than being Peter.
Spider-Man was just some cool guy saving the day, swinging around the city and helping people... Meanwhile, Peter was just a guy who kept losing everyone and everything.
He almost dropped out of college to be Spider-Man full-time, but that's when you showed up.
At first, Peter barely spoke to you. You got paired together for a research paper, and he was completely ready to tell you, "Do it on your own. I'm dropping out.", but you spoke first. And once he heard your voice, for some reason he still refuses to admit, he sat down and wrote that damn paper.
After that, you never left.
He was awkward, barely talked, and constantly disappeared because of "work" (saving the city), but you liked him anyway. He was smart, kind, calm, and surprisingly funny whenever he decided to speak.
Before either of you realized it, you were walking together through the hallways, waiting for him at the bus stop before class, and having lunch together almost every day.
Before Peter even noticed, the ghosts that had haunted him and reminded him of every mistake he'd ever made were gone.
Then, just as he was finally getting comfortable around you and starting to open up, Thomas showed up.
At first, Peter hated him. He was exactly the type of guy who would've bullied him in high school. But after trusting your judgment and getting to know him, Peter found himself with a new best friend. Thomas was a nerd. He and Peter had a lot in common, and Thomas treated him like a brother.
For the first time since high school, before he lost everyone he loved, Peter felt at home. And that's when everything became terrifying.
Especially after he almost lost you, too.
It was a rainy night after class. You and Thomas were leaving the library late, while Peter was supposedly home sick. Or at least, that's what you thought.
Peter was helping the police with a case. He doesn't even remember who the guy was or what he'd done in the first place. He only remembers that the bastard decided to hide inside a fast-food restaurant—the same one where you and Thomas had decided to grab dinner that night.
It turned into a hostage situation, but it ended quickly. Because the moment Peter arrived and saw you there, he completely lost it.
You and Thomas were fine. In fact, everything that happened that night eventually became an inside joke among the three of you. You joked about it and promised never to eat junk food again, while Thomas couldn't stop talking about Spider-Man for an entire week.
But Peter's thoughts were on a completely different level...
He remembered what was really at stake. He remembered how easy it was to lose someone he truly cared about. And he couldn't bear the thought of losing any of you.
Especially you.
So, in his mind, the best thing to do was to walk away.
If you both hated him, if you left him, then there would be no danger. He could never lose you if you weren't part of his life anymore.
"I have to go. I'm sorry." Peter stood up and left the table.
Thomas looked at you in disbelief. "Wait here," you told Thomas, wasting no time.
Peter was already outside the coffee shop when you caught up with him. You grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at you. "What the hell was that?"
"It's not personal. I have things to take care of. Just... leave it," he whispered.
"It is personal, because we're your friends. And it's personal because I care about you. Peter, we want to help you. Let us."
"I don't believe it."
"That we care?"
"That you can help. There's a lot you don't understand."
"Then explain it to me! Please!"
"Why? So I can watch you walk away?"
That made no sense to you. Why would you walk away?Why would you leave him? That's not what you do to someone you love.
"Peter... I..." You couldn't find the right words.
So he just left. Without looking back.
"Maybe he finally got to know us, and now he hates us."
You turn to look at Thomas, who's sitting across the table. You don't have to say anything. He can tell from your expression that you think he's an idiot. But he keeps talking anyway.
"I mean, what else could it be? Yesterday we were best friends, and now he basically told us we're trash.
"Be serious. What if something bad happened?" You check your phone. Peter hasn't opened the group chat, and he hasn't even looked at the messages you sent him privately a couple of hours ago.
It's been eight hours since he left.
"We should go to his house. Make sure he's okay."
Thomas stays quiet and shakes his head. You get it. He's angry. You're mad too. Why the fuck is he ghosting his best friends? But you can't let your anger take over. Not now. Right now, you're more worried than anything else.
"Go if you want, but I'm staying home."
You glance at the time. It's almost 10 p.m. You still have homework to finish for tomorrow. You have to get up early for class. It looks like it could start raining any minute.
"Keep your phone nearby. I'll call you if he needs you."
He seems fine most of the time, forcing smiles and neverminds
Live my life scared to death he'll decide to leave instead
You know everything that happened to Peter during high school and after he graduated. When he told you those stories, you both cried. After that, you never talked about them again. He doesn't like talking about any of it, and you understand why. It must hurt so much.
Maybe all those memories came flooding back, forcing him to relive everything. But you can only guess.
Peter never lets anyone know when something's wrong. You'll never know what's really going on inside his head, but you do know when he's forcing a smile or brushing things off with another "never mind."
And today was one of those days.
Everything he said at the coffee shop felt like only half the truth. You can tell he's scared. But of what?
It's almost 11 p.m., and you're standing in front of Peter's house. You don't want to ring the doorbell. May is probably asleep, and Peter wouldn't answer anyway.
So you do something you haven't done since you were fifteen and sneaking out to go to parties.
You climb through the window.
"What the fuck?" The words slip out of Peter's mouth when he sees you clinging to his windowsill for dear life.
And honestly... Yeah. You're terrified.
"Little help?"
He takes his sweet time getting to the window. You can't see why. He silently thanks God for that, because explaining the Spider-Man suit is the last thing he wants to do right now.
"Are you insane?"
"I knew you'd ignore the door. Besides, I remembered you once told me you always keep your window unlocked."
"What are you doing here?"
"We're going to talk. Like it or not."
Oh, he definitely doesn't like it. Not even a little.
"I'm worried. I know something's going on with you. I know you, Peter."
"No. You don't."
He paces around the room as if walking in circles might help him keep everything bottled up. Everything he's been holding inside.
"Yes, I do!"
You're so certain of it. Maybe there are parts of Peter's life you'll never know. Maybe there are things he keeps hidden from everyone. But you know his heart. And that's what matters.
"No! Can't you see? You don't know the things I've done. The things I'm responsible for... I've hurt people. And I always end up hurting the people who get close to me. I don't know how to keep you safe. I don't know how to protect you while I keep doing... this. I always lose the people I love."
He's on the verge of tears. All you want to do is hug him. You'd do anything to see him smile again. But if there's one thing you'll never do... it's walk away.
"Well, that's fucking selfish."
Your answer catches him completely off guard. He's never heard you speak to him like that before.
"You don't have to keep me safe. And you don't have to protect me. You just have to care. I know you've lost people you loved. And I'm so, so sorry. But how is this fair to Thomas and me? Why do we have to lose you? You're still here, Peter. I know it hurts like hell. But you're still here. And you have to keep living. Pushing us away won't protect anyone. It'll only cause more pain. Maybe you're terrified of feeling that kind of loss again. Maybe you think leaving us first will spare you that pain. But it won't spare us. I... I don't want to lose someone I love."
Peter doesn't say a word. He just breaks down.
You finally pull him into your arms. He doesn't have to say anything. You can feel how exhausted he is. You can feel the weight of everything he's been carrying on his own.
But he isn't alone anymore.And he has to learn that.
He'll never stop missing the people he lost. Those memories will always be part of him. But you're right. He has to keep living. He still has a family. And somehow... he found you.
As you hold him close, you can almost feel the weight on his chest beginning to lift. You keep whispering that he'd better never leave you.
Yes. It's terrifying to love again. To have something to lose again. But it's exciting, too. For the first time in a long time... he has someone again. Someone who chose to stay. Someone to love.
"You won't lose me... Please. Believe me when I say this. I'm not going anywhere."
He says he doesn't believe anything much he hears these days
I say, "Believe in one thing, I won't go away"
The next morning, Peter wakes up before you.
He looks over and finds you sleeping peacefully in his bed. He doesn't make a sound. He just stays there, watching you.
You didn't leave last night. Nothing could make you leave. Not even your morning classes. You stayed with him. You talked. You hugged. And the two of you realized there was a lot to work through. But love and care came before all of that.
What Peter doesn't know is that he fell asleep before you did. And while he was sleeping, you took the liberty of calling Thomas and helping him climb through the window.
Which is why Peter is more than a little surprised when he notices Thomas asleep on the floor, wrapped in an improvised bed made of a few blankets.
"You look like shit," Peter whispers once Thomas wakes up, careful not to wake you.
Thomas cracks a sleepy smile. Neither of them says anything about yesterday. They don't need to. Peter knows he'll always have a brother in Thomas.
And Thomas... Well, he learned something last night that suddenly made everything make sense.
While he was rummaging through Peter's drawers looking for extra blankets... he found something in the third one.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Thomas whispers back. "But you know what? You're gonna shit yourself when I tell you what I found in your third drawer..."
Peter's heart nearly stops.
"...and let's just say it wasn't exactly the kind of suit you'd wear with a coat and tie."
That was all you managed to hiss, glaring daggers through the oppressive, dust-choked dark.
Peter had done it again. One minute you were just trying to survive your normal, already-chaotic week, and the next, he’d dragged you headfirst into another one of his "simple, five-minute" superhero side-quests. Now, here you were: crammed into a suffocating, pitch-black space, surrounded by cold, corrugated metal, in God-knows-what, in God-knows-where. Good job, Pete. Really outdid yourself this time.
Peter winced, wiping a streak of grime across his nose, only succeeding in smearing it further. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, his web-shooters glinting weakly in the faint, flickering amber light filtering through a crack in the wall.
"I know it's... not looking great," Peter started, his voice pitching up that extra octave it always hit whenever he was secretly sweating bricks. "But it's not as bad as you thi-"
"PETER. BENJAMIN. FUCKING. PARKER. ARE YOU AWARE OF THE SERIOUSNESS OF THE SITUATION WE'RE IN?"
You whisper-shouted, grabbing him by the collar of his suit and yanking him down to eye level. Your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"We are trapped in an underground facility! Or a shipping container, or a supervillain's cellar, we don't even know! My phone has got zero signal, I'm pretty sure I just stepped on something squelchy, and if I miss my alarm tomorrow morning, my life is literally over! So no, do not tell me it's fine!"
Peter sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your very justified panic. He held up his hands, his hazel eyes wide with a mix of genuine apology and classic Parker guilt.
"Righ- Right, fair enough!" he whispered back hurriedly, wincing at the harshness of your tone. "It's bad! It's proper bad! I've messed up! But... it's still..."
BANG.
A deafening metallic shudder echoed right behind his head, rattling the floor beneath your feet and sending a shower of rust and dust down into your hair. The sound reverberated in your teeth.
Peter slowly winced, closing his eyes tightly as heavy, ominous footsteps began to echo on the other side of the wall.
"...fixable?" he offered weakly, giving you a strained, pleading smile. "Mostly fixable?"
Summary: A single overheard conversation turns Peter and Y/n's friendship upside down through one painful misunderstanding.
Warnings: Miscommunication/misunderstanding, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, crying and emotional distress, hurt/comfort, fluff, canon-typical mentions of Spider-Man injuries and exhaustion, writer's block.
Word count: 4,196
Note: English isn't my first language, so sorry in advance for any mistakes.
My Masterlist
The sun was lighting the Parker flat in Queens.
Peter Parker only had 15 minutes before Aunt May came bustling in to wake him up or his screeching phone alarm went off. Whichever came first.
He silently and slowly opened his eyes, wincing as a dull throb pulsed behind his temples. God, they were hurting. It was entirely understandable, after having spent the entire night being swung all over the city by his webbing.
He groaned softly into the quiet morning air before kicking the duvet off his legs. He sat on the edge of his mattress for a few minutes, staring blankly at the floorboards. He slowly stood up.
It had been a long night. Scratch that, it had been a long week. To be honest, it felt like every criminal waited for this exact week to wreak havoc. Muggings, car chases, warehouse heists... you name it, Peter had stopped it. And Peter was EXHAUSTED. He felt like he could die from tiredness right there. But despite the bags under his eyes and the bruised ribs hidden beneath his hoodie, he had to get ready for school. Great. Actually, just brilliant.
After a whirlwind 10 minutes of pulling on a crumpled hoodie, wolfing down a piece of slightly burnt toast Aunt May shoved into his hand, and running flat-out to catch the Underground, Peter made it.
The heavy glass front doors of Midtown High swung open, slammed lockers were making Peter’s Spider-Sense prickle, and the corridors were crammed with teenagers navigating the morning rush hour of gossip, last-minute homework copying, and sleepy groans.
He checked his phone. 8:14 AM. One minute left before the first bell rang.
He walked down the familiar corridor and turned sharply towards the first-period Chemistry class. He flung open the door, and the air conditioning blasted into his face like a refreshing stream of cold water.
And then, right in the second row, sitting at the usual lab desk with an open notebook and a perfectly arranged row of pens, he saw you.
Suddenly, the ache in his ribs didn't feel quite so bad. The heavy bags under his eyes felt a little less heavy. Peter forced his face into what he hoped was a casual smile.
He slid onto the stool right beside you, letting his rucksack fall to the floor with a dull, heavy thud that betrayed just how much heavy metal gear was hidden deep in its bottom pocket.
"Hey," Peter murmured, leaning his elbow onto the desk and resting his chin in his hand, looking at you with tired but ridiculously fond eyes. "Tell me we aren't doing a pop quiz today. Please."
You looked up from your notebook and Peter was sure he'd have a heart attack when your eyes met his.
You smiled at him. "No, you're lucky today, Petey," you said, the last word delivered with a teasing tone. And oh, Peter loved your teasing tone. And your speaking tone. Okay, everything about you, to be honest. But to be fair, you weren't making it any easier. Like, how could a human being in the world look bloody brilliant all the time?
He realised he was staring at you with a stupid smile on his face for a few moments and he faked a cough. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he must have looked like a freak at that moment.
"Peter? Uhm... Y'alright?" you said worriedly, a slight frown on your face while you were looking at him.
He faked a cough again. "Yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I'm completely alright. I'm just... a little bit knackered, y'know? Life has been a little... no actually it has been extremely exhausting lately." Well, it wasn't actually the truth, but it wasn't actually a lie either. He changed the subject. "And you're a lifesaver, Y/n. Seriously. I'll buy you a coffee. Or a bagel. Or my soul. Whatever you want."
"I'll hold you to the bagel," you chuckled, watching as he tried (and failed) to suppress a massive yawn.
"Did you even sleep last night?" You frowned again. "You look like you've been run over by an Underground train."
Oh, if only you knew... he thought with a dry, internal laugh. Remembering the runaway train he had to stop at 2:00 AM.
"Stark Internship," he mumbled, letting his head drop heavily onto his folded arms against the desk. His voice came out muffled by the fleece of his hoodie. "Huge project. Lots of... dead-end research. Broke a few things. Rebuilt a few things. You know how it is."
"Right. The mysterious 'internship' stuff again," you murmured softly. "You know, one of these days, Parker, you're actually going to have to give me details. I'm starting to think this 'internship' is just an excuse for you to sleep through my favourite class."
Peter lifted his head an inch, resting his chin on his crossed arms to look up at you. His brown eyes were bright, tracing every detail of your face as you spoke. Hearing you call it your favourite class brought a tiny, crooked smile back to his lips.
"Someday," he whispered softly, his voice dropping the playful banter for a brief, incredibly genuine second. "I promise. I'll tell you everything. Just... not today."
Before you could press him on it, the morning bell echoed through the room.
Mr Harrington entered the laboratory. "Alright, alright, settle down, class!" the teacher called out, clapping his hands together. "Open your exercise books! We have a lot of ground to cover before midterms!"
---
The afternoon sun was starting to dip behind the Queens skyline. School had been over for five minutes, and students were leaving the building.
You were walking towards the exit, too, until you heard two familiar voices speaking in hushed, urgent tones in an empty classroom. Ned and Peter.
You were about to step in there and wave, maybe tease Peter about surviving the rest of the day, when Ned’s voice made you freeze in your tracks.
"Mate, you have to be careful," Ned was saying, his voice laced with genuine panic. "If this gets out, it ruins everything. You're completely obsessed with them!"
"I know, Ned, okay? I know!" Peter’s voice sounded stressed and overwhelmed. "I can't help it. Every time I look at them, my brain just stops working! I spent half the night up late thinking about them while..." He looked around him, and you took a few steps back so you couldn't hear what he said.
A few moments later, you got closer to the door again. "Peter, you're losing your mind," Ned hissed quietly. "Does Aunt May know? Does anyone else know?"
"No! Are you mad? Nobody can know!" Peter lowered his voice to an agonizing whisper. Every word hit you like a physical punch. "It's complicated, Ned. They're just... perfect. Brilliant, beautiful, impossible to ignore... I literally fall a little more in love every single second I'm around them. But I can't just say it. What if they don't feel the same way? What if I ruin everything we have?"
Ned sighed heavy and deep. "Man... you've got it so bad. You're proper hooked."
"I am," Peter admitted softly, his tone dripping with a helpless, quiet devotion that made your heart ache. "I'm completely, totally in love. But until I know for sure... it has to stay a secret."
You felt your heart breaking in your chest.
Someone else.
There was someone else. All those soft looks... the tired smile he gave you every morning... was just... Peter being Peter. Friendly. Sweet.
His heart belonged to someone else. Someone brilliant. Someone who kept him up all night.
You ran away from there as quietly and quickly as you could, your trainers making zero sound on the linoleum floor. You clutched your rucksack straps until your knuckles turned white, forcing yourself to breathe past the sudden, sharp sting behind your eyes.
Completely unaware that around the bend, Ned was currently shaking his head at a bright red, stammering Peter.
"Mate," Ned muttered, slapping Peter's shoulder. "You're talking about Y/n like they're a literal superhero. Just ask Y/n out already."
"I can't!" Peter groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. "What if Y/n says no?!"
You sat cross-legged in the centre of your bed, your knees pulled tightly to your chest.
Every word of that conversation kept replaying in your mind on an endless, agonizing loop.
“You're completely obsessed with them!”
“I can't help it. Every time I look at them, my brain just stops working!”
“I literally fall a little more in love every single second I'm around them.”
You buried your face in your knees, a quiet, frustrated sob catching in your throat. It all made a painful kind of sense now. You had foolishly convinced yourself that the way he looked at you meant something special.
Turns out, he was just a guy with a massive, secret crush.
Just... not on you.
He had spent half the night thinking about her. Staying up late, losing his mind, agonizing over whether she felt the same way, while you sat in Chemistry sharing bagels and trading sarcastic banter, thinking you were the centre of his world. You weren't the muse. You were just the safe, friendly classmate he vented to when he wasn't busy drowning in his feelings for someone else.
“So that was what he was mentioning in the lab,” you whispered bitterly into the fabric of your jeans.
The exhaustion that wasn't just from his mysterious Stark internship, but from a heart beating wildly out of control for a girl who didn't even know he cared.
A sharp buzz from your phone on the mattress startled you.
You flinched, staring at the lit-up screen as if it were a venomous spider.
[Text from: Petey 🧪]
Hey! You left pretty fast after the bell. Everything okay? Also... about that bagel I promised you, is tomorrow still good? Let me know!
Your chest tightened until it physically ached. A fresh wave of heat pricked behind your eyelids. He was being sweet. He was always sweet. He was so naturally affectionate, so deeply caring, that it was impossible to tell where friendship ended and his secret devotion to her began.
You wanted to type out something angry. But you couldn't. You had no right. Who were you to him? You were just his lab partner.
Instead, you locked your phone, letting the screen fade to black.
He stared down at the glowing screen of his phone, his thumb hovering over the conversation thread as the screen timed out and went dark. He tapped it again. Still no read receipts, no typing bubble, no answer.
Peter’s brow furrowed. That wasn't like you at all. Usually, you were quick to respond. But today? You were acting weird. You didn't even wait for him after the last bell.
"She hasn't texted back?" Ned asked, leaning over the back of Peter’s sofa with a half-eaten bag of crisps in hand.
"No," Peter groaned, staring up at his ceiling. "Nothing. Zip. She definitely saw it, Ned. I know she saw it. What if she’s ignoring me? Did I say something weird in Chemistry? Was my breathing too loud? Did I smell like burnt toast?"
"Mate, relax," Ned said, rolling his eyes as he chewed. "You were running on two hours of sleep and looking like a zombie. Maybe Y/n just... had somewhere to be. Or maybe your texting vibes were off."
"My 'texting vibes' were perfectly fine!" Peter sat up abruptly, running a hand through his messy brown hair. "I offered a bagel! Everyone loves bagels!"
He looked down at his phone again, his chest tightening with a sudden unease. It wasn't his spider-sense, but his heart felt heavy. He couldn't shake the memory of the way you'd looked in class: so close, so bright, so completely out of his league.
And now, there was a strange distance between you that hadn't been there hours ago.
"I have to check on them," Peter muttered, already reaching for his hoodie on the floor.
"Wait, right now?" Ned blinked. "Peter, it's six o'clock. Are you gonna go over there as Peter or... as Peter-in-a-mask?"
"As Peter!" He slipped his phone into his pocket. "I'm just gonna walk by. Drop off a bagel. Or- or just see if everything's okay."
"You-" Ned was about to say something before Peter cut him off.
"Shut up, Ned. I'm going."
Twenty minutes later, Peter was standing in front of your flat. He had looked up at your window before entering the building. The light was on.
He knocked on your door, a hesitant and quiet three-count rhythmic knock that you’d know anywhere, before his anxiety could talk him out of it...
"Y/n?" he called out softly through the door, his voice laced with genuine concern. "It's... it's Petey. Are you okay? You kinda disappeared after school, and... well, I was just worrying about you."
Inside the flat, silence hung thick in the air. Peter leaned his ear slightly closer to the door, his enhanced hearing easily picking up the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing on the other side. And the faint, unmistakable sound of a sniffle.
His heart instantly plummeted to his stomach.
"Y/n?" Peter’s tone dropped all hesitation, instantly replaced by worry. "Are you crying? Did something happen? Please, open the door."
"Y/n? Are you crying? Did something happen? Please, open the door." Peter's voice echoed in the living room.
You answered his question in your head, but you didn't even move a little bit.
Yes, I am crying.
Yes, something happened. But I can't say that to you because if I do, our friendship will be over.
No, I won't open that door until you go back to your flat. Even if I know that you know I am inside and ignoring you.
"Y/n, please, talk to me. Are you okay?" He knocked again.
You finally sniffed and stood up. You gave yourself a few minutes before walking towards the door.
You took a deep breath before answering. "Yes, Peter. I'm alright. I'm just having a terrible headache. I wanna sleep. Please go back to your flat."
Who were you to be angry at him?
Peter didn't believe you for even a second. He rested his forehead against the door.
"You know, Y/n, I am bad at chemistry and I know you're smarter than me, but I'm not that dumb," he said in a gentle tone. "I am smart enough to know headaches don't sound like that."
After a five-minute-long silence, he started talking again.
"If you want me to leave, I will. But not like this. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, just let me come inside."
You took a long breath again before answering after a few seconds. "Peter, I'm alright, just exhausted. It's been a long and... weird day." You gulped. "Just... go home, we will talk about this later."
Peter winced at the heavy, final tone in your voice. He looked at the brown paper bag in his hand. The warm, slightly smashed bagel he'd practically sprinted three blocks to buy.
He knew he should turn around, walk down the stairs, and give you space. But the thought of leaving you alone in the dark, crying over something he couldn't protect you from, felt ten times worse than taking a punch from a supervillain.
"Okay," Peter said quietly, his voice laced with defeat. "Okay. I'm going."
You heard his footsteps slide backward, heard him take a shaky breath.
"I'm leaving a bagel on the floor by the handle," he added, trying for a chuckle that completely fell flat. "It's, uh... everything bagel. Extra cream cheese. The kind you like. Just... eat something, okay? Even if you hate me right now."
Silence stretched between you.
"I don't hate you," you whispered to the door, barely loud enough for a normal human to hear.
But Peter wasn't normal. His breath hitched.
"Then why won't you let me in?" he asked, the absolute raw vulnerability in his voice stopping you dead in your tracks. "Did I... did I do something wrong, Y/n? Did I say something stupid in class? Did I push too hard about the internship stuff? Just tell me. Please. Whatever it is, I'll fix it. I promise I'll fix it."
The utter desperation in his tone tore right through the angry, protective wall you had built up over the last two hours. It wasn't fair. He was sitting out there acting like he was the one who had made a mistake, completely unaware of the knife he’d shoved into your chest after school.
Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out and unlatched the deadbolt.
The click echoed loudly in the quiet hallway.
Peter froze. Slowly, the door swung inward.
You were standing there in your oversized sweatshirt, eyes red-rimmed and nose flushed, looking fragile in a way Peter had never seen before.
Peter’s eyes widened, his chest aching at the sight of you. Without thinking, he took a step forward, his hands coming up instinctively as if he wanted to reach out, pull you into his arms, and shield you from the rest of the world. But he caught himself at the last second, letting his arms drop awkwardly to his sides.
"Y/n..." he breathed out, his brown eyes overflowing with concern. "Hey."
"You're an idiot, Peter Parker," you said, your voice thick with unshed tears, though there was no real venom in it. Just exhaustion.
Peter blinked, taken aback, but he accepted the insult without hesitation. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I get that a lot. But... why am I an idiot this time?"
You looked down at his socked feet, then at the brown paper bag he was clutching tightly in his hand like a lifeline, and finally up into his wide, honest eyes.
"Because you're so damn sweet," you sobbed softly, wiping your cheek with the sleeve of your jumper. "You bring me bagels, you look at me like I'm the only person in the room, you promise to tell me your secrets... and the whole time, you're literally losing your mind over someone else."
Peter stopped breathing. The hallway seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.
"What?" he squeaked, his voice cracking violently.
"I heard you," you confessed, the words spilling out of you in a rushed, painful stream before you could lose your nerve. "After school. In the chemistry room. I was coming to see if you wanted to walk out together, and... you and Ned were talking."
Peter’s brain completely short-circuited. The empty classroom.
"You... you overheard us?" Peter stammered, his face instantly draining of all colour, only to flush a violent, burning crimson a second later.
"I heard enough," you snapped quietly, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. "I heard you telling Ned how you stay up all night thinking about her. How she's perfect, brilliant, and beautiful. How you fall more in love with her every second you're around her! And how you're terrified to tell her because you don't want to ruin everything!"
Fresh tears spilled over your lashes, blurring your vision.
"I felt like such a fool, Peter," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I actually thought... I thought maybe all those looks you give me meant something. But you were just being friendly. You were just stressing out over some perfect girl while I was sitting next to you dreaming up things that aren't real."
Peter stood entirely frozen, his mouth slightly open, processing your words.
He listened to you describe the 'secret girl.' He listened to you call yourself a fool. He listened to you tear your own heart apart over a conversation that had been entirely, utterly, 100% about you.
Slowly, the terror in Peter’s eyes melted away, replaced by a wave of shock, followed immediately by an overwhelming, helpless wave of tenderness.
"Y/n..." Peter began softly, stepping across the threshold and closing the door behind him with a quiet snap. He set the paper bag down on your entryway table, never taking his eyes off you.
"Don't," you begged, taking a step back into your living room. "Please don't pity me, Petey. Just... go. I just needed to say it so I could move on."
"Y/n, look at me," Peter said, his voice quiet, steady, and incredibly firm.
You blinked through your tears, refusing to raise your head.
He didn't force you. Instead, he took two slow, careful steps until he was standing right in front of you. He reached out, his warm, slightly calloused fingers hovering for a fraction of a second before gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb softly brushing away a stray tear on your cheek.
Your breath hitched at the touch.
"You didn't hear the end of the conversation," Peter whispered, his thumb still tracing your cheekbone, his touch so unbelievably tender it made your knees feel weak.
"What?" you breathed.
"You ran away before Ned finished talking," Peter said, a tiny, nervous, trembling smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "If you had stayed... five more seconds... you would have heard Ned tell me to stop acting like a coward and just ask you out."
You blinked, the world tilting slightly on its axis. "What?"
"The girl," Peter murmured, his brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse skyrocket. "The girl who keeps me up all night. The girl who makes my brain stop working every time she smiles at me in Chemistry. The girl who is brilliant, and beautiful, and completely impossible to ignore..."
He leaned down just an inch, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes searching yours with pure, unfiltered adoration.
"It's you, Y/n. It's always been you."
Did you hear that right? Or was your tired brain playing tricks on you after a long, agonizing evening?
"Me?" you managed to choke out, your voice barely a squeak.
"Yes, you, you dork," Peter laughed, a sound that was half-sob and half-relief. He brought his other hand up to gently frame your face, his fingers threading into your hair.
"Who else could it possibly be? You think I buy bagels for just anyone? You think I suffer through Mr Harrington’s lectures running on zero sleep just to sit next to anybody?"
"But... Ned said you were obsessed," you stammered, your hands coming up instinctively to grip the wrists resting against your cheeks, desperately needing something to ground you.
"I am obsessed!" Peter admitted freely, his cheeks burning red, though he didn't look away this time. "I am completely, undeniably, embarrassingly in love with you, Y/n. I've been in love with you for months. I was just... I was terrified. You're so smart, and so incredible, and I'm just... Peter. I didn't want to ruin our friendship if you didn't feel the same way."
You stared at him, taking in the faint bags under his eyes, the messy hair, the honest, desperate warmth radiating from him. The heavy knot of pain that had been twisting in your chest for hours suddenly unravelled, leaving behind a sudden, sweeping rush of warmth.
A small, watery laugh escaped your lips.
Peter’s eyes lit up at the sound. "Are you... are you laughing at me?"
"No," you smiled, wiping away the last of your tears as a real, genuine grin spread across your face. "I'm laughing because we are both absolute idiots."
"Hey, I already agreed to being an idiot," Peter grinned, his shoulders visibly dropping all the tension he’d been carrying since he knocked on your door. "Does this mean... you don't hate me?"
"I could never hate you, Petey," you whispered.
Before he could process the words, you leaned up on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder.
Peter let out a soft breath, his arms immediately wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world, burying his face in your hair and inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of your shampoo.
"So," Peter murmured into your hair, his arms tightening around you just a little bit more. "About that bagel..."
You pulled back just enough to look at him, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "Is it still warm?"
"Probably a little squished," Peter admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while keeping the other firmly rested on your waist. "But I promise it was bought with pure, unadulterated affection."
"Good," you murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his warm cheek.
Peter instantly froze, his eyes going wide, a deep blush spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His heart tapped out a frantic, wild rhythm against his ribs. A rhythm you could feel clearly where your hand rested on his chest.
"Okay," Peter squeaked, his voice cracking again. "Okay, wow. Yeah. Best bagel ever."
You laughed, pulling him by the sleeve into your flat and shutting the door on the cold corridor for good.
