Hi! I love your Marvel fanfics, and I wanted to make a request. Could you possibly write a Peter Parker x Stark! Reader or a Johnny Storm x Reader story inspired by 'When Did You Get Hot' by Sabrina Carpenter? Thanks so much!
When Did You Get Hot? | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader
Summary: It’s been a while since you’ve seen the shy, dorky, awkward, Peter Parker. Now in college, you can’t deny his clear glow up.
A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much, I’m glad you enjoy my writing, it truly means a lot! I hope you enjoy!! (I also apologize for the long wait)
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, a bit suggestive (it’s Sabrina Carpenter, duh!)
WC: 2.2K
Masterlist!
Music blared, lights flashed, and the smell of alcohol and weed was nearly insufferable.
It was your first semester at college and what better way to authentically dive into the college experience than a frat party?
Obviously, there were better ways, but one person in particular insisted.
Your roommate, Yelena, dragged you out of your dorm late one Friday night to ‘celebrate’ you acing your engineering exam.
Naturally, given your Stark last name, you majored in engineering and were passing all of your classes with flying colors.
You stood beside Yelena in the kitchen where she filled up two red solo cups with some sort of mystery substance.
“Here,” she said, handing you the cup.
You gave her an uncertain glance and smelled whatever was in the cup. It burned your nose and you gagged. “Ew, what is this?”
You weren’t necessarily one to drink. Especially after the incident at the Tower a while back where Thor gave you some Asgardian liquor.
That hangover was no joke.
Yelena downed her cup of the alcohol. “Just try it. You need to pregame before getting out there,” she explained.
Yelena encouraged you to talk to at least one boy that night. It had been so long since you’d experienced even a minor romantic interaction with a guy.
Most people knew you for being Stark’s daughter, not for being you, which made it hard to come across a genuine relationship.
“I’ll pass,” you laughed, scrunching your nose, the horrible scent still lingering.
Yelena shrugged and downed the second cup too.
Your roommate was insane.
More people filed into the kitchen, right as you and Yelena left.
You stood in the living room as she looked around the room, humming, looking for the right guy for you.
“How about that one?” she asked, pointing at some jock in the corner who smashed an empty beer bottle to the floor.
You side eyed her and she laughed, shaking her head. “I was joking. Hmm…” she trailed off., looking around the room, no one catching her eye. “Okay, maybe a frat party isn’t the place to find you a boyfriend.”
“I could’ve told you that,” you laughed.
Yelena looked around the room once more, eyes landing on MJ and her two friends. “Oh! There’s MJ,” she beamed. “Let’s go say hi.”
The two of you walked across the room, joining MJ and her small group of friends. “Hey, Yelena,” MJ smiled. “Didn’t think you’d come to this lame party.”
Yelena raised her brow. “Lame?” she repeated. “Aren’t you here too?”
MJ narrowed her eyes. “Am I?” Her eyes landed on you. You both had never actually met before. You didn’t go to Midtown High like she did. You were homeschooled by your father and Bruce.
One boy beside her, you had actually met before through an old acquaintance.
Ned.
Ned greeted you with a bright smile and a wave. “Long time so see,” he said. “This is MJ,” he introduced her. “Kinda creepy, I know,” he joked, earning a glare from the girl. “And this is…” he trailed off, looking beside him.
“Say…” he began, drawing out the word, looking between you and his best friend. “Don’t you know Peter?”
Your eyes landed on the boy.
Peter.
Peter Parker.
You hadn’t seen him in about a year.
He worked as an Avenger and you used to go on missions together every now and then. He was the biggest dork you had ever come across.
And, honestly…you didn’t think much else of him.
But, now…
His glow up was undeniable.
His chestnut curls shaped his face nicely, his jawline was sharp and the way he carried himself no long reeked of dork. It conveyed full confidence.
You did a double take, triple take.
No way was that Peter Parker.
Huh…
When did he get so hot?
“Hey,” Peter said to you with a smile. “How have you been?” he asked out of sheer curiosity. “I didn’t know you also went to MIT.”
You looked him up and down, shamelessly. “Yeah,” you replied, not necessarily listening to what he was saying.
His face was insanely distracting.
Perhaps you’d need some of that alcohol Yelena was trying to give you.
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
You took a few shots of whatever you could find in the kitchen, probably not the smartest decision you’d ever made, but it gave you the confidence to sit outside with Peter and hold a conversation.
You both sat on the porch steps, side by side.
“How does Mr. Stark feel about you being away for college?” Peter asked, carrying on the conversation.
You smiled. “He hates that I’m not within arms reach, but I love the freedom.”
Your dad had been overprotective your whole life, and college was new territory for you. It gave you the opportunity to do things you couldn’t when you were home.
It was hard to get away with anything when you lived with so many spies, assassins, gods, and heroes.
Peter laughed, familiar with Stark’s parenting style. “Yeah, he could be harsh huh? You couldn’t even go to high school!”
You rolled your eyes and groaned. “Tell me about it.”
Your conversation drifted from the most mundane of subjects to something more…
Flirtatious.
Peter eyed you up and down slowly, making your heart skip a beat or two. “I like your top,” he complimented. “Fits you nice.”
Your lips curved into a smile. “Thanks. You look really good,” you complimented, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips.
Peter’s face heated up, lips also curving into a smile. “Oh really?” he tested.
You nodded and hummed.
“I think you look even better,” he said flirtatiously, subconsciously leaning closer to you.
“I know,” you replied, deadpanned.
Peter laughed, making you laugh too as he admired your face. “You’ve got a cute laugh,” he said with the biggest smile you’d ever seen.
You smile grew and you looked away out into the dark street. “When did you get so confident?” you asked.
When you knew Peter, he was awkward, hard to talk to as he stumbled over his words, and rambled on and on about nonsense.
Now, he was being bold.
Peter shifted slightly to get a better look at your face. “Confident how?” he challenged.
Your eyes landed on him as you shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you said. “You’re saying things you wouldn’t typically say. It’s more confident. More bold.”
Peter smirked, leaning closer to you. “My word choice isn’t the only thing that’s more bold.”
You swallowed hard, eyes flashing to his lips. “Is that so?”
Peter nodded. “They do say actions speak louder than words.”
One of his hands grabbed your jaw gently as he leaned in.
His lips pressed to yours, warm and soft.
You wouldn’t have taken the Peter you knew in high school to be a good kisser, but now…
That was the best kiss you ever had.
He deepened the kiss, his other hand pulling you closer by the back of your neck.
You sighed as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
You were both so lost in the feeling, forgetting that you were outside in a public place.
“Oh…” a voice trailed off from behind you.
You and Peter pulled apart, slightly out of breath. You turned around and found Yelena, MJ, and Ned.
“Bro,” you groaned, rolling your eyes.
Peter exhaled sharply and stared down the three people in front of you.
“Damn,” Ned muttered. “When did you get game, Peter?” he beamed enthusiastically, excited that his friend actually had something going for him.
Peter narrowed his eyes at Ned.
Yelena nodded her head slowly with a smirk. “Okay, so you didn’t even need my help!”
You and Peter shared an annoyed glance.
Going back to his place didn’t sound too bad…
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
You both stumbled into Peter’s dorm.
No way was his roommate, Ned, coming back now.
Your lips were locked onto his. Your hands roamed all over his body. His hair, neck, back, chest.
His hands held your waist, guiding you back towards his bed.
He sat on the edge of his bed as you straddled his lap.
Seconds later, his shirt was tossed to the floor, followed by your own.
Your skin was on fire as your hands ran up and down his toned chest. Peter had always been this toned, but, you never necessarily noticed.
But now…
Now you did.
You sighed into his mouth as his fingers gently ran up and down your back, giving you goosebumps.
His fingers stopped at the clasp of your bra as he pulled away, face hot, cheeks a bright shade of pink.
“Are you sure?” he breathed out, wanting to know that you were all in.
You had a few shots earlier, but not enough to not know what was going on.
You wanted this more than anything.
You nodded. “Positive.”
You both smiled and leaned back in for another kiss when the sound of a phone ringing caused you both to jump.
Peter looked up at you, knowing it wasn’t his phone.
You furrowed your brows, wondering who was calling. It couldn’t have been Yelena, she knew exactly where you were going.
You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone.
Of course.
It was your father.
You rolled your eyes and declined it, the room now falling silent. You tossed the phone aside on the bed.
“Who was that?” Peter asked out of sheer curiosity.
“No one,” you said, shrugging it off and leaning back in.
As soon as your lips touched, the phone rang again.
You groaned and pulled away, reaching over and silencing your phone, letting it ring, quietly this time.
Peter glanced over to see who was calling you. “You’re just gonna ignore your dad?” he laughed.
“Yes,” you nodded. “He’s ruining the moment.”
You leaned back in, kissing Peter once more, your phone no longer a distraction.
Your fingers ran through his hair as his hands squeezed your hips.
Moments later, you pulled away and placed a few kisses along his jawline. His head fell back as he sighed. “Shit…” he breathed out as you readjusted yourself in his lap. “You’re so…”
“Uh…what did I tell you about declining my calls?”
You nearly flew off of Peter, hearing your father’s voice fill the room. You stood up, staring at your phone. “Dad?!” you exclaimed, looking down at the phone that was now in an active FaceTime call with him.
Lucky for you, while the camera was on, the phone was facing the ceiling.
He couldn’t see anything that would get you and Peter killed.
You could see his screen, though. He appeared to be down in his lab, tinkering with some new additions to his suit.
Peter’s eyes widened as he looked at you.
“What are you doing, anyways?” Tony asked from over the phone. “I swear, kid goes to college and is suddenly too busy to have a conversation with her own father,” he scoffed.
You swallowed hard, staring at Peter with the same fearful expression.
Tony leaned in towards the camera with narrowed eyes. “Hello?”
You chucked awkwardly. “Yeah, right. Too busy,” you laughed, the nerves apparent in your tone.
Your dad looked to the side briefly, then back at the camera. “I can’t see you.”
“I know.”
Tony leaned in again, analyzing the ceiling. “Hey…that’s not your room…”
“Yes it is!” you blurted out.
Your dad shook his head. “Bullshit. There’s a big ass crack in the ceiling.”
You looked up, seeing the crack in the ceiling.
Shit.
“Where are you?”
Peter shook his head vigorously, silently begging you not to tell the truth. Mr. Stark would totally kill him. He told him a long time ago that you were off limits.
“My friend’s dorm,” you lied, trying to sound as casual as possible.
Your father made a face that told you he knew you were full of shit. His chair rolled against the hard floor, sliding over to a large monitor.
He hit a few keys on the keyboard and gasped loudly. “Are you in Parker’s dorm?!”
Your eyes widened at your picked up your phone, turning off your camera. You stared at him as he had your location pulled up on the screen. “Are you seriously tracking me?!”
“Why are you in there?! Are you two-”
You hung up and threw your phone across the room.
Peter watched in horror. “He’s gonna kill me…” he trailed off.
You bit your lower lip, slowly nodding. “Me too…” you agreed. “Might as well enjoy the time we have left alive,” you said sarcastically with a shrug.
“You’re right,” he said with a smirk, grabbing your wrist gently, guiding you in between his legs.
He looked up at you with the brightest eyes you’d ever seen. “How much time do you think we have before he flies down here in his suit and murders us?” he asked.
It wasn’t a joke.
Your father would do it.
You hummed in through. “Fifteen minutes, give or take.”
“That’s more than enough time,” Peter said, pulling you on top of him as he laid down, your lips connecting once more.
Seconds later, he rolled you both over, so that he was now on top.
Dirty Little Secret | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader
Summary: Tony Starks daughter, Wanda’s powers (but purple), dating the new intern in secret. What could possibly go wrong when Clint falls through the vents right after you sneak in your secret boyfriend?
Peter Parker one shot inspired by the song, Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects!
Warnings: None
WC: 1.9K
Masterlist!
“I’ll keep you my dirty little secret”
You dating the new intern was your biggest secret.
Your father was the one and only, infamous, genius, billionaire, Tony Stark, aka Iron Man.
Of course, you somehow managed to be kidnapped by Hydra and experimented on, giving you powers that, oddly enough, were just like Wanda’s, but purple.
Due to this, your father was the most over protective person in your life.
You went to Midtown High, and tried to live a semi normal lifestyle. Everyone knew you were Tony Stark’s daughter. Who didn’t?
What they didn’t know was that you had super powers.
That was just one of your secrets.
Your biggest secret was that you were dating the new intern at the tower.
You were shocked to see the boy in your chem class at the tower one morning. Your father introduced you two and made it clear to the Parker boy that you were ‘off limits’.
But, oh boy, could Peter not resist you.
It didn’t take long for him to find any excuse to be around you.
He was officially an Avenger now. Of course he had to check your room for any potential threats.
He was totally failing science. Of course he needed to study with you.
It didn’t take long for you to take a liking to the boy. But, you couldn’t date him. Your father would kill you. The rest of the team wouldn’t live it down. Your first boyfriend and it was the intern?
What you could do, was date him in secret.
You were perched on the edge of your bed, in your pajamas, rock music playing from one of your speakers.
You were busily tinkering with one of Peter’s web shooters. He accidentally broke it and totally couldn’t fix it on his own.
He’d have to come by your room that night to pick it up from you.
You jumped and gasped at the sound of something hitting your window.
You rose to your feet and drew back the curtain to reveal your boyfriend in his spider suit.
“Hi!” he beamed from outside, clinging to the window.
You chuckled and opened the window, shushing him. “Someone might hear!” you whisper shouted.
Your heart beat in excitement. There was something exhilarating about doing something you knew you’d be crucified for.
Peter climbed into your room with ease, shutting the window behind him. “No one ever hears,” he replied, taking his mask off.
His hair was an absolute mess. His eyes were bright and full of love. He placed a kiss to your check and smiled down at you. “Did you finish fixing the web shooter?” he asked curiously.
“No,” you sighed dramatically. “This is sooo hard to fix,” you said sarcastically.
Peter hummed and his hands found your waist. “Guess I’ll have to stay then.”
You looked up at him with loving eyes. “I guess so.”
Peter giggled as he pulled you in close for a kiss.
His lips were warm and soft against yours.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.
You pushed him back gently, he stumbled back, legs hitting the edge of your bed. He sat on your bed, pulling you on top of him.
His hands roamed your hips and back as your lips moved in perfect harmony.
He pulled away briefly to admire your face. “Gosh, I love you,” he breathed out.
You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair. “I love you too.”
He smiled and pulled you in for another kiss.
Your hands found his chest and you pushed him back, so that you were both now lying down, you on top of him.
One of his gloved hands held your waist while the other roamed through your hair.
Suddenly, you swore you heard the sound of something in your ceiling.
You pulled away and Peter gave you a confused look. “Did you hear that?” you asked.
Peter blinked. “No. Just the music,” he replied.
“Edith, turn the music off, please,” you asked the artificial intelligence.
“Turning the music off Stark Jr.”
The music turned off and the room fell silent.
“Maybe it was the song,” Peter suggested, pulling you back in for another kiss.
You hummed against his lips, ignoring whatever it was you thought you heard.
Thud
You gasped at the loud thud in your room. You pulled away and looked to your bedroom floor.
None other than Clint was on the floor looking at you with a petrified expression.
“Clint?!” you shouted, nearly flying off of Peter. “I told you to stay out of the vents!”
Clint had a bad habit of hanging out in the vents, and of course he had to just fall out of the vent in your room.
Where you were making out with your super secret boyfriend.
Peter jumped out of your bed and stood beside you, looking guilty as hell.
Clint looked between you and Peter with his jaw dropped. “You’ve been kissing on the new intern?!” he exclaimed. “Ooo, I’m telling your daddy!”
Your eyes, as well as Peter’s, widened in horror. “No!” you both shouted.
Clint looked at you, amused. “Give me one good reason to not.”
“He’s gonna kill me!” you exclaimed. “Please, Clint! Be the cool uncle you are!”
Your father was the last person you needed to know about Peter.
Clint, sure.
Tony Stark? No way.
Clint shrugged. “That’s not a good reason. I don’t really care.”
Your jaw dropped, but before you could say anything, there was a knock at the door.
“Everything okay in there?” Natasha asked from outside.
Your eyes widened as Clint raced to the door to open it and show Natasha the scene that was unfolding. “No!” you exclaimed, sticking your hand out to throw Clint back, a purple mist covering him.
“Hey! Don’t use your powers on me you little witch!” he shouted, sliding across the floor.
Natasha furrowed her brows from outside. “Clint? What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing!” you told her.
“I’m coming in there,” she said, barging through the door.
The door flew open and she looked to see you, face flushed with embarrassment, and Clint lying on the floor.
No Peter in her eyesight.
“What is happening?” she asked, confused. “Why are you yelling?”
“Because he won’t stay out of the vents!” you said, pointing a finger at him.
Clint rose to his feet with a laugh. “Tell her what really happened.”
“It’s true!”
Clint shook his head. “No, she was making out with some boy,” he told Natasha dramatically.
You swallowed, hard, eyes darting to Natasha who blinked. “What boy? There’s no one in here.”
Clint furrowed his brows and looked around your room.
Peter was gone.
“What?!” Clint exclaimed. “He was just here!”
Clint ducked to look under your bed, marched to your closet and opened the door, even checked your bathroom.
No Peter.
You looked up at your ceiling slowly.
There, Peter clung to it, putting a finger to his lips.
Your eyes widened, praying no one would look up.
“He was here!” Clint defended himself. “I swear!”
Natasha looked at you with raised brows. You pulled your lips into a tight line. “Right…” she trailed off.
You screamed and jumped back, as Vision phased through the wall. “Vision! Use the door!” you ridiculed.
“My apologies Tiny Stark,” he said sheepishly. “I heard yelling. I was concerned.”
Clint marched over to Vision. “Hey, check this place out. She just had a boy in here.”
“Clint!”
Vision blinked in shock. “A boy? Who?”
“No one!”
“It was that-”
Clint couldn’t finish his sentence before Loki walked in with a loud, dramatic, groan. “Can you mortals stop bickering? It’s awfully annoying.”
“You!” Clint beamed, pointing a finger at Loki. “You use magic. Find the boy!”
Loki furrowed his brows. “What boy?”
“The one she snuck in here,” Clint replied.
Loki looked at you, knowing exactly where Peter was. Your eyes were full of worry as your shook your head at him, a silent plead to not expose you.
Loki smirked at you.
“You mean the intern on the ceiling?”
“Loki!!!” you shouted at him.
Everyone in the room looked up at the ceiling to see Peter clung to the wall, eyes wide in horror.
“Ha!” Clint exclaimed. “Told you!”
Vision tilted his head slightly. “Peter?”
“You’re dating the intern?!” Natasha asked excitedly.
“Did someone say that Parker kid’s name?”Footsteps in the hallway approached your room.
Sam and Bucky.
Just your luck.
“Aye!” Sam exclaimed. “Get your ass down!” he yelled at Peter.
Peter flipped off of the ceiling, landing on his feet. His face was red with embarrassment. This was not the way he wanted your family to find out you were dating him.
Bucky sucked his teeth, giving you a disappointed look. “The spider guy? Really?”
Sam shook his head and crossed his arms. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he lectured Peter. “Sneaking in here at night. I always knew he was a bad influence,” he muttered under his breath.
You groaned and threw your head back. “Sam, please leave him alone.”
Louder footsteps boomed down the hallway, Thor appeared in the doorway with a box of Poptarts. “Hey, why didn’t anyone invite me to this party?”
His eyes scanned the room and he hummed in thought. “Why’s he here?” he asked, looking dead at Peter.
“He snuck in,” Bucky explained. “I say we kill him for it.”
“What?!” Peter exclaimed. “Kill me?” he repeated in horror.
Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah! Kill you!”
“No!” you shouted. “No killing people! No nothing! How about,” you proposed, voice leveled. “How about, we all leave my room and pretend none of this ever happened?”
“Or,” Loki proposed. “We tell your father. I’m sure he’d love to hear you snuck in the intern he forbade you from dating.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Or,” you began. “We kill you instead!”
“What happened to no killing?” Sam asked with a laugh.
Seconds later, Bruce and Wanda wandered in. “What the…” Bruce trailed off.
“Oh, hi, Peter,” Wanda waved at the boy.
Peter awkwardly put his hand up, keeping his head low sheepishly.
This was too awkward.
It was only a matter of time before your father found out.
“So…” Clint trailed off. “Who’s gonna tell Tony?”
“No one! Please!” you begged. “I’ll do extra chores for a month! A year! I’ll never move out for college! I’ll never play my music loud again! I’ll do anything, just don’t tell him!”
Clint raised his brows up in shock that you were willing to do such things. “Okay,” he agreed. “Extra chores for a month.”
“And you won’t tell my dad?”
Clint nodded. “I won’t. I pinky promise.”
“I’ll tell him,” Sam spoke up.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”
“I just don’t like him,” he said, pointing a finger at Peter.
“What did I do?” Peter asked, genuinely confused as to the one sided beef between him, Sam, and Bucky.
“Because,” Bucky replied.
“That’s not even a reason!”
“Look,” Natasha spoke up. “No one is telling Tony anything. This stays between us. She’s old enough to kiss boys, who cares. If anyone says anything to Tony, you’re dead.”
You let out a sigh of relief.
Everyone feared Natasha.
Your father wouldn’t know.
“Too late, I already know.”
You all turned to your window, the curtains wide open.
Your father was in his suit, floating right in front of your window.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaimed. “I can explain!”
“No,” Stark interrupted. “No need,” he said calmly.
Peter swallowed hard. “Does this mean I’m fired?”
“No,” Tony chuckled. Peter let out a sigh of relief. “It means you’re dead!”
He lifted his hand and aimed it at the window. He fired his repulsor right at the widow, Peter dodging it just in time.
You were going to need a new window, and maybe, a new boyfriend, by the end of this.
The Feeling | Peter Parker x Psychometric!Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After you move in across the hall from Peter Parker, the boy you loved before you lost your memories, Peter decides he can’t take it anymore. He wants you to remember. Late night at a college party, a guy accidentally bumps into you, spilling his drink all over you. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve brushed it off…but your powers are triggered and suddenly you remember that this isn’t just any guy. He isn’t just your neighbor. He is, or rather was, your boyfriend.
WARNINGS: Reader has psychometric abilities (she can touch certain objects or people and see into the past), some angst, Peter yearning big time, happy ending!
A/N: Don’t worry, there are absolutely no spoilers for BND, I’m going to see it Friday! So, here’s one last post before I go off the grid for BND :)
WC: 5.3K
Main Masterlist!
Peter Parker’s soul had been fractured some time ago and he craved a feeling that he believed to be the remedy.
What that feeling was, his mind wasn’t so sure, but his heart and soul knew.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter Parker’s quaint little apartment was awfully loud for someone who lived alone.
The window was wide open, the hustle and bustle of New York infiltrating his home. The crap dryer was in the middle of shrinking his jeans as it hummed loudly, sounding as if a few screws were loose.
Which, come to think of it, probably were.
His speaker played music softly as he was hunched over the small desk near the window. He was in the middle of patching up his suit after an intense fight with The Hand.
Crash!
Peter jolted up, on high alert for any other sounds. His spider senses weren’t going off, but he was still worried about what caused the sound outside of his apartment.
He quickly grabbed his phone, pausing the music to hear better.
He was met with a dead silence until-
“Shit!”
Peter let out a sigh of relief, hearing a muffled voice from behind his door in the hallway.
The person must’ve dropped something.
Peter rose up from his seat and cracked open the door, only for his breath to quite literally catch in his throat.
You were standing there, three boxes stacked on top of one another, a fourth box on the floor with shattered glass surrounding it.
You set the three boxes down and huffed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at the mess you made in the hallway. You glanced up at the boy staring at you as if he had seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I just- well I thought I could carry all these boxes to my apartment, but clearly not.”
Peter swallowed hard and blinked, snapping out of the trance he was in. “You- wha- Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, making you quirk a brow. “You’re moving in?” he asked, glancing at the apartment door right across the hall from him.
You nodded with a small smile, dangling your keys up. “Yup. Right across from you apparently.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
He hadn’t seen you or heard from you in years. Not since Dr. Strange casted that spell and made everyone forget who he was. For years he wondered where you were, if you were okay, and more importantly, if you found someone new because truth be told, he hadn’t.
He wasn’t even looking.
At university, girls would flirt with him every now and then, falling for that shy and dorky personality with something more mature growing around the edges. Peter Parker was an attractive guy and he was so sweet, so kind, to everyone he met.
The boy could’ve honestly had a new girlfriend by now.
But he didn’t because it had always been you.
You were the only girl he ever wanted.
You rocked back on your heels, staring at Peter with narrowed eyes. You couldn't quite place it, but he seemed familiar, like maybe you had seen him somewhere before, but then again, he looked like your average young adult in New York. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Peter blinked. “Me?”
You looked around the empty hallway with a small giggle, already finding your new neighbor rather entertaining. “Who else?”
“Oh. Duh,” Peter lectured himself from under his breath with closed eyes and a pitiful headshake. He cleared his throat and straightened up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, no, you don’t.”
He hated lying, especially to you.
You tilted your head slightly. “Are you sure? You seem…I don’t know. You seem familiar. What’s your name?”
“P-Peter,” he stuttered. “Peter Parker.”
You hummed, the name not entirely ringing a bell. “Peter Parker,” you repeated, as if it would jog your memory. “Sounds familiar, but then again, you have the most generic name.”
Before Peter could respond, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself.
Peter stared down at your hand, then pulled his lips into a tight line. He knew that if he touched you he risked you immediately being overloaded with the knowledge of who he was and the history you both shared.
The day Dr. Strange casted that spell, he promised you that he would remind you of who he was.
That was the first time Peter Parker ever lied to you.
He went down to the pastry coffee shop he knew you and Ned would hangout at just to bother MJ, because there was once a time Peter was in the picture too. When he saw you sitting beside Ned, a small warm peppermint hot chocolate in your hands, his heart fluttered, excitement coursing through his veins as he made his way over to introduce himself, just like he had rehearsed a million times.
“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and you don’t know me, but we used to be friends, more than friends actually.”
Was what he was supposed to say.
But when he got close enough for you to look up at him, a glint of confusion in the very eyes he had fallen in love with, his own eyes that you had no recollection of caught sight of the healing gash that caused a slit in your eyebrow and the bandage a few inches away from it on your forehead.
A painful reminder of what it meant to get too close to someone like him.
It was his fault that you had gotten hurt and nearly died.
He didn’t ever want to put you in a situation like that again, and after Aunt May…he figured it would be best if you were no longer associated with him.
He froze up completely and ended up telling you his name like some kind of dork and asking you if the peppermint hot chocolate was worth the five dollars.
So now, in the present moment, his heart was slowly breaking because you hadn’t fully remembered him from that day, which was fine because why would you have?
He was just a weirdo who approached you awkwardly and asked how the peppermint hot chocolate was, which…was strange because it wasn’t inherently obvious to anyone that wasn’t MJ or Ned that that was what you were drinking.
But Peter knew because it was your favorite.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I would shake your hand, but my hands are dirty. I was just uh…cleaning.”
“Oh,” you muttered quietly, pulling your hand away awkwardly, glancing away from him feeling slightly embarrassed.
The hallway was silent as you stood there for a second, Peter thinking of something, anything to say to you because he didn’t want the moment to end.
“Do you want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Peter offered.
Your brows pressed together. “I thought your hands were dirty. I don’t want you touching my stuff,” you half joked.
“Right…” Peter replied. “I’ll sweep up the glass.”
You smiled softly and nodded, unlocking your door and dragging a box inside, thinking that your new neighbor was a little weird, but meant well.
Peter smiled and as soon as you disappeared into your empty apartment, his smile fell instantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a list of profanities under his breath as he returned back into his apartment to retrieve a broom and dustpan.
He swept up the glass and you thanked him before going back into your apartment.
For the next couple of days, you wouldn’t see Peter often. You’d sometimes cross paths heading downstairs to retrieve your mail, earning a small wave from him or see him on your way out to work.
Regardless, that little to no interaction was driving him up the wall.
You were right there.
Right across the hall.
Right within arms touch, and one touch…just the one, had the potential to ignite an old flame again.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter lied on his couch, staring at the ceiling while tossing a pen into the air and catching it mindlessly. He was supposed to be figuring out what to eat for dinner, but alas, you were on his mind.
He had missed you before, but ever since you moved in he felt like he was losing his mind.
You consumed each and every one of his thoughts, every fiber in his being. If there was one thing Peter Parker wanted, it was you.
He jolted up, hearing the sound of someone knocking on his door. He practically bounced off of the wall, his spider senses going haywire, sensing that it was you. He swung the door open and saw you standing in the hallway wearing a casual outfit that you still looked cute in. Cute top, sweatpants, and pair of slippers that he bought you for Christmas one year that made him smile from ear to ear.
“Hey,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps flexing, which he was doing on purpose.
He watched as your eyes darted down quickly and back up. He noticed the way you swallowed, blinking quickly as if to get your mind back on track, which only made him smirk.
He was glad to know you still liked that.
“Hi,” you chirped. “So…” you trailed off, rocking back on your heels. “I made dinner and I accidentally made too much, I doubled the recipe,” you explained, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with me?”
Peter blinked, caught off guard. “I uh…yeah, I’ll have dinner. I’ll be over in a few.”
Your smile widened. “Perfect. See you in a few.”
You turned on your heel and went across the hallway to your own apartment. Peter went back into his and scrambled across the living room into his bedroom where he yanked off his tank top and sweatpants. He threw clothes out of his closet and tried on about five different outfits before deciding on a t-shirt and pair of jeans. He nearly tripped over the clothes that were now all over his floor as he raced towards his cologne, deciding on the one he knew you loved.
He grabbed his shoes and-
Wait…
Does he need shoes to take two steps across the hallway to your apartment?
He decided to slip on his slippers like you had. He grabbed a bottle of wine that he was saving for his Daily Bugle office party, figuring that this was more important.
Did you drink?
He wasn’t sure.
He’d bring it anyway.
He raced over to the door, hand halting over the handle.
Hold on…
Jeans? Really? You were in sweatpants!
He groaned and ran back into the kitchen, setting the wine bottle down and running back into his room, yanking a drawer open and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. He kicked the slippers off, hobbled on one foot, nearly falling over as he took his jeans off and replaced them with the sweats.
Peter went back to grab his slippers when a new thought filled his mind.
What if you had changed into jeans?
“No,” Peter lectured himself. “You look fine. You look great,” he reassured himself, though his heart was racing, which could’ve been because he just ran around his entire apartment in less than five minutes.
He made his way out of his apartment, standing in front of your door and taking a deep breath.
Knock knock.
Within two seconds you were at the door, opening it all the way.
He let out a sigh of relief to see that you were still in your sweatpants.
The scent of his cologne immediately filled your nose and you felt an odd tingling sensation in your finger tips, as if your powers were so desperately trying to remind you of something.
You raised a brow, knowing you didn't smelled cologne when you initially went to his place, meaning he put it on before coming to yours.
“Brought some wine!” Peter chirped, holding up the bottle. “I actually don’t know if you drink, but if not I have uh…” he trailed off, thinking. “Well, I don’t have anything except for water…out of the sink, but I’m saving up for a filter!”
You raised your brows as he rambled, and his face quickly went red in embarrassment. “I uh…” he laughed. “I’m joking,” he breathed out. “Well…not really, but…”
You giggled, stepping aside. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly try with you. Come on in.”
Peter made his way inside and looked around as you shut the door. Your apartment reminded him so much of your bedroom back at the Avenger’s Tower, it just looked as if you had grown up.
Because you both had.
Peter Parker was still the nerdy, awkward, and awfully cute boy you met back in high school that you unfortunately didn’t have the pleasure of remembering. But something about him had changed. He was more mature. Slightly less awkward but still rather awkward to a fault.
“Your apartment is nice,” he complimented, following you into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” you beamed. You reached into the cabinet and pulled out two regular glass cups. “I don’t have wine glasses,” you said sheepishly. “This should work, right?”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I don’t have a bottle opener either.”
Peter shrugged, taking the foil off of the bottle. “It’s alright. I got it.” Peter’s muscles flexed ever so slightly as he quite literally flicked off the top. “Tada!”
Your eyes widened. “What the hell? How’d you do that?”
Peter smirked. “Well, I work out a lot,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter.
You raised a brow. “Do you now?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah. Like, a lot.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m at the gym all the time.”
“Right.”
Peter smirked, watching as you tried to conceal your smile, which you were doing a very poor job at. “You’re smiling.”
Now you broke, smiling like a dork. “Because you’re funny.”
“But I didn’t say anything funny.”
“You did,” you said matter of factly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to impress me, Parker.”
“Are you impressed?”
You rolled your eyes and snagged the glasses off of the counter. “Come on. The food is getting cold.”
Peter smiled triumphantly to himself. Back when you two first met, you were both incredibly shy, but you managed to take charge, flirting with Peter constantly, making him a nervous mess.
But now time had changed you both.
Now Peter was the one with the confidence to flirt with you and make you all nervous.
He followed you to the small table in the kitchen where two bowls of pasta were sitting. You both sat down, Peter pouring both your glass a little less than halfway.
“So,” he said, trying to spark up a conversation, aka, trying to figure out how you had been the past few years since he had missed out. “How’d you manage to afford to live in the most expensive place in all of New York?”
You laughed because you and him definitely did not live in the most expensive place in all of New York. It was actually the cheapest and you considered it to be a literal shit box.
“I’m making, like, fifty cents above minimum wage working at a bookstore a few blocks down,” you said as he slid your glass of wine over to you. You grabbed the glass from him, your fingers just centimeters away from ghosting his…just centimeters away from knowing the truth. “It’s not bad though, I like it. What about you?”
Peter filled his glass the same amount as yours. “I work at the Daily Bugle. I get all the pictures of Spider-Man and stuff like that.”
Your eyes widened as he set the bottle down, meeting your gaze. “You know Spider-Man?”
Peter shook his head, averting his gaze. “No. I- I mean, I just get the pictures,” he said sheepishly, bringing the glass up to his lips.
You gave Peter a confused look. “Come on,” you said. “You must know him. I mean, how else do you get literal selfies of him on top of the Empire State Building? Unless…you are Spider-Man,” you joked.
Peter spit his drink out back into the cup, becoming a coughing mess. “Wha- What?! N- No-!” he managed out between coughs.
Your face contorted into one of pure bewilderment at his reaction, something you weren’t at all expecting. “Jeez, okay…”
Peter put his glass down, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not Spider-Man,” he said sharply.
“Okay.”
“That wouldn’t even be possible.”
“I believe you.”
“I just…we’re close enough that he gives me those pictures.”
“Right.”
“I am not Spider-Man.”
“Exactly.”
It was silent for a beat as you stared at each other. By your expression and tone, Peter could tell that you were catching onto something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. It could’ve been the fact that he was Spider-Man, it could’ve been that you were slowly starting to realize you knew him before, he wasn’t sure.
One thing he knew for sure was that if you kept staring at him, you would probably start to put two and two together somehow, because you always did.
“Are you gonna try that?” he asked, motioning to the glass on the table.
You glanced down at it and grabbed it, bringing it to your nose.
“Oh, shit,” you grimaced, the scent burning.
Peter smiled. “It’s not all that bad.”
You brought the glass to your lips and immediately spat it back out into the glass. “What the hell!” you exclaimed. “How does anyone drink this shit?!”
Peter laughed. “This is supposed to be the good stuff.”
You gagged. “Gross.”
“So uhm,” he began, changing the subject, grabbing his fork and picking up some pasta with it, you repeating the action. “You got any family close by?”
Now, he was just checking to see if you still had your family of Avengers.
To his knowledge, and based upon where things were the last time you two were actually together, you had already lost Nat, Tony, and Steve, so you were really left with the only two people you were close to.
Sam and Bucky.
You had been complaining to Peter your whole field trip across Europe about how you hated living with Bucky because he was insanely over protective and the only reason you were on that trip was because of Sam.
But then again, Sam was also over protective, just slightly less.
Your fork clattered against the plate, making Peter’s brows raise slightly.
“Sorry,” you laughed awkwardly, picking it back up. “I uh…I don’t,” you said, figuring it would be best to not tell a stranger that you were a superhero and after you moved out, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had a falling out, which meant they went their separate ways and suddenly you didn’t seem to exist to either of them anymore.
Bucky was a new Avenger and Sam was rounding up his own team and you were left behind.
“No?” Peter asked, not wanting to pry but so desperately curious to know that the past few years you’d been okay.
You couldn’t look at Peter as you shook your head. “No,” you said quietly.
Peter’s heart broke because that told him everything.
You had been just as alone as he had, with the exception of MJ and Ned of course.
You had no family and neither did he.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter shut the door behind him, back pressing into it as he slowly sank to the floor, letting out a deep sigh.
God, he still loved you more than anything.
Of course he did.
Peter was completely lost.
He wanted you to know that just a few years ago you were both so desperately in love with one another, and you were just one touch away from knowing it.
You clearly were interested in him, already starting to fall back in love with him all over again.
He could just fall back in love with you and act like there was no history, but what was the point?
He didn’t want you to know who he was anyway to keep you safe.
But his soul craved to be with you again.
He bit his lower lip in thought, deciding what to do.
He had to tell you.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Your nose was filled with the putrid smell of alcohol and marijuana as you leaned against the wall that was vibrating against your back due to the music.
You sipped on the red solo cup in your hand, the plastic filled a quarter of the way full with soda, which was probably meant to be used as a chaser, but you didn’t drink.
Your eyes scanned the party, watching college students do the most heinous things while under the influence.
“And then…there’s Miles. This random high school kid from Brooklyn who might be Spider-Man, but my friends said we probably shouldn’t be stalking a fifteen year old.”
Your friend, Ned, was rambling to someone about how you, MJ, and himself were on the brink of discovering who Spider-Man was, though you were all more than likely far off in your guesses.
MJ was beside you, arms crossed over her chest as she pointed out people for you to look at. First it was some frat guy standing on top of a table while chugging a bottle of beer, then it was some girl making out with her boyfriend, and now it was some loser who allegedly kept staring at you.
“That guy,” MJ said, nodding her head across the room. “He keeps looking over here every ten and a half seconds.”
You didn’t know who she was talking about due to the sheer amount of people in the room, and you didn’t necessarily care. “Glad to know you’re keeping tabs on potential threats,” you teased lightly heartedly.
“Hey,” MJ, shrugged. “Maybe once Spider-Man stops taking all your villains, you can get back at it. I feel like you don’t pay attention to anything anymore.”
Ever since the Avengers had gone their separate ways following Thanos, you hadn’t really done much as a masked hero.
You vaguely remember fighting alongside Spider-Man to defeat Mysterio and then there was something that felt like a blur with three Spider-Men, Dr. Strange, and villains from differing universes.
On numerous occasions, the ‘New Avengers’ had reached out about you joining their team, but you objected each time, partially because you hated the idea of your family of heroes being replaced, partially because of the politics surrounding it with Sam fighting for copyright, and partially because you enjoyed being a normal person for once.
Your entire teenage years were dedicated to fighting and for once in your life, you wanted to just live.
“I pay attention,” you said, finishing your drink.
MJ, pursed her lips, giving you an uncertain expression. “You know, a few years ago you would’ve thought that weird guy over there was out to get you because he’s been staring at you since you got here,” she said matter of factly. “Oh, not to mention he keeps scanning the room as if something bad is going to happen.”
You smirked. “Imagine he’s Spider-Man.”
MJ raised her brows. “That loser?”
You giggled. “I honestly don’t even know who you’re talking about.” Before MJ could respond, you flashed her your cup. “I’m going to get some more soda. Want anything?”
“Soda is good.”
You nodded with a smile and began to push your way through the crowd.
MJ’s eyes followed you briefly before glancing to the side. The ‘loser’ that she said was staring at you was following you, pushing his way through the crowd.
“What a dork,” she mumbled to herself, assuming that he was some socially awkward dweeb who had a crush on you.
In the kitchen, you had already filled up MJ’s cup and now you were filling up your own. You weren’t paying any attention and didn’t seem to notice the guy whose hands were shaking as he moved to stand beside you, refilling his cup that was already full.
It was Peter Parker, your neighbor, and you couldn’t seem to notice him in a crowded room. A few years ago, you would’ve thought he was the only person in the room, your eyes locking with his naturally.
It was like he didn’t even exist in your world all over again, and it was then he realized he couldn’t take it anymore.
You had to know.
You screwed the cap back onto the soda and grabbed the cups. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but you were already walking away.
As you began to push through the crowd again, you glanced down at the soda you had poured for MJ.
It was Sprite and he hated light soda, she preferred dark, something like Coke because ‘Light soda isn’t on the same wavelength as my soul,’ or whatever nonsense she said back in high school.
“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, turning abruptly onto your heel.
Little did you know, that ‘loser’ MJ mentioned just moments ago was hot on your tail, following you.
You both accidentally collided into one another, your chest hitting his, sending your drinks, and his splashing, and very conveniently only hitting your clothes.
“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Are you alright?!”
Peter scrambled to figure out how to help, worried that he had completely ruined your night.
Then he looked at you and panic set in.
He recognized your reaction all too well.
Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at the half empty cups in your hands. You looked like you had seen a ghost.
As soon as you touched him, you saw everything.
The boy in high school you had fallen in love with.
The first time you’d met, Tony Stark introducing him as ‘The Spider-Ling’, to which Peter embarrassingly looked away from you when you laughed.
All those late nights staying up together over a video call, ranting about whatever books you were reading, a science project he was working on, or rambling on about your days, which you’d already spent together.
The first time he swung you all around New York when you couldn’t sleep, your arms wrapped tightly around him as your stomach dropped each time his webs redacted from a building.
Your first kiss at the top of the Empire State Building, slow, desperate, and messy.
The entire team of Avengers finding out about you two being together and embarrassing you both endlessly.
The two of you growing and maturing together right before college applications.
And that was the last you could remember of it because your memories had been taken from you.
It was like the room had fallen silent, the music fading out, and suddenly only you and the boy you spent your entire teenage years loving were the only people in the room, two hearts beginning to beat in the same rhythm again.
Your eyes slowly glanced up to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill from them. Your mouth had gone dry, not even knowing what to say.
Peter’s face immediately washed over with realization.
You knew.
You touched him and your powers went off, telling you exactly everything that happened.
Before he could say anything, you turned around quickly, pushing as fast as you could through the crowd.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You managed to get away from the party, and found an empty fire escape on the side of the building where you sat crisscrossed, staring at the busy city despite it being so late at night.
You heard someone grunt softly and the sound of metal clanging. You turned and saw familiar brown hair and brown eyes.
Peter.
He gave you a soft smile, but you looked away, out into the skyline.
Peter’s smile faded, heart aching as he moved to sit beside you.
It was painfully quiet as he played with his fingers, not knowing what to say just yet.
Thankfully for him, you spoke up first.
“You promised me,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You promised you’d remind me of you. Of…of us.”
Peter glanced over to you, though your gaze remained on the skyline. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he apologized sincerely.
You finally turned to him, tears in your eyes. “Why?”
Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just…I thought that everyone was finally okay because I wasn’t there. You all got to finally go to college because you didn’t know me. You all got to be happy and live a life away from all that stuff. You guys didn’t need me.”
“I needed you, Peter,” you said. “I needed you more than anything.”
Peter’s heart absolutely shattered at your words and the pure hurt in your tone.
You grabbed Peter’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’d go back and do everything all over again if it means being with you. I’d go back and not get accepted into MIT. I’d go back and nearly die. I’d do it all over again, Peter.”
Peter’s expression softened. “I just wish it wasn’t like this. I want you safe and I want you to get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“But that’s just the cards we’ve been dealt,” you said softly, his hand still in yours. “If we hadn't been dealt them, who’s to say we would’ve ever been together?”
Peter sighed, staring out into the city. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve better and it was selfish of me to even think about getting back with you.”
You stayed silent, staring at Peter before looking away again.
“You know,” he began, letting out another sigh. “I had this whole plan to tell you tonight about everything. I assumed you wouldn’t believe me so then I was going to get you to use your powers and-” he cut himself off, shutting his eyes. “It was stupid. So stupid.”
You shifted your body, turning sideways to face him fully. “Peter,” you said softly.
He slowly glanced up to meet your gaze. “Yeah?”
“It wasn’t stupid.”
Peter’s brows pressed together. “But it was-”
“Not, it wasn’t,” you interrupted him.
Peter then began to ramble a mile a minute, and it started to remind you of him in high school.
“Okay, but like, I just keep you in danger, and I know you always have been in danger because you have powers, but I feel like you’re in additional danger and-”
“Peter-”
“I just want you to be safe and I think maybe we should go back to not knowing each other-”
“Peter-”
“Not that I don’t want to know you, because I love you, and I-”
Peter cut himself off, face a bright shade of pink. He looked at you with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly.
Your lips slowly curved upward into a teasing smile as he began to panic again.
“No! I didn’t mean that!” Peter exclaimed. “Wait! I mean, I do love you but- but- like, you know- actually-”
Peter’s words weren’t cut off because you interrupted him verbally again.
No.
You kissed him.
Soft and gentle just like you had that night on the Empire State building.
Peter didn’t freeze up like he did that night.
He immediately melted into it, kissing you back.
Your powers gave you the ability to recall history or memories of the past. Peter’s did not, but something about that kiss made him remember the feeling he had been missing for years. The feeling he craved to experience again.
And that feeling was you.
The missing piece of his soul was you and it always had been.
You pulled apart, forehead resting on his. “I love you too,” you said softly, glancing up at him, cupping his cheek.
Peter swallowed. Hard. “You- You do?”
“I do.”
Peter’s lips curved into a smile. “I love you too.”
“Good,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek. “So, do you wish I could lose my memory of you again?”
“No,” Peter chuckled, leaning into your touch. He reached for your hand that held his cheek and kissed it softly. “Never.”
Every breath you take - Peter parker, imagine Spiderman following y/n everywhere, keeping her safe from any threat no matter how big or small. And her confronting(not in a bad way) him about it once she notices him
Every Breath You Take (Imani’s Mixtape Series) | Peter Parker x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: For some peculiar reason, Spider-Man, the masked hero seems to constantly save you from even the smallest things. When you confront him about it and ask if you know him, he insists that you don’t. But then, when you confront him about being in love with you, he doesn’t deny it.
WARNINGS: No spoilers for Brand New Day :) , Peter is low key a stalker but he means well, reader accidentally cuts her hand, mentions of blood, upside down kiss at the end!
A/N: Thank you for the request anon! Requests are currently open for Peter Parker, you can send in your own request or do the mixtape!!
WC: 2.7K
Main Masterlist!
Mixtape Series! (Only taking requests for Peter Parker right now!)
Everyone adored the renowned Spider-Man.
But you?
You found him awfully strange.
Throughout your high school years you had a vague memory of constantly being saved by the hero.
It started with the Vulture, then came Mysterio, and then you couldn’t quite make sense of it, but there was you falling off of the Statue Of Liberty.
All those memories contained some version of Spider-Man saving you.
Those situations made sense for you to be saved, but after you started college, it seemed as though the masked hero was infatuated by you because he showed up everywhere.
The first time you were caught off guard was when you had just gotten back from MIT for Christmas break after your first semester there.
Snow dwindled down the city, encasing it in a thick layer of cold. Hands shoved in your pockets, you walked as fast as you could to get to the coffee shop for a warm drink before starting your Christmas shopping.
Just your luck, the streets were slippery from the ice and partially melting snow.
You gasped as your boot slipped on a metal plate on the sidewalk with a loud squeak of your shoe slipping.
Right before you hit the ground, someone caught you in their arms.
You caught your breath, blinking, and when your vision cleared, you found none other than Spider-Man holding you in his warm embrace.
“Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked through his mask, arms wrapped around you protectively.
Your eyes were wide in both embarrassment that you almost fell and shock that Spider-Man was coincidentally nearby to save you from busting your ass.
You nodded, letting out a chuckle that caused you to see your own breath in the air. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Spider-Man helped you stand up straight, his hands on your waist with such care. As soon as your feet landed on the metal plate again, your shoes slid across it once more.
Instinctively, Spider-Man grabbed onto you, keeping you steady. “This city needs to get rid of this metal plate!” he exclaimed. “Someone could get seriously hurt!”
You laughed awkwardly. “Or I’m the problem. I haven’t seen anyone else fall on it.”
Spider-Man stared at you through his mask for a moment, and you couldn’t make out his face, but he was giving you the biggest puppy eyes.
He missed your laugh, especially the one you let out when you were nervous.
He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Here, let me help you,” he said, holding his hands out for you to hold.
Your cheeks were burning pink and he wasn’t sure if it was because of him or the cold.
He liked to believe it was him.
Your own gloved hands met his, holding onto them tightly as he helped you walk across the plate.
“There you go,” he said, finally getting you off of the deadly metal.
“Thanks,” you said, shoving your hands back into your pockets and flashing him a smile.
Spider-Man shuffled awkwardly, placing his hands onto his hips. “Yeah, it’s no problem.”
And that was the first incident of Spider-Man saving you over something so minor.
The second made you raise a brow, but you didn’t think too much of it.
You were out at a library, laptop wide open, the light of a document full of notes illuminating your textbooks surrounding you as you studied for your physics final.
You sipped on your coffee, highlighting and scribbling in your textbook.
Hours ticked by and you were growing sleepy. You reached for your coffee again, but by now it was empty.
“Damn it,” you whispered, clicking your pen and looking at the time on your laptop.
It was almost midnight.
You didn’t want to leave to grab more coffee because if you left, you knew you’d go straight back home and call it a night.
As if on cue, someone beside you cleared their throat.
You turned to find Spider-Man standing to your right with a fresh cup of coffee.
You blinked in shock. “How did…”
“Spider senses,” he said sheepishly, placing the coffee in front of you. “Good luck on your finals.”
Little did you know he had been watching you all day from through the window you sat beside.
By the third incident, you had a feeling that he had been watching you to some extent, because now it didn’t feel so much as to be a coincidence.
You were at home, in your own apartment making dinner. You weren’t paying attention and accidentally cut yourself with a knife.
“Shit!” you exclaimed, blood dripping all over the counter and floor.
You scrambled to grab a towel and held it against your hand, trying to stop the bleeding.
About five seconds later, there was a knock at your door.
You groaned and walked over to answer it, not even bothering to look through the peephole to see who it was.
“Spider-Man?” you said in disbelief.
He nodded, though his eyes were fixated on the towel in your hand and the blood dripping down your pinky finger and onto the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Hold up how’d you-”
“Do you need help?”
“No, how’d you know that I-”
“You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“I cut myself, I’m not shot.”
“Okay, but still.”
You stared at him for a moment, the pain in your hand already beginning to burn. You wondered how he even knew you were hurt and how he arrived in record time. You didn’t dwell on the thought much because your skin was on fire. “Fine, whatever. Come in.”
He came inside, shutting the door behind him. “Do you have a first aid kit or something?”
“In my bathroom,” you said, leading the way.
You brought him into the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and pulling the first aid kit out.
“You can sit, just give me one sec,” he said, hands moving hastily to open the kit.
You sat down on the toilet seat, staring at him in disbelief.
He had saved you on numerous occasions, sometimes over major things, mostly over minor matters.
The first few were major, with significant villains, but now it had grown so incredibly minor with catching you when you fell and replacing your empty coffee cups.
Your brain started to connect the dots and realize that he wasn’t just coincidentally in the area when you needed help. He was forcing himself to be within your proximity.
He grabbed a few supplies from the med kit and kneeled in front of you. He glanced up into your eyes through his mask. “Can I see?” he asked, motioning to your hand.
You still had the towel wrapped tightly around it, hand slightly trembling from the pain.
You slowly held your hand out, staring at him with uncertainty.
Why was he everywhere?
Didn’t he have real crimes to attend to?
His gloved hands carefully pulled on the towel and you released it from your hold.
He reached up to put it onto the counter as you looked down at your hand.
The cut was pretty deep, but not deep enough for stitches. The bleeding had stopped, leaving dried blood all down your hand and fingers.
He grabbed a fresh cloth from the counter and got it damp in the sink before kneeling back in front of you and cleaning the wound with such care.
You stared at him, as he focused on helping you. Your hand shook slightly as he held it. His expression softened, though you could not see it. His thumb grazed the pulse point on your wrist. “It’s okay,” he said softly, making your heart flutter.
He could sense your unease, the adrenaline wearing off and the pain beginning to truly settle in.
“You’re everywhere,” you said abruptly, though there was no harshness in your tone. It was simply an observation.
Peter reached for the antiseptic and looked up at you. “Kind of my job,” he chuckled. “This might sting.”
“Go for it,” you said.
Peter began to clean the wound and you winced, the cut burning more than before.
“Sorry,” he apologized, grabbing the bandages. He moved quickly, like someone who had done this a million times before. He hated the idea of hurting you because way back when you knew who he was, you were constantly hurt, simply for knowing him.
“It’s alright,” you said, watching as he wrapped your hand. “How’d you know I cut myself if I was in my apartment?” you asked.
“Spider senses,” he said.
“Right…” you trailed off. “What about the library? The coffee?”
Peter hesitated for a moment, before glancing up at you. “Spider…senses…”
You chuckled. “Really? You have spider senses for when a college student runs out of coffee at midnight.”
“Yes.”
Your brows pressed together and he knew that you knew he was full of shit.
He was watching you.
You narrowed your eyes and him and he gulped, your hand still in his.
“Are you lying to me?” you asked.
“No!” he exclaimed.
“You sure?”
“Yeah!”
You sat up straight, taking your hand away from his and crossing your arms over your chest. His fingers tingled where your hand once was. “You save anyone else in their own house?”
“No…”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re the only one clumsy enough to get hurt in your own house,” he mumbled under his breath, though it didn’t go unheard by you.
“Excuse you?!”
“Nothing!” Peter scrambled up to his feet. “Stay safe!”
And that wasn’t the last you saw of him, those were just the first three incidents that made you catch onto the fact that Spider-Man seemed to love to find ways to save you.
Over the next few years he’d show up and stop you from stepping into puddles, talk with you on your fire escape when you seemed lonely, and he’d even save you from traffic, swinging you over the city to get you to work on time.
And tonight wasn’t any different, he was saving you from the late night traffic after work.
You grunted as he swung onto the side of your apartment building, holding you close with one arm as the other worked to slide your window up.
You climbed inside, the guy who you’d seen on a million occasions but didn’t have a name or face to, helping to lift you in.
With a soft thud, your shoes hid the ground of your bedroom.
“Alrighty, ma’am,” he said, jumping off of your building and shooting out a web to hang himself upside down from so that he could get a better look into your apartment. He glanced around in your room to make sure that the coast was clear. “Everything looks good to me. Have a great night.”
Before he could shut your window, you stopped it with your hand. He tilted his head slightly, already on high alert for threats. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?” he asked quickly, worry in his tone.
You stared at his eyes through the mask, without even knowing that you were doing it. Peter’s heart palpitated, eyes locked on yours.
“I have a question,” you said, causing Peter to silently freak out.
“Okay,” he said, voice cracking. In embarrassment, he cleared his throat, trying again. “I mean, okay.”
You smirked at his actions. “Why are you always saving me?” you asked.
Peter blinked. “Because you’re always in danger.”
You shook your head slowly, a sympathetic look on your face. “No I’m not.”
“But you are,” Peter insisted. “I mean, you cut your hand, and you almost tripped on a metal plate, and you could’ve been late for work, like a thousand times, and- oh! What about that one time you-”
“The one time I dropped a glass vase?” you asked. “The one time someone bumped into me and spilled their coffee on my shirt? Come on, Spider-Man,” you said with a laugh. “Some of those instances don’t necessarily call for a superhero to save me. You’re following me.”
Peter shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He had been following you, and he had been doing it for years.
And over the course of those few years, you were catching onto something.
You were falling into something more.
But it was kind of hard to fall in deep when the guy wouldn’t even give you his name.
“Do I know you?” you finally asked.
“What?!” he exclaimed.
“I mean, it’s the only viable explanation as to why you keep following me and trying to protect me from a bunch of nonsense.”
The masked hero shook his head adamantly. “You do not know me,” he insisted. His head was starting to ache and maybe it was because he was handing upside down or because you were finally catching on.
You hummed and rocked back on your heels. “I think I do,” you said. “Why else do you keep following me?”
“Because…” he breathed out, losing track of his own words.
You tilted your head slightly, awaiting a response.
Peter let out a defeated sigh. “I just want to protect you, alright?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, and when you did that, he immediately knew you weren’t taking that answer. “Why?”
“It’s my job,” he said plainly. “You know, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”
You took a step closer, making Peter stiffen. “And is stalking in the job description of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”
“I’m not stalking!” Peter defended himself.
“You totally are,” you said.
“No!”
“Yes.”
“I’m not!”
“Yes you are.”
“Nuh uh!”
“Yeah huh.”
He groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you not call it stalking?” he sighed. “It makes me sound like a creep and that’s not the case.”
“Then tell me why you keep following me,” you said. You took a step closer to the window. “Do we know each other?” you asked curiously.
He swallowed hard. “Used to,” he whispered.
Your brows pressed together. “Used to?”
Peter realized what he said. “I- I mean- like, well- we uh- it was a long time ago.”
Now you had more questions than answers. “Did we lose contact or something?” you asked.
“Uh…” Peter trailed off, wishing he hadn’t slipped up. “I…”
“You don’t have to tell me who you are,” you said softly, realizing he didn’t want to tell you. “Probably would defeat the whole anonymous thing.”
Peter chuckled. “Yeah.”
“What’s not so anonymous is how you’re clearly in love with me,” you half joked.
Peter’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat. His hold on the web loosened and he slipped, nearly plummeting down a multitude of floors into the street.
Thankfully he caught himself in time and you laughed at him, leaning on the window seal, the cool New York air blowing against your skin. “That was partially a joke, but good to know you do like me,” you teased.
“You're really pretty,” he blurted out, his face a bright shade of pink from under his mask.
Your face heated up. “You think so?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
You smirked. “Can’t say the same for you.”
“Hey!”
“I’ve never seen your face, dork,” you laughed.
“True…” he trailed off.
Your expression softened as your fingers came up to where the fabric of his mask could be lifted. You carefully pulled it up to the tip of his nose, his lips fully exposed to you.
His breath shuttered as you touched him because over the last few years, he missed nothing more than your fingers on his skin.
Not touching his suit.
His skin.
You slowly leaned in, lips meeting his in a soft, sensual kiss.
His eyes fluttered shut behind his mask as he hummed against your lips. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss as if to remember what it was like to love you again. The shape of your lips, the way yours moved against his, the way you felt.
It was incredibly intoxicating and he never wanted the moment to end because he was suddenly reminded of what it was like to be in love with you before he lost it all.
It felt euphoric, a better feeling than any drug could ever give him.
You were his drug and he had been in withdrawal for years.
You pulled away and gave him a small smile, face hot. “Goodnight, Spider-Man.”
The poor boy’s lips were still parted, a tingling sensation running across his mouth, the ghost of your lips still on his.
“G-goodnight,” he stuttered, face flushed.
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A/N: Starting a taglist for Peter oneshots, lmk if you want to be added! :)
The Feeling | Peter Parker x Psychometric!Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: After you move in across the hall from Peter Parker, the boy you loved before you lost your memories, Peter decides he can’t take it anymore. He wants you to remember. Late night at a college party, a guy accidentally bumps into you, spilling his drink all over you. Under any normal circumstance, you would’ve brushed it off…but your powers are triggered and suddenly you remember that this isn’t just any guy. He isn’t just your neighbor. He is, or rather was, your boyfriend.
WARNINGS: Reader has psychometric abilities (she can touch certain objects or people and see into the past), some angst, Peter yearning big time, happy ending!
A/N: Don’t worry, there are absolutely no spoilers for BND, I’m going to see it Friday! So, here’s one last post before I go off the grid for BND :)
WC: 5.3K
Main Masterlist!
Peter Parker’s soul had been fractured some time ago and he craved a feeling that he believed to be the remedy.
What that feeling was, his mind wasn’t so sure, but his heart and soul knew.
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Peter Parker’s quaint little apartment was awfully loud for someone who lived alone.
The window was wide open, the hustle and bustle of New York infiltrating his home. The crap dryer was in the middle of shrinking his jeans as it hummed loudly, sounding as if a few screws were loose.
Which, come to think of it, probably were.
His speaker played music softly as he was hunched over the small desk near the window. He was in the middle of patching up his suit after an intense fight with The Hand.
Crash!
Peter jolted up, on high alert for any other sounds. His spider senses weren’t going off, but he was still worried about what caused the sound outside of his apartment.
He quickly grabbed his phone, pausing the music to hear better.
He was met with a dead silence until-
“Shit!”
Peter let out a sigh of relief, hearing a muffled voice from behind his door in the hallway.
The person must’ve dropped something.
Peter rose up from his seat and cracked open the door, only for his breath to quite literally catch in his throat.
You were standing there, three boxes stacked on top of one another, a fourth box on the floor with shattered glass surrounding it.
You set the three boxes down and huffed, scratching the back of your neck and looking at the mess you made in the hallway. You glanced up at the boy staring at you as if he had seen a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “I just- well I thought I could carry all these boxes to my apartment, but clearly not.”
Peter swallowed hard and blinked, snapping out of the trance he was in. “You- wha- Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, making you quirk a brow. “You’re moving in?” he asked, glancing at the apartment door right across the hall from him.
You nodded with a small smile, dangling your keys up. “Yup. Right across from you apparently.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
He hadn’t seen you or heard from you in years. Not since Dr. Strange casted that spell and made everyone forget who he was. For years he wondered where you were, if you were okay, and more importantly, if you found someone new because truth be told, he hadn’t.
He wasn’t even looking.
At university, girls would flirt with him every now and then, falling for that shy and dorky personality with something more mature growing around the edges. Peter Parker was an attractive guy and he was so sweet, so kind, to everyone he met.
The boy could’ve honestly had a new girlfriend by now.
But he didn’t because it had always been you.
You were the only girl he ever wanted.
You rocked back on your heels, staring at Peter with narrowed eyes. You couldn't quite place it, but he seemed familiar, like maybe you had seen him somewhere before, but then again, he looked like your average young adult in New York. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Peter blinked. “Me?”
You looked around the empty hallway with a small giggle, already finding your new neighbor rather entertaining. “Who else?”
“Oh. Duh,” Peter lectured himself from under his breath with closed eyes and a pitiful headshake. He cleared his throat and straightened up, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, no, you don’t.”
He hated lying, especially to you.
You tilted your head slightly. “Are you sure? You seem…I don’t know. You seem familiar. What’s your name?”
“P-Peter,” he stuttered. “Peter Parker.”
You hummed, the name not entirely ringing a bell. “Peter Parker,” you repeated, as if it would jog your memory. “Sounds familiar, but then again, you have the most generic name.”
Before Peter could respond, you stuck your hand out and introduced yourself.
Peter stared down at your hand, then pulled his lips into a tight line. He knew that if he touched you he risked you immediately being overloaded with the knowledge of who he was and the history you both shared.
The day Dr. Strange casted that spell, he promised you that he would remind you of who he was.
That was the first time Peter Parker ever lied to you.
He went down to the pastry coffee shop he knew you and Ned would hangout at just to bother MJ, because there was once a time Peter was in the picture too. When he saw you sitting beside Ned, a small warm peppermint hot chocolate in your hands, his heart fluttered, excitement coursing through his veins as he made his way over to introduce himself, just like he had rehearsed a million times.
“Hi, I’m Peter Parker, and you don’t know me, but we used to be friends, more than friends actually.”
Was what he was supposed to say.
But when he got close enough for you to look up at him, a glint of confusion in the very eyes he had fallen in love with, his own eyes that you had no recollection of caught sight of the healing gash that caused a slit in your eyebrow and the bandage a few inches away from it on your forehead.
A painful reminder of what it meant to get too close to someone like him.
It was his fault that you had gotten hurt and nearly died.
He didn’t ever want to put you in a situation like that again, and after Aunt May…he figured it would be best if you were no longer associated with him.
He froze up completely and ended up telling you his name like some kind of dork and asking you if the peppermint hot chocolate was worth the five dollars.
So now, in the present moment, his heart was slowly breaking because you hadn’t fully remembered him from that day, which was fine because why would you have?
He was just a weirdo who approached you awkwardly and asked how the peppermint hot chocolate was, which…was strange because it wasn’t inherently obvious to anyone that wasn’t MJ or Ned that that was what you were drinking.
But Peter knew because it was your favorite.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I would shake your hand, but my hands are dirty. I was just uh…cleaning.”
“Oh,” you muttered quietly, pulling your hand away awkwardly, glancing away from him feeling slightly embarrassed.
The hallway was silent as you stood there for a second, Peter thinking of something, anything to say to you because he didn’t want the moment to end.
“Do you want me to help you carry your stuff in?” Peter offered.
Your brows pressed together. “I thought your hands were dirty. I don’t want you touching my stuff,” you half joked.
“Right…” Peter replied. “I’ll sweep up the glass.”
You smiled softly and nodded, unlocking your door and dragging a box inside, thinking that your new neighbor was a little weird, but meant well.
Peter smiled and as soon as you disappeared into your empty apartment, his smile fell instantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a list of profanities under his breath as he returned back into his apartment to retrieve a broom and dustpan.
He swept up the glass and you thanked him before going back into your apartment.
For the next couple of days, you wouldn’t see Peter often. You’d sometimes cross paths heading downstairs to retrieve your mail, earning a small wave from him or see him on your way out to work.
Regardless, that little to no interaction was driving him up the wall.
You were right there.
Right across the hall.
Right within arms touch, and one touch…just the one, had the potential to ignite an old flame again.
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Peter lied on his couch, staring at the ceiling while tossing a pen into the air and catching it mindlessly. He was supposed to be figuring out what to eat for dinner, but alas, you were on his mind.
He had missed you before, but ever since you moved in he felt like he was losing his mind.
You consumed each and every one of his thoughts, every fiber in his being. If there was one thing Peter Parker wanted, it was you.
He jolted up, hearing the sound of someone knocking on his door. He practically bounced off of the wall, his spider senses going haywire, sensing that it was you. He swung the door open and saw you standing in the hallway wearing a casual outfit that you still looked cute in. Cute top, sweatpants, and pair of slippers that he bought you for Christmas one year that made him smile from ear to ear.
“Hey,” he said casually, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, his biceps flexing, which he was doing on purpose.
He watched as your eyes darted down quickly and back up. He noticed the way you swallowed, blinking quickly as if to get your mind back on track, which only made him smirk.
He was glad to know you still liked that.
“Hi,” you chirped. “So…” you trailed off, rocking back on your heels. “I made dinner and I accidentally made too much, I doubled the recipe,” you explained, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come over and have dinner with me?”
Peter blinked, caught off guard. “I uh…yeah, I’ll have dinner. I’ll be over in a few.”
Your smile widened. “Perfect. See you in a few.”
You turned on your heel and went across the hallway to your own apartment. Peter went back into his and scrambled across the living room into his bedroom where he yanked off his tank top and sweatpants. He threw clothes out of his closet and tried on about five different outfits before deciding on a t-shirt and pair of jeans. He nearly tripped over the clothes that were now all over his floor as he raced towards his cologne, deciding on the one he knew you loved.
He grabbed his shoes and-
Wait…
Does he need shoes to take two steps across the hallway to your apartment?
He decided to slip on his slippers like you had. He grabbed a bottle of wine that he was saving for his Daily Bugle office party, figuring that this was more important.
Did you drink?
He wasn’t sure.
He’d bring it anyway.
He raced over to the door, hand halting over the handle.
Hold on…
Jeans? Really? You were in sweatpants!
He groaned and ran back into the kitchen, setting the wine bottle down and running back into his room, yanking a drawer open and grabbing a pair of sweatpants. He kicked the slippers off, hobbled on one foot, nearly falling over as he took his jeans off and replaced them with the sweats.
Peter went back to grab his slippers when a new thought filled his mind.
What if you had changed into jeans?
“No,” Peter lectured himself. “You look fine. You look great,” he reassured himself, though his heart was racing, which could’ve been because he just ran around his entire apartment in less than five minutes.
He made his way out of his apartment, standing in front of your door and taking a deep breath.
Knock knock.
Within two seconds you were at the door, opening it all the way.
He let out a sigh of relief to see that you were still in your sweatpants.
The scent of his cologne immediately filled your nose and you felt an odd tingling sensation in your finger tips, as if your powers were so desperately trying to remind you of something.
You raised a brow, knowing you didn't smelled cologne when you initially went to his place, meaning he put it on before coming to yours.
“Brought some wine!” Peter chirped, holding up the bottle. “I actually don’t know if you drink, but if not I have uh…” he trailed off, thinking. “Well, I don’t have anything except for water…out of the sink, but I’m saving up for a filter!”
You raised your brows as he rambled, and his face quickly went red in embarrassment. “I uh…” he laughed. “I’m joking,” he breathed out. “Well…not really, but…”
You giggled, stepping aside. “I don’t drink, but I’ll gladly try with you. Come on in.”
Peter made his way inside and looked around as you shut the door. Your apartment reminded him so much of your bedroom back at the Avenger’s Tower, it just looked as if you had grown up.
Because you both had.
Peter Parker was still the nerdy, awkward, and awfully cute boy you met back in high school that you unfortunately didn’t have the pleasure of remembering. But something about him had changed. He was more mature. Slightly less awkward but still rather awkward to a fault.
“Your apartment is nice,” he complimented, following you into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” you beamed. You reached into the cabinet and pulled out two regular glass cups. “I don’t have wine glasses,” you said sheepishly. “This should work, right?”
Peter smiled. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I don’t have a bottle opener either.”
Peter shrugged, taking the foil off of the bottle. “It’s alright. I got it.” Peter’s muscles flexed ever so slightly as he quite literally flicked off the top. “Tada!”
Your eyes widened. “What the hell? How’d you do that?”
Peter smirked. “Well, I work out a lot,” he said smoothly, leaning against the counter.
You raised a brow. “Do you now?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah. Like, a lot.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m at the gym all the time.”
“Right.”
Peter smirked, watching as you tried to conceal your smile, which you were doing a very poor job at. “You’re smiling.”
Now you broke, smiling like a dork. “Because you’re funny.”
“But I didn’t say anything funny.”
“You did,” you said matter of factly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to impress me, Parker.”
“Are you impressed?”
You rolled your eyes and snagged the glasses off of the counter. “Come on. The food is getting cold.”
Peter smiled triumphantly to himself. Back when you two first met, you were both incredibly shy, but you managed to take charge, flirting with Peter constantly, making him a nervous mess.
But now time had changed you both.
Now Peter was the one with the confidence to flirt with you and make you all nervous.
He followed you to the small table in the kitchen where two bowls of pasta were sitting. You both sat down, Peter pouring both your glass a little less than halfway.
“So,” he said, trying to spark up a conversation, aka, trying to figure out how you had been the past few years since he had missed out. “How’d you manage to afford to live in the most expensive place in all of New York?”
You laughed because you and him definitely did not live in the most expensive place in all of New York. It was actually the cheapest and you considered it to be a literal shit box.
“I’m making, like, fifty cents above minimum wage working at a bookstore a few blocks down,” you said as he slid your glass of wine over to you. You grabbed the glass from him, your fingers just centimeters away from ghosting his…just centimeters away from knowing the truth. “It’s not bad though, I like it. What about you?”
Peter filled his glass the same amount as yours. “I work at the Daily Bugle. I get all the pictures of Spider-Man and stuff like that.”
Your eyes widened as he set the bottle down, meeting your gaze. “You know Spider-Man?”
Peter shook his head, averting his gaze. “No. I- I mean, I just get the pictures,” he said sheepishly, bringing the glass up to his lips.
You gave Peter a confused look. “Come on,” you said. “You must know him. I mean, how else do you get literal selfies of him on top of the Empire State Building? Unless…you are Spider-Man,” you joked.
Peter spit his drink out back into the cup, becoming a coughing mess. “Wha- What?! N- No-!” he managed out between coughs.
Your face contorted into one of pure bewilderment at his reaction, something you weren’t at all expecting. “Jeez, okay…”
Peter put his glass down, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not Spider-Man,” he said sharply.
“Okay.”
“That wouldn’t even be possible.”
“I believe you.”
“I just…we’re close enough that he gives me those pictures.”
“Right.”
“I am not Spider-Man.”
“Exactly.”
It was silent for a beat as you stared at each other. By your expression and tone, Peter could tell that you were catching onto something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. It could’ve been the fact that he was Spider-Man, it could’ve been that you were slowly starting to realize you knew him before, he wasn’t sure.
One thing he knew for sure was that if you kept staring at him, you would probably start to put two and two together somehow, because you always did.
“Are you gonna try that?” he asked, motioning to the glass on the table.
You glanced down at it and grabbed it, bringing it to your nose.
“Oh, shit,” you grimaced, the scent burning.
Peter smiled. “It’s not all that bad.”
You brought the glass to your lips and immediately spat it back out into the glass. “What the hell!” you exclaimed. “How does anyone drink this shit?!”
Peter laughed. “This is supposed to be the good stuff.”
You gagged. “Gross.”
“So uhm,” he began, changing the subject, grabbing his fork and picking up some pasta with it, you repeating the action. “You got any family close by?”
Now, he was just checking to see if you still had your family of Avengers.
To his knowledge, and based upon where things were the last time you two were actually together, you had already lost Nat, Tony, and Steve, so you were really left with the only two people you were close to.
Sam and Bucky.
You had been complaining to Peter your whole field trip across Europe about how you hated living with Bucky because he was insanely over protective and the only reason you were on that trip was because of Sam.
But then again, Sam was also over protective, just slightly less.
Your fork clattered against the plate, making Peter’s brows raise slightly.
“Sorry,” you laughed awkwardly, picking it back up. “I uh…I don’t,” you said, figuring it would be best to not tell a stranger that you were a superhero and after you moved out, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson had a falling out, which meant they went their separate ways and suddenly you didn’t seem to exist to either of them anymore.
Bucky was a new Avenger and Sam was rounding up his own team and you were left behind.
“No?” Peter asked, not wanting to pry but so desperately curious to know that the past few years you’d been okay.
You couldn’t look at Peter as you shook your head. “No,” you said quietly.
Peter’s heart broke because that told him everything.
You had been just as alone as he had, with the exception of MJ and Ned of course.
You had no family and neither did he.
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Peter shut the door behind him, back pressing into it as he slowly sank to the floor, letting out a deep sigh.
God, he still loved you more than anything.
Of course he did.
Peter was completely lost.
He wanted you to know that just a few years ago you were both so desperately in love with one another, and you were just one touch away from knowing it.
You clearly were interested in him, already starting to fall back in love with him all over again.
He could just fall back in love with you and act like there was no history, but what was the point?
He didn’t want you to know who he was anyway to keep you safe.
But his soul craved to be with you again.
He bit his lower lip in thought, deciding what to do.
He had to tell you.
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Your nose was filled with the putrid smell of alcohol and marijuana as you leaned against the wall that was vibrating against your back due to the music.
You sipped on the red solo cup in your hand, the plastic filled a quarter of the way full with soda, which was probably meant to be used as a chaser, but you didn’t drink.
Your eyes scanned the party, watching college students do the most heinous things while under the influence.
“And then…there’s Miles. This random high school kid from Brooklyn who might be Spider-Man, but my friends said we probably shouldn’t be stalking a fifteen year old.”
Your friend, Ned, was rambling to someone about how you, MJ, and himself were on the brink of discovering who Spider-Man was, though you were all more than likely far off in your guesses.
MJ was beside you, arms crossed over her chest as she pointed out people for you to look at. First it was some frat guy standing on top of a table while chugging a bottle of beer, then it was some girl making out with her boyfriend, and now it was some loser who allegedly kept staring at you.
“That guy,” MJ said, nodding her head across the room. “He keeps looking over here every ten and a half seconds.”
You didn’t know who she was talking about due to the sheer amount of people in the room, and you didn’t necessarily care. “Glad to know you’re keeping tabs on potential threats,” you teased lightly heartedly.
“Hey,” MJ, shrugged. “Maybe once Spider-Man stops taking all your villains, you can get back at it. I feel like you don’t pay attention to anything anymore.”
Ever since the Avengers had gone their separate ways following Thanos, you hadn’t really done much as a masked hero.
You vaguely remember fighting alongside Spider-Man to defeat Mysterio and then there was something that felt like a blur with three Spider-Men, Dr. Strange, and villains from differing universes.
On numerous occasions, the ‘New Avengers’ had reached out about you joining their team, but you objected each time, partially because you hated the idea of your family of heroes being replaced, partially because of the politics surrounding it with Sam fighting for copyright, and partially because you enjoyed being a normal person for once.
Your entire teenage years were dedicated to fighting and for once in your life, you wanted to just live.
“I pay attention,” you said, finishing your drink.
MJ, pursed her lips, giving you an uncertain expression. “You know, a few years ago you would’ve thought that weird guy over there was out to get you because he’s been staring at you since you got here,” she said matter of factly. “Oh, not to mention he keeps scanning the room as if something bad is going to happen.”
You smirked. “Imagine he’s Spider-Man.”
MJ raised her brows. “That loser?”
You giggled. “I honestly don’t even know who you’re talking about.” Before MJ could respond, you flashed her your cup. “I’m going to get some more soda. Want anything?”
“Soda is good.”
You nodded with a smile and began to push your way through the crowd.
MJ’s eyes followed you briefly before glancing to the side. The ‘loser’ that she said was staring at you was following you, pushing his way through the crowd.
“What a dork,” she mumbled to herself, assuming that he was some socially awkward dweeb who had a crush on you.
In the kitchen, you had already filled up MJ’s cup and now you were filling up your own. You weren’t paying any attention and didn’t seem to notice the guy whose hands were shaking as he moved to stand beside you, refilling his cup that was already full.
It was Peter Parker, your neighbor, and you couldn’t seem to notice him in a crowded room. A few years ago, you would’ve thought he was the only person in the room, your eyes locking with his naturally.
It was like he didn’t even exist in your world all over again, and it was then he realized he couldn’t take it anymore.
You had to know.
You screwed the cap back onto the soda and grabbed the cups. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but you were already walking away.
As you began to push through the crowd again, you glanced down at the soda you had poured for MJ.
It was Sprite and he hated light soda, she preferred dark, something like Coke because ‘Light soda isn’t on the same wavelength as my soul,’ or whatever nonsense she said back in high school.
“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, turning abruptly onto your heel.
Little did you know, that ‘loser’ MJ mentioned just moments ago was hot on your tail, following you.
You both accidentally collided into one another, your chest hitting his, sending your drinks, and his splashing, and very conveniently only hitting your clothes.
“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Are you alright?!”
Peter scrambled to figure out how to help, worried that he had completely ruined your night.
Then he looked at you and panic set in.
He recognized your reaction all too well.
Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down at the half empty cups in your hands. You looked like you had seen a ghost.
As soon as you touched him, you saw everything.
The boy in high school you had fallen in love with.
The first time you’d met, Tony Stark introducing him as ‘The Spider-Ling’, to which Peter embarrassingly looked away from you when you laughed.
All those late nights staying up together over a video call, ranting about whatever books you were reading, a science project he was working on, or rambling on about your days, which you’d already spent together.
The first time he swung you all around New York when you couldn’t sleep, your arms wrapped tightly around him as your stomach dropped each time his webs redacted from a building.
Your first kiss at the top of the Empire State Building, slow, desperate, and messy.
The entire team of Avengers finding out about you two being together and embarrassing you both endlessly.
The two of you growing and maturing together right before college applications.
And that was the last you could remember of it because your memories had been taken from you.
It was like the room had fallen silent, the music fading out, and suddenly only you and the boy you spent your entire teenage years loving were the only people in the room, two hearts beginning to beat in the same rhythm again.
Your eyes slowly glanced up to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill from them. Your mouth had gone dry, not even knowing what to say.
Peter’s face immediately washed over with realization.
You knew.
You touched him and your powers went off, telling you exactly everything that happened.
Before he could say anything, you turned around quickly, pushing as fast as you could through the crowd.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You managed to get away from the party, and found an empty fire escape on the side of the building where you sat crisscrossed, staring at the busy city despite it being so late at night.
You heard someone grunt softly and the sound of metal clanging. You turned and saw familiar brown hair and brown eyes.
Peter.
He gave you a soft smile, but you looked away, out into the skyline.
Peter’s smile faded, heart aching as he moved to sit beside you.
It was painfully quiet as he played with his fingers, not knowing what to say just yet.
Thankfully for him, you spoke up first.
“You promised me,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You promised you’d remind me of you. Of…of us.”
Peter glanced over to you, though your gaze remained on the skyline. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he apologized sincerely.
You finally turned to him, tears in your eyes. “Why?”
Peter swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I just…I thought that everyone was finally okay because I wasn’t there. You all got to finally go to college because you didn’t know me. You all got to be happy and live a life away from all that stuff. You guys didn’t need me.”
“I needed you, Peter,” you said. “I needed you more than anything.”
Peter’s heart absolutely shattered at your words and the pure hurt in your tone.
You grabbed Peter’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’d go back and do everything all over again if it means being with you. I’d go back and not get accepted into MIT. I’d go back and nearly die. I’d do it all over again, Peter.”
Peter’s expression softened. “I just wish it wasn’t like this. I want you safe and I want you to get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
“But that’s just the cards we’ve been dealt,” you said softly, his hand still in yours. “If we hadn't been dealt them, who’s to say we would’ve ever been together?”
Peter sighed, staring out into the city. “It’s not fair to you. You deserve better and it was selfish of me to even think about getting back with you.”
You stayed silent, staring at Peter before looking away again.
“You know,” he began, letting out another sigh. “I had this whole plan to tell you tonight about everything. I assumed you wouldn’t believe me so then I was going to get you to use your powers and-” he cut himself off, shutting his eyes. “It was stupid. So stupid.”
You shifted your body, turning sideways to face him fully. “Peter,” you said softly.
He slowly glanced up to meet your gaze. “Yeah?”
“It wasn’t stupid.”
Peter’s brows pressed together. “But it was-”
“Not, it wasn’t,” you interrupted him.
Peter then began to ramble a mile a minute, and it started to remind you of him in high school.
“Okay, but like, I just keep you in danger, and I know you always have been in danger because you have powers, but I feel like you’re in additional danger and-”
“Peter-”
“I just want you to be safe and I think maybe we should go back to not knowing each other-”
“Peter-”
“Not that I don’t want to know you, because I love you, and I-”
Peter cut himself off, face a bright shade of pink. He looked at you with wide eyes, your lips parted slightly.
Your lips slowly curved upward into a teasing smile as he began to panic again.
“No! I didn’t mean that!” Peter exclaimed. “Wait! I mean, I do love you but- but- like, you know- actually-”
Peter’s words weren’t cut off because you interrupted him verbally again.
No.
You kissed him.
Soft and gentle just like you had that night on the Empire State building.
Peter didn’t freeze up like he did that night.
He immediately melted into it, kissing you back.
Your powers gave you the ability to recall history or memories of the past. Peter’s did not, but something about that kiss made him remember the feeling he had been missing for years. The feeling he craved to experience again.
And that feeling was you.
The missing piece of his soul was you and it always had been.
You pulled apart, forehead resting on his. “I love you too,” you said softly, glancing up at him, cupping his cheek.
Peter swallowed. Hard. “You- You do?”
“I do.”
Peter’s lips curved into a smile. “I love you too.”
“Good,” you said, thumb brushing his cheek. “So, do you wish I could lose my memory of you again?”
“No,” Peter chuckled, leaning into your touch. He reached for your hand that held his cheek and kissed it softly. “Never.”
the last few years had been exhausting, but it was the recent days that really pushed peter parker to the limit. a wave of new threats hit new york faster than the city could handle. and to make matters worse, changes in his spider dna had triggered a brutal migraine that just wouldn't leave him alone, not even while he slept.
he needed a break. desperately.
while swinging between skyscrapers, he spotted an ad for a spa near his street. he didn't think twice.
a gray-haired woman with a skeptical look greeted him.
"down the hall, third door on the left. and don't get the carpet dirty."
the door was slightly open. warm light seeped through the cracks, and the air smelled of lavender. just that alone eased some of the pressure in his head.
a girl leaning over the bench looked up when she heard the door. her eyes went wide. she jumped back, knocking over a jar of salts.
"oh my god!" she pressed a hand to her chest, but quickly composed herself.
peter raised his hands. "sorry, didn't mean to scare you. i heard about your services."
she ran a hand through her messy bun, trying to sound professional. "of course... welcome. what are you looking for?”
"relaxation. a lot's been going on. i really need a break."
she nodded. "alright. but... you'll have to take off your suit."
peter hesitated. "i can't."
"it's for the massage."
he gave in. he took off his suit, down to his black underwear, but kept the mask on.
she tried to hide a smile. "you're not even taking that off for this?"
"not a chance, ma'am."
he lay face down on the table. the soft fabric alone made him sigh. but it was when she poured warm oil onto his back that real relief finally set in. her hands moved firmly, working out knots of tension one by one. peter let out a low moan.
"so... what's spider-man doing at a neighborhood spa? don't you have an alien to fight today?"
he laughed. "sometimes, even spider-man needs to unwind."
"clearly. you're tense as a board. when's the last time you did this?" "never. these headaches... they're constant. feels like something's pounding inside my skull."
she tilted her head, thoughtful, and pressed her thumbs into the base of his skull, working specific pressure points. a wave of relief radiated up the back of his neck. he moaned louder.
"right here?"
"yeah... right there... that's it..."
"migraines usually come from tension in this area. did i hit the right spot?" "perfect."
a comfortable silence fell. her hands moved down his back, his arms, all the way to his hands. only then did he realize he'd had his fists clenched for days.
she asked him to turn over. he obeyed. the mask still covered his face. she lifted his leg, rested his heel on her shoulder, and massaged the sole of his foot. the moan that escaped was involuntary.
"relaxed?" she laughed.
"completely."
"you know, i thought you'd be older." "why?" "because of the reputation, the weight of everything you carry. but from what little i've seen, you seem about my age."
he laughed, muffled. "yeah, well... you didn't see so little, did you?"
she glanced at his nearly naked body and caught the joke. "true."
peter thought her laugh was nice to hear.
while she massaged his thigh, he noticed the loose strands of hair falling from her bun, the delicate curve of her neck. his heart raced. it had been a while since he'd been touched like that.
control, parker. you're spider-man, your friendly neighborhood spider-man. that's it.
"all done. sauna time, mr. spider."
he blinked, still dazed. "sauna?"
"come on."
she led him to a wooden room filled with steam, with a heated pool. peter stepped down into the water. the warmth wrapped around him up to his chest. he let out a long, deep sigh.
she sat at the edge behind him, legs dangling. he leaned back, the back of his neck resting against the edge, almost between her thighs. she leaned over and massaged his neck, her fingers sliding through his wet hair, down his forehead, to the bridge of his nose still covered by the mask.
"how do you not die of heat in here?" he asked, voice hoarse. "i'm in underwear and a mask and i'm already melting."
she laughed. "the problem's the mask. you'll suffocate if you keep it on in this sauna." "i can't take it off."
"i know. but... if you take it off, i'll take something off too."
peter tried to play it cool, but his body went stiff and his heart raced. "what would you take off?”
"depends. depends on how much of the mask you take off."
then, slowly, he pulled the mask up just enough to reveal his nose and lips.
she fixed her eyes on his mouth. without a word, she lifted her blouse and pulled it off, revealing fair skin, a simple bra, the curve of her waist. she was left in just her pants and bra, her blouse folded on her lap.
peter smiled. "that's not enough."
she raised an eyebrow, playful. "you only showed your lips." "that's already half my face." his voice cracked.
they both laughed. but when the laughter faded, the silence shifted into something else.
she reached out, touched his neck, slid her fingers along his jaw to the line of his lips. peter trembled.
slowly, he turned in the water. his eyes behind the lenses locked onto hers.
she tilted her face toward him.
they kissed.
the first touch was hesitant, shy. her mouth was soft and warm. her hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the hot water lapped at his chest.
peter closed his eyes.
and for a moment, he forgot he was spider-man.
the kiss deepened. her mouth was soft, hot, and peter's lips moved against hers with a hunger he hadn't expected. his hand, still trembling, found her waist and pulled her into the water.
she fell against his chest with a muffled cry of surprise, and they both surfaced laughing. water splashed everywhere. she tossed her wet hair back, breathless, eyes shining.
"are you crazy?" she laughed, still catching her breath. "my pants..." she laughed again, but the laughter died when he pulled her back in, and the kiss started again. his hand slid down her wet back, found her bra strap, and pulled it down without ceremony.
she arched her back against him, and peter felt her body tremble. his mouth left her lips and trailed down her chin, her jaw, to her neck. he bit lightly, felt her pulse racing under his lips, and then kept going. the bra was already loose. he pushed it down with his teeth.
her breasts emerged from the water. peter held his breath.
he kissed them, one by one, slowly. wet, hot skin under his lips. his mouth found her nipple, sucked, tongue circling slowly. she let out a long moan, head falling back. her eyes rolled, fingers burying in his wet hair, pulling him closer.
"that..." she murmured, voice trembling.
"it's your turn to relax too," he whispered against her skin, and she laughed.
peter's free hand slid down her belly. her wet pants clung to her body. he unbuttoned them with one hand, pulled the zipper while his mouth was still working on her breasts, sucking, licking, teasing with the tip of his tongue.
"you're really good at this, spider-man," she said, breathless.
he looked up at her, a crooked smile under the half-raised mask.
she laughed, and he kissed her again. this kiss was different, like they had all the time in the world. the hot water swayed around them, and his hand found the waist of her pants, pulling them down. she helped him, lifting her hips, and the wet pants floated aside.
she was naked beneath the water. he felt her legs wrap around his waist. peter's hand slid between her thighs, found the heat, the wet center, and it wasn't just the pool water.
"please," she whispered against his mouth.
peter lifted her up, sitting her on the edge of the pool. water streamed down her body. he pressed her shoulders against the wooden wall and knelt in the water, his mouth meeting the inside of her thigh.
she held her breath. when his mouth finally found her, the moan that escaped was hoarse and deep. her hand gripped peter's wet hair. his tongue slid, circled, sucked, and when he grew fiercer, hungrier, her body began to tremble.
"that..." she moaned, not knowing what name she was saying.
he didn't stop. his tongue moved fast, insatiable, and she arched her back, nails scratching the wood.
she came in waves, her body contracting, a muffled scream swallowed by her own hand.
peter raised his head, breathing heavy, chin glistening. she pulled him up, kissed him hungrily, tasting herself on his lips.
he stepped out of the pool, his wet body dripping over hers. the mask had slipped even more, nearly revealing his eyes. but she didn't care. she kissed his neck, traveled down his chest, felt his heart racing.
peter was hard. very hard. he gripped himself, his fingers sliding while her mouth explored his chest, sucking at his wet skin. her hand went down, found his, and together, their hands moved along his length.
the air left peter's lungs in a hiss.
she squeezed, slid, and peter closed his eyes, head falling back. her hand was soft and firm. her palm glided, wrapped around him, and he felt his own body tighten.
"wait," he whispered, voice hoarse, almost a plea. "i need... i need this. i need to be inside you."
she looked up at him. dark, wet eyes, full of desire. she just nodded.
peter pulled her to the edge of the pool, aligning his hips between her open thighs. the tip touched her wet, hot entrance.
she held her breath.
he entered slowly. inch by inch. the sensation was like diving into fire, hot, tight, perfect. they both moaned at the same time. his moan was deep, hoarse, a relief that came from somewhere deep. hers was a broken sigh, her eyes closing, her fingers digging into his back.
"oh, god," he murmured, forehead against her shoulder. "it's been so long..."
she laughed, but the laughter turned into a moan when he started to move.
the thrusts were slow at first, deep. each movement sent a wave of pleasure up peter's spine. he caressed her at the same time, one hand on her waist, the other sliding over her breast, around her neck, pulling her into breathless kisses. the hot water in the pool swayed with their rhythm.
"just like that..." she moaned, voice hoarse. "just like that, just like that..."
he sped up. her body arched beneath him. her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper inside. the sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the wooden room, mixed with steam and muffled moans.
"you're so..." he started, but the sentence died when she clenched around him, and he felt she was close.
he buried his face in her neck, bit softly, and his thrusts grew faster, more desperate.
"let go," he whispered. "come for me."
she came first, her body squeezing violently around him, and his name escaped her lips like a scream, still not knowing who he was, but knowing exactly what he made her feel.
that pushed him over the edge.
peter buried his face in her shoulder and came with a long, hoarse moan, his entire body shaking. each spasm seemed to pull something he'd been carrying for years. the relief was so deep he almost cried.
they stayed like that for a long moment. heavy breathing, the hot water swirling around them, steam rising.
peter raised his head and looked at her. her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling.
he kissed her forehead. gently.
"thank you," he whispered, and his voice came out so sincere that she opened her eyes and smiled.
"it was a pleasure, spider-man."
I’ve watched brand new day yesterday and SADIEEEE YES
Y/n walks in on her boyfriend Peter soaking in the hot tub with his mask still on, it turns her on more than it should
WC: 1.5k, hot tub sex, unprotected sex, kissing with Peter's mask half off, dirty talk, riding
----------------
The front door clicked shut behind you, the sound muffled by the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. Work had been brutal—double shifts, demanding customers, the kind of day that made you want to crawl into bed and not move until tomorrow. But as you went upstairs and stepped into the apartment swimming pool complex, you noticed the soft glow spilling from the room housing the hot tub, steam curling into the hallway.
Peter's home early. No one else really comes up here.
You followed the warmth, your feet padding softly on the tiles, and found the door slightly ajar. Steam billowed out, thick and humid, carrying the faint scent of chlorine. You pushed the door open wider, and your breath caught.
There he was.
Leaning back against the edge of the hot tub, Peter's bare shoulders and arms rested on the rim, water lapping at his chest. The bubbles obscured most of his torso, but you could see the defined lines of his pectorals, the ridges of his abdomen beneath the swirling surface. His muscles were relaxed, steam rising around him, softening the hard edges of a body that had spent hours swinging through the city.
But something was off.
His face was hidden. Not by shadow, but by the familiar red and blue mask, stretched tight over his features, the white lenses glowing faintly in the dim light.
He'd forgotten to take it off.
You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. He didn't move at first—just breathed, slow and deep. Then his head tilted, the lenses focusing on you. His voice came out rough, tired.
"You okay, baby?"
You gulped, your throat suddenly dry. There was something about seeing him like this—vulnerable, half-naked, but still wearing that mask. It was intimate and surreal at the same time. His bare shoulders, the veins in his forearms, the way his chest rose and fell—it was all Peter. But the mask made him something else. Spider-Man.
You nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah. Just… long day. You?"
He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through the steam. "Rough patrol. Some guys with tech I haven't seen before. Got a few bruises." He rotated his shoulder, wincing. "Figured I'd soak before you got home."
He shifted, water sloshing, and then he noticed he was still wearing his mask.
You saw the way his hand moved to the edge of the mask. "I should probably—"
"Don't." The word came out before you could stop it. You stepped closer, your fingers finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. Your bra followed, then your jeans, until you stood in just your panties, your skin prickling in the warm, humid air.
Peter's breath hitched. You saw the lenses track your movements, the way they dipped down your body and back up.
"You wanna join me?" he asked, his voice lower now, a little rough.
Like he even needed to ask.
You nodded, unhooking your bra and letting it fall to the floor. You stepped out of your panties, then climbed into the hot tub, the water enveloping you, warm and soothing against your tired muscles. You moved between his legs, settling into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips. The water sloshed around you, bubbles clinging to your skin.
You placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath the surface. His muscles were knots of strain—patrol had been rough, and you could feel every tight fiber. You dug your thumbs into the meat of his traps, pressing deep. He groaned, his head falling back against the edge of the tub.
"Fuck… that feels good."
You worked your hands along his shoulders, across his collarbone, down the defined ridges of his pectorals. The mask stared back at you, white lenses unblinking, and you felt a thrill run through you. He was exposed to you—but hidden at the same time. You could see the tension in his jaw through the fabric, the way his lips pressed together as you worked a particularly tight knot.
His hand came up, fingers brushing the edge of the mask. "I should take this off."
You caught his wrist. "No."
He froze, the lenses shifting to meet your gaze.
"Leave it on." Your voice was barely a whisper, but it was firm.
"Y/n…"
You didn't answer. Instead, you shifted your hips, grinding against his length, which was already hardening beneath the water. The movement was slow, deliberate, your slick folds sliding along his shaft. His breath caught, his grip on your hip tightening.
"Fuck," he breathed.
You did it again, a little faster, the water rippling around you. His hands found your hips, guiding the motion, but you were in control. You leaned forward, your breasts pressing against his chest, your mouth close to where his lips would be behind the fabric.
"Peter… just let me."
A shaky breath escaped him. He let his head fall back, surrendering to you. His hands slid down to your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer. You rocked against him, your clit catching on the ridge of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through your core.
You wanted to see his mouth. You wanted to kiss him.
Slowly, hesitantly, your fingers found the bottom edge of the mask. He tensed beneath you, but didn't stop you. You lifted the fabric, just enough to expose his lips—those full, soft lips that you knew so well. This might be the hottest he's ever looked.
You cupped his face, feeling the heat of his skin, the stubble rough against your palms. He leaned into your touch, his eyes hidden but his gaze palpable through the lenses. Then you kissed him.
It started soft, tentative—a brush of lips, a shared breath. But it didn't stay that way. Your tongues met, hungry and desperate, and the kiss deepened. His hands tightened on your ass, pulling you harder against him, and you moaned into his mouth.
"I need you," you whispered against his lips. "I need you inside me."
He growled, low and animalistic. "Then take me."
You lifted your hips, positioning yourself over his cock. The head nudged your entrance, and you sank down, taking him inch by inch. The water made it slick, the heat making every sensation more intense. He filled you completely, stretching you, and you both groaned as you settled fully onto him.
You didn't wait. You started moving, riding him in the warm water, your hands planted on his chest for leverage. The mask stayed where you'd left it, his lips parted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The lenses tracked every movement, and you knew he was watching you—the way your breasts bounced, the flush spreading across your chest, the way your mouth fell open as pleasure built.
"Look at you," he rasped, his voice strained. "Taking my cock like a good little slut. Riding me while I'm half-masked. That turn you on, baby? You can't see my face and I'm balls-deep inside you?"
You whimpered, your rhythm faltering. His words pushed you closer to the edge.
"Yeah, you like that. You like that I could be anyone—but I'm yours. I'm your Spider-Man. And I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk."
He grabbed your hips, taking control, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, precise thrusts. The water sloshed around you, splashing over the edge of the tub. His lips found your throat, biting and sucking, marking you.
"You close?" he growled against your skin.
"Yes, Peter, fuck—"
"Cum for me. Now. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."
Your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, pulsing in rhythm with your heartbeat. He followed a moment later, his hips bucking up as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you completely.
You collapsed against him, both of you panting, the water settling around your trembling bodies. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The mask was still bunched under his chin, and you reached up, pulling it off completely, revealing his face—flushed, sweat-slicked, eyes dark with satisfaction.
He smiled, soft and tender. "That was…"
"Exactly what I needed," you finished.
He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, lingering. "Me too. Even if I forgot to take the damn mask off."
You laughed, tracing the line of his jaw. "Best mistake you've ever made."
He hummed, his hand sliding down your back to rest on your ass. "Wanna make another mistake? I'm thinking round two in the bedroom. No mask this time. Just us."
You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. "I thought you'd never ask."
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Everyone forgot who spiderman is—including his girlfriend Y/N. But her body remembers something her head can't. She wakes up in the middle of the night craving something she never knew she had. Peter ensures they find their way back to each other (very smutty)
WC: 16.4k, unprotected sex, restrained by Spiderman's webs during sex, dirty talk, kinda Dom!Peter, sex dreams (memories), reader is horny af, casual mentions of sex throughout the entire story, this is the same as my NCT Donghyuck story, this is a MCU ver! Part 1, part 2 at the end
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Spiderman slips onto the fire escape outside Ned's apartment, the city humming below him like a heartbeat he can't quite feel anymore. He's not here to spy—he tells himself that. He's just checking. Making sure she's safe. That's what he does now: patrols her life like a ghost, invisible and aching.
But then he hears Ned's voice through the cracked window, and Y/N's laugh—that soft, familiar sound that used to be for him—and he can't tear himself away.
He crouches low, listening.
"So you're telling me you haven't gotten laid in, what, three months?" Ned's voice is teasing, light. He's sprawled on his couch, a beer in hand, grinning at Y/N like they're having the most casual conversation in the world.
She's curled on the other end, legs tucked under her, a throw pillow hugged to her chest. "That's not what I said."
"That's exactly what you said. You said you're 'too wound up, stressed, can't sleep.' That's textbook horny, babe."
"Ned!"
"What? I'm just saying." He takes a lazy sip of beer. "You're way too tense these days. You need to hook up with someone. Let off some steam."
She gasps, swatting at his leg. "I absolutely am not."
He grins, eyes glinting. "Yes you are. I can't put my finger on it, but you just seem so restless lately. Like you're crawling out of your skin."
"It's just stress over work." She pulls the pillow tighter. "Writing for the New York Chronicles is a lot of work. Deadlines, interviews, fact-checking—"
"Uh-huh. And when's the last time you got properly fucked?"
"Ned!"
He laughs, full and unbothered. "I'm serious. Maybe some good dick will help you. Relax those shoulders, clear that head of yours. You're practically vibrating."
On the fire escape, Peter's hands tighten into fists.
She's mine.
The thought crashes through him, possessive and raw. His jaw aches from clenching. He watches her through the window—her flustered expression, the way she hides her face in the pillow, the way she doesn't deny it. She's restless. He knows. He's seen her pace her apartment at 2 a.m., seen her press her thighs together in the bathtub, heard the soft, frustrated moans she thinks no one can hear.
And he knows Ned is right. She needs release. But the idea of her finding that release in someone else—some stranger's hands, some stranger's mouth, some stranger's cock inside her—makes his stomach twist with something dark and violent.
"You're impossible," she mutters, throwing the pillow at Ned.
He catches it easily. "And you're in denial. But okay. Keep telling yourself it's deadlines."
She stands, smoothing her shirt. "I'm leaving before you say something even more embarrassing."
"Text me if you change your mind! I know a guy—"
"Goodnight, Ned!"
The door clicks shut. Ned chuckles to himself, shaking his head.
Peter stays frozen on the fire escape long after she's gone, her scent still lingering in the air, her laugh still ringing in his ears.
He knows what he has to do.
He has to reintroduce himself. Casually, carefully. Slide back into her life before she finds someone else to release those frustrations on. Before some other man touches what's his.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he watches her walk home from a rooftop three blocks away, her silhouette moving under the amber streetlights. He watches her pause at her door, glance over her shoulder like she feels something watching her. She hugs herself, shivers, and disappears inside.
Soon, he tells himself, pressing a hand over his chest where his heart used to belong to her. Soon I'll make you remember. Or I'll make you want me again.
But for now, he waits.
Peter stands outside the coffee shop, his reflection staring back at him from the glass door. He checks his hair three times—runs his fingers through it, smooths the front, tucks a stray strand behind his ear. The black shirt hugs his shoulders just right, and the glasses frame his face in a way that used to make Y/N bite her lip and look at him twice.
She loved these glasses, he thinks, adjusting them once more. She used to say I looked like a secret librarian. A hot one.
He takes a breath, pushes the door open, and walks in with a confidence he's been practicing for weeks.
The bell above the door chimes. Y/N looks up from the counter where she's been scribbling in a notebook—probably working on another article for the New York Chronicles. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She's wearing a simple apron over a cream sweater, and when she sees him, she smiles.
It's polite. Professional. The same smile she gives every customer working at her parent's cafe.
But it's still her smile, and his heart stumbles.
"Hi," she says, setting down her pen. "What can I get started for you?"
He steps up to the counter, leaning an elbow on the polished wood. "Hey. I'll take an iced americano and a chocolate donut."
She nods, writing it down. "Anything else?"
"No, thanks. That's perfect."
She turns to prepare the coffee, and he watches her movements—efficient, practiced. The way she scoops ice, pours the espresso, reaches for the donut with a tissue. When she turns back and hands him the cup, their fingers brush.
It's barely a second. Just a whisper of contact.
But she pauses, her eyes lifting to his face. A flicker of something—recognition? Curiosity?—passes through her gaze before she blinks it away.
"Here you go," she says softly.
He takes the cup, letting his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks."
She smiles again, a little different this time—warmer, a hint of confusion. Then she turns back to the sink where a few dishes are waiting, rolling up her sleeves.
Peter takes a seat by the window, sipping his americano, watching her from behind his glasses. She's humming softly, something he doesn't recognize. From the back room, he hears Ned's voice, humming some pop song, the clatter of boxes being moved.
Over the next few weeks, he becomes a regular.
He comes in every other day, sometimes every day. Always orders the same thing—iced americano, chocolate donut. Sometimes he grabs a table and pretends to work on his laptop, but really he's watching her. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way she bites her lip while reading. The way she laughs at something Ned says, bright and easy.
Their interactions are casual. Limited.
"Morning Peter." She learns his name.
"The usual?" She asks.
"You know it."
A smile. A quick exchange. Then she's busy, and he's left with the ghost of her attention.
It's not enough.
So one afternoon, when the shop is empty and Ned is in the back, he makes his move.
He walks up to the counter, coffee in hand, and as he reaches to pay, he lets his wrist go slack. The cup tips. The lid pops off. Brown liquid splashes across the floor, a puddle spreading near his feet.
"Shit," he mutters, a little too loud.
Y/N spins around from the espresso machine. "Oh no! Don't worry, I'll get it—"
She grabs a roll of paper towels from under the counter and moves to crouch down, but he's already there. He takes the roll from her hands, his fingers closing over hers for a brief, deliberate second.
"It was my fault," he says, meeting her eyes. "Don't worry about it."
"Really, I can—"
"Nope. I got it." He kneels, wiping up the mess quickly, ignoring her protests. "You have enough to do. Let me take care of this."
She stands there, hands on her hips, watching him clean up her floor with an expression caught between amused and impressed.
"You're not going to let me help, are you?" she asks.
"Nope." He finishes, tosses the wet paper towels in the trash, and straightens up. "See? All good."
She shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "You're stubborn."
"I prefer determined."
"A determined mess-maker."
He laughs—a real laugh, not the careful one he's been using.
They stand there, the air between them easier now, the tension cracked open. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms, studying him with fresh eyes.
"You come here a lot," she says.
"I do. Good coffee. Good donuts." He pauses, letting his voice drop just a fraction. "Good company."
Her cheeks flush. She looks down, then back up, a spark in her gaze. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Born and raised. Just... been away for a while."
"Ah. A returning native."
"Something like that."
She tilts her head. "What do you do, Peter? Besides cleaning up your own messes?"
"I'm a freelance photographer. I take pictures of the city, the people. Try to capture moments that don't last."
Her eyes light up. "That sounds beautiful."
"It has its moments." He holds her gaze. "Maybe I could show you sometime. If you're interested."
The offer hangs in the air, soft and deliberate. She bites her lower lip, considering, and he feels his pulse quicken.
"I'd like that," she says quietly.
A bell rings from the back—Ned calling something about a shipment. The moment breaks, but it doesn't shatter. It settles into something warm, something potential.
"I should let you get back to work," Peter says, stepping back. "But I'll see you tomorrow. Same time?"
"Same time," she confirms, her smile lingering.
He walks out of the coffee shop, heart hammering, a grin threatening to break across his face. He doesn't look back, but he doesn't need to.
He knows he has her attention now.
Ned slides up beside Y/N the moment the door swings shut behind Peter. He nudges her shoulder with his, a knowing grin already spreading across his face.
"Okay, so that guy? Exactly your type."
Y/N rolls her eyes, but she can feel the heat creeping up her neck. "Peter?"
"Obviously Peter." Ned leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Like, I get it. He's attractive in that nonchalant way. The whole I just rolled out of bed but I'm still hotter than you vibe. And that confidence? It's practically dripping off him." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Makes you horny, doesn't it?"
"Ned!" She smacks his shoulder, but she's laughing. "Shut up. He's just a nice guy."
"A nice guy who you've been staring at for three weeks straight."
"I have not—"
"You literally watched him walk to the door just now. Like a sad puppy."
She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because he's right. She did watch him. She always watches him.
Ned groans, shaking his head with mock exasperation. "When you two finally hook up, I'm going to be right there to say I told you so."
"He's just a customer, Injun."
"Mhmm. Sure." He pats her shoulder and heads toward the back room, already humming again, leaving her standing there with her thoughts.
She bites her lip.
He's just a customer, she tells herself. But her mind drifts anyway, unbidden.
His voice—low and warm, with a teasing edge that makes her stomach flip. The way he carries himself, relaxed but aware, like he knows exactly what he's doing at all times. His baggy clothes, the way they hang off his frame, hiding and revealing at the same time. The silver rings on his fingers. That little smirk he gives her sometimes, like he's in on a joke she hasn't heard yet.
Her exes were... fine. Nice. Respectful. Boring.
They held doors open and said please and thank you. They kissed her forehead and asked if she was comfortable. They never made her pulse race. They never made her wonder what it would feel like to be pushed against a wall and taken.
Peter does.
He gives her mystery. Maybe even a little danger. The way he looks at her sometimes, like he's holding something back—something intense.
She shakes her head, physically trying to dislodge the thought. Crazy. You don't even know him.
But the thought lingers, hot and stubborn, all the way through the rest of her shift. It follows her home, past the subway, up the stairs to her apartment. It settles in her bones the moment she closes her door.
---
She's restless.
The apartment is quiet, dark except for the lamp by her bed. She changes into a tank top and shorts, lies down, tosses, turns. Her body feels tight—a coil wound too tight, needing release.
She gives in.
From the nightstand drawer, she pulls out her vibrator—a sleek pink thing she's had for years. She lies back, spreads her legs, and lets the hum of the motor fill the silence.
Her mind drifts to him.
To Peter. To his hands. Those rings. What they'd feel like gripping her thighs. His voice, low in her ear, telling her exactly what he's going to do to her.
She presses the vibrator harder against her clit, her breath hitching. She thinks about his smirk, his confidence, the way he holds her gaze a second too long. She chases the image, lets it build—
And then she comes.
A sharp, quick release. A gasp. The tension snaps, but it doesn't dissolve. It just... scatters. Falls apart unsatisfyingly.
She sighs, letting the vibrator drop onto the mattress. Her body feels hollow. Empty. Like the orgasm barely scratched the surface of what she actually needs.
"Fuck," she whispers to the ceiling.
She lies there, staring at the dark, her skin still buzzing with unresolved heat. She wants more. She wants him. But he's a stranger. A customer. Nothing.
She rolls onto her side, pulls the blanket up, and tries to sleep.
---
Outside her window, perched on a fire escape three buildings over, Peter watches the dark shape of her bedroom through the gap in her curtains.
He didn't look. Not directly. He swung toward her building on instinct, drawn by the familiar pull of her presence, and he landed on the adjacent rooftop just in time to hear it.
The buzz of the vibrator. Her soft, breathy moans.
His name. She whispered his name—Peter—on a desperate exhale.
And then the sigh. That disappointed, hollow sigh at the end.
He heard it all.
His fingers curl into a fist against the brick wall beside him. A smirk spreads across his face, slow and predatory, mixing with the ache in his chest.
You're not satisfied, are you, baby?
He knows the feeling. He's been unsatisfied too—in a different way. Hungry for her touch, her voice, her warmth. But that hunger is about to be fed.
He pushes off the ledge, letting the night air rush past him as he swings into the darkness.
Soon. I'll take my rightful place soon.
Below him, the city blurs. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance. Another night of crime waits for him—thugs to stop, civilians to save. The usual.
But tonight, for the first time in weeks, he feels something close to hope.
———
It starts slowly.
A whisper of warmth against her skin. The weight of a body behind her, pressed close, solid and familiar. She can't see his face, but she knows him—or rather, her body knows him. Her back arches into his chest instinctively, seeking more contact.
His hands. God, his hands. Calloused palms sliding up her thighs, fingers digging into her hips with just enough pressure to bruise. She feels the cool bite of metal rings against her overheated skin. A low chuckle rumbles against her ear.
"You've been so good for me, baby. But I'm gonna take what's mine now."
She opens her mouth to respond, but he's already rolling her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, positioning her on her knees. The sheets are soft beneath her palms. She can feel his cock—thick, hard, pressing against her soaked entrance—and she whimpers, pushing back against him.
"Please," she breathes. "Please, I need—"
He cuts her off with a sharp thrust. He slams into her to the hilt, and she screams, her body clenching around him immediately. He doesn't stop. He fucks her like he owns her, like he's been waiting for this, each stroke deep and punishing, hitting a spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids.
"That's it. Take it. Take all of it."
His voice is low, rough, almost unrecognizable through the fog of lust. She can't think. She can only feel—the stretch, the burn, the relentless pounding. He wraps a hand around her throat, not choking, just holding, tilting her head back so he can whisper directly into her ear.
"You missed me, didn't you? Your tight little pussy missed me. Say it."
"I—yes—fuck—I missed you—"
He groans, a sound so raw it vibrates through her bones. His pace quickens, his grip on her hip bruising. She feels the coil building, tighter and tighter, her moans turning into desperate sobs—
And then she wakes up.
---
Gasping.
Y/N bolts upright in bed, her tank top soaked with sweat, her thighs sticky with arousal. The sheets are twisted around her legs. Her pussy is throbbing, clenching around nothing, so empty it almost hurts.
She blinks at the ceiling, panting.
What the fuck was that?
The dream is already fading, slipping through her fingers like water. She remembers heat. A deep voice. Being pinned down and fucked senseless. But the face—she can't remember the face. Just a blur of dark hair, broad shoulders, a cruel smirk.
She presses her palm against her cunt, gasping at the sensitivity. She's soaked. Her thighs are slick. Her hole flutters, desperate to be filled.
"Fucking hell," she mutters, flopping back onto the pillows.
It's been like this for almost a week now. Every night, another dream. Some nights she's on her knees, sucking a thick cock while a hand tangles in her hair. Some nights she's tied to a bed, spread open, being fucked so slowly she can feel every inch drag against her walls. Some nights it's just a voice—a low, possessive voice—calling her filthy, desperate, mine.
She always wakes up the same way: wet, aching, unsatisfied.
She reaches for her vibrator on the nightstand, but even as she presses it against her clit, she knows it won't be enough. It never is anymore. She comes—hard, fast, grinding into the plastic—but the release is hollow. An echo of what her body actually craves.
She doesn't know what that is.
Her exes were boring. They never made her feel claimed. They never made her scream.
But her body wants something more, something she's never experienced. Or so she thinks.
She sighs, tossing the vibrator aside. Her cunt still throbs, still clenches, still weeps for something she can't name.
Why does this feel like grief?
---
Across the city, perched on a water tower overlooking her block, Peter watches the distant glow of her window with a dark, hungry expression.
He knows.
He's been watching her sleep through the gap in her curtains. He's heard her moans, her whimpers, the desperate sounds she makes when she's lost in a dream he put there—not consciously, but through the lingering threads of the spell that binds them. She can't remember him, but her body can. Her body is a traitor, whispering his name in the language of her muscles, her slick, her trembling thighs.
He clenches his fists, his cock hardening painfully in his suit.
He lets out a slow, shaky breath.
I'll give you what you're craving soon.
He pushes off the water tower, swinging into the night, leaving his mark on the rooftops like a promise.
But he doesn't go far. He lands on the fire escape just outside her window—close enough to hear her frustrated sigh, the rustle of sheets as she rolls over, the quiet, desperate whisper she thinks no one hears:
"What do I need? What's wrong with me?"
He presses a hand to the glass, his rings glinting in the moonlight.
Nothing's wrong with you, love. You just need me.
————
The morning rush at the coffee shop had been mercifully slow, leaving Y/N and Ned with nothing better to do than wipe down the already-clean countertops in a lazy, synchronized rhythm. The TV mounted in the corner murmured in the background—some local news broadcast about a bank robbery in Midtown. The anchor's voice was tinny, almost an afterthought.
"...and witnesses report that Spider-Man intervened just moments after the robbers entered. No casualties reported. The web-slinger made a quick escape as usual—"
Y/N didn't look up. Neither did Ned. It was New York. Spider-Man stopping a robbery was as routine as a subway delay. They'd both heard the name so many times it barely registered anymore—a ghost in red and blue, flickering across screens, saving lives, disappearing.
Ned hummed a tune under his breath, rubbing a smudge off the granite with his thumb. Y/N's mind was elsewhere. Still half-lost in the hazy aftertaste of another dream from last night—the echo of a deep voice, the phantom weight of hands on her hips, the ache between her legs that hadn't fully faded even after she'd come twice this morning.
She bit her lip, grip tightening on the rag.
Focus. Work. Coffee. Normal stuff.
The little bell above the door jingled.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Peter stepped inside, and she felt the air shift. He was breathing hard, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso like a second skin, dark patches of sweat spreading across his chest and under his arms. His hair was damp, plastered to his forehead in messy waves, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened over his neck and collarbones.
He looked exhausted. But also... good. Really good.
"Hey," Y/N said, her voice coming out a little too breathy. She cleared her throat. "You okay?"
He offered a tired smile, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Yeah. Just tired. Killed it at the gym today." He let out a huff of laughter, rolling one shoulder like it ached. "Didn't realize I pushed myself that hard."
She nodded, already moving to make his usual ice americano. Her body went through the motions automatically while her eyes trailed down his frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the tanned skin. The sweat highlighted every contour—the arch of his biceps, the column of his throat, the way his chest rose and fell with each controlled breath.
Shit. She felt heat creep up her cheeks.
Her gaze dropped lower, catching a glint of silver at his wrist. A bracelet—woven black cord with a small metallic charm, a roughly shaped star. It looked handmade, well-worn, the edges smooth like it had been touched a thousand times.
She slid the cup across the counter toward him. "That's pretty," she said, nodding at the bracelet.
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. A flash of emotion too fast to name—hope? Pain? He opened his mouth, and she could've sworn she saw him about to say something, his throat bobbing with a swallow.
Do you remember that you gave this to me?
But the words didn't come. He just watched her as she pulled away from the counter, already turning back to the rag in her hand.
Of course she didn't remember.
"Thanks," she said over her shoulder, already distracted, moving toward the back to restock napkins.
Peter stared at the bracelet on his wrist. The star charm. She'd made it for him on their six-month anniversary, clumsily braiding the cord while sitting cross-legged on his bed, laughing about how she'd never made jewelry before. "So you don't forget me," she'd said, pressing it into his palm. "Wear it even when you're being Spider-Man. I want to be with you, always."
He clenched his jaw, forcing the ache down his throat.
She doesn't remember. Of course she doesn't. You knew that.
Ned slid off his stool and walked over, holding out a napkin. "Hey," he said, his voice soft but pointed. "Your forehead's bleeding a bit."
Peter blinked, reaching up. His fingers came away with a smear of red. Shit. Must've caught a stray piece of debris during the takedown. He'd been too focused on getting there fast—on changing out of the suit in that alley, on making it to the shop before she closed—that he hadn't bothered to check for damage.
"Ah, that." He took the napkin with a casual shrug, pressing it to the cut. "Tripped on the way here. Almost ate pavement. Stupid, I know."
Ned's eyes lingered on him a moment too long, a quiet skepticism behind his gentle gaze. He didn't say anything, but Peter could feel the weight of his unspoken question.
That's a weird place to trip. And you're too banged up for just a fall. And you showed up right after Spider-Man was seen.
But Ned just nodded, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "Be careful," he said simply, and walked back to the counter.
Peter exhaled slowly, pressing the napkin harder against his temple. He watched Y/N move behind the counter, her hair tied in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She was beautiful. She was his. And she didn't even know it.
He took a long sip of the coffee she'd made him, letting the bitterness ground him.
He smiled against the rim of the cup, eyes fixed on the curve of her back as she bent down to grab more cups from the low shelf.
The bracelet gleamed on his wrist like a promise.
The morning air in Manhattan carried the usual cocktail of exhaust fumes, pretzel cart steam, and distant sirens. Y/N walked with her messenger bag slung across her body, earbuds in, a playlist of lo-fi beats keeping her grounded. The New York Chronicle skyscraper loomed ahead, all glass and steel, reflecting the pale winter sun. She was running a little early today, which meant she could grab a decent coffee from the lobby cart before heading up to her desk.
She was two blocks away when the screaming started.
At first, it was distant—a ripple through the crowd ahead. Then it grew, a wave of panic rolling toward her. People began sprinting in her direction, faces twisted with fear, elbows knocking pamphlets and coffee cups out of the way. A woman clutching a toddler nearly collided with her.
"What—" Y/N pulled out her earbuds, heart lurching. "What's happening?"
No one stopped to answer. The tide of bodies pushed past her, and she stumbled sideways, grabbing a lamppost to steady herself. Then she saw it: a column of smoke rising from the base of the Chronicle building. Orange flames licked at a collapsed awning. Glass littered the street like crushed diamonds.
Oh god. That's the lobby.
Her feet started moving before her brain caught up. She had to get in there. Had to see if her coworkers—her editor, the layout team, Maria from HR who always gave her extra granola bars—were okay. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
"HEY!"
A blur of red and blue dropped from above, landing in front of her with a soft thud that cracked the asphalt. She yelped, skidding to a halt.
Spider-Man.
His lenses narrowed, body angled like he was about to grab her.
"What the hell are you doing?" His voice was modulated, sharp with urgency. "There's a gas leak—could blow again any second. Get back."
"I have to see if the people in that building are okay!" She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her, a wall of spandex and muscle.
"I'll check. You stay here." He pointed a gloved finger at the sidewalk behind her. "Don't move."
She barely registered that she'd just been ordered around by a superhero. Her heart was hammering. The smoke stung her nostrils. "I'm not just going to—"
He was already turning, preparing to leap. She took a step forward, following him.
A sharp thwip sliced through the air.
Something snapped around her right wrist—a rope of white webbing, sticky and warm, yanking her arm sideways. She stumbled, grunting, and found herself anchored to the handle of a police cruiser parked at the curb. The web held fast, elastic but unyielding.
"What the hell?!" She yanked at her wrist, but the webbing stretched and held. "Are you serious right now?!"
Spider-Man paused, tilting his head. She could almost hear the smirk behind the mask. "Nope. Wait here. I'll free you after I'm sure it's safe."
And then he was gone, a red streak disappearing into the smoke-filled doorway.
Y/N stood there, arm stretched awkwardly toward the cop car, jaw hanging open. People were still running past her, but the immediate panic was thinning. She looked at her wrist, at the white strands wrapped snugly around it, and felt a jolt—not of anger, but of something else.
The texture. The pressure. The slight give when she pulled.
Her breath caught.
She was in her bedroom. The lights were dim. Her wrist was bound to the bedpost with...not a rope...not a scarf...something else entirely. Her arms stretched above her head and a dark figure hovered over her. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his weight, his heat, the deep rumble of his voice against her ear.
"Stay still, baby. I'm not done with you yet."
The memory dissolved as quickly as it came, leaving her gasping on the sidewalk, knees weak.
What the fuck?
She shook her head violently, pressing her free hand to her flushed cheek. "I'm starting to feel like a fucking sex addict," she muttered under her breath. Of all the things to think about right now—tied to a car by Spider-Man—her brain was conjuring erotic flashbacks? With...Spider-Man? For all she knew, the guy was a forty-year-old accountant underneath that suit. He could be balding.
But he didn't move like a forty-year-old. And his voice, even through the modulator, had a certain quality—young, confident, teasing.
She shook her head again, harder. Stop it. Focus. The building.
A few minutes passed. The fire trucks arrived. EMTs started setting up a triage zone. Y/N strained her neck, trying to see if anyone was being carried out. She pulled at the web again, frustrated, but it held true.
Then Spider-Man emerged from the smoke, walking casually now, hands on his hips. He jogged over to her.
"Building's clear. No casualties. Gas leak was contained before it got worse. Minor injuries, but everyone's out." He reached for the web on her wrist and gave it a sharp tug setting her free.
She rubbed her wrist, red and slightly raw. "That wasn't cool. You could have just asked me to stay."
"I did. You didn't listen." He shrugged, the motion exaggerated by the suit's padding. "You should be more careful. People get hurt when they run toward explosions."
"I work there." She glared at him. "I was worried about my friends."
He was quiet for a second, his head tilted. She could feel his gaze through the white lenses, studying her. There was something familiar about the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders.
Then he straightened. "Bye."
And with a single leap, he was gone, swinging between buildings, disappearing into the Manhattan skyline before she could even respond.
Y/N stood there, mouth half-open, hand still rubbing her wrist. The phantom sensation of the web lingered—soft, taut, possessive. Her skin tingled where it had been wrapped.
Why does that feel like a memory I can't reach?
She stared up at the empty sky, the smoke still curling into the gray clouds.
And for some reason, her thighs pressed together.
Get a grip, Y/N. He's a stranger in a mask.
But her body didn't believe that. Not for a second.
The evening air did nothing to cool the heat lingering beneath Y/N's skin. After the chaos at the Chronicle building, after being webbed to a police car like some disobedient puppy, after the shredded remains of her dignity scattered across Sixth Avenue—she'd gone through the motions. Talked to her editor. Confirmed everyone was safe. Filed a preliminary report on the gas leak. Smiled at Maria's thanks.
But all the way home, her wrist tingled. The ghost of that webbing refused to fade.
Now she stood in her apartment, shoes kicked off, coat thrown over the armchair. The city lights bled through her window, painting amber stripes across her wooden floor. She should shower. Eat something. Answer the three texts Ned had sent asking if she was okay.
Instead, she grabbed her laptop and collapsed onto her bed, flipping it open.
YouTube.
Her fingers moved before she could talk herself out of it. She typed in the search bar: Spider-Man New York 2024.
The results flooded the screen. News clips. Fan edits. Compilations titled "Spider-Man's Top 10 Saves" and "Spider-Man Being a Menace for 12 Minutes Straight." She clicked the first one—a news report from two months ago, shaky cell phone footage of Spider-Man webbing a falling construction beam before it crushed a bus.
She watched it twice. Then a third time.
The comments section was a battlefield.
"whoever is under that suit is DEFINITELY packing i'm not taking questions"
"imagine getting railed by spider-man... the grip?? the stamina???"
"he literally fights crime every night and still has time to help old ladies cross the street... husband material"
"plot twist: he's actually a 50 year old dude with a beer belly and we're all just simping for spandex"
"even if he is 50 i'd still let him web me to the bed 🥴"
Y/N snorted despite herself, scrolling deeper. The thirst was real, embarrassingly real. These women were out there, posting paragraphs about what they'd let Spider-Man do to them. What they'd do to him. She felt a pang of something—not judgment, because who was she to judge—but recognition.
She'd felt that web around her wrist. She'd felt the possessiveness in that single thwip.
And God help her, she wanted to feel it again.
She clicked on another video. This one was different—a street interview, low-budget, filmed by someone's phone. The camera focused on Spider-Man, standing casually beside a hot dog cart, and standing next to him was a little boy—maybe eight years old, holding a notebook.
The interviewer says, "We've got a special guest today—this is Liam, and he wanted to ask Spider-Man a few questions."
Spider-Man crouched down to the boy's level. His lenses softened, tilted—the body language of someone genuinely engaged. He reached out and patted the kid's head, a casual, affectionate gesture.
"Go ahead, Liam. I'm all ears."
And he laughed—a low, warm chuckle that cut through the modulator like a blade through silk.
Y/N's breath hitched.
That laugh. She knew that laugh. It tickled something deep in her chest, a phantom sensation, like a voice calling from underwater. Her fingers tightened on the laptop. She replayed it. Once. Twice. Three times.
"I'm all ears."
The way he said it—teasing, gentle, familiar.
She shook her head, hard. You're projecting. Every guy laughs. It's not him. You don't even know who "him" is.
But her skin was prickling. Her thighs pressed together under the laptop.
She kept scrolling.
There was a Reddit link. r/SpiderManFantasies (NSFW). Her thumb hovered over it for a full ten seconds before she clicked.
The forum was a treasure trove of desperation. Women (and some men) posting photos they'd taken of Spider-Man mid-swing, or perched on a rooftop, or standing in the middle of a street after a rescue. The photos weren't explicit—they couldn't be, he was fully suited—but the captions were anything but.
"If I ever meet him I'm dropping to my knees immediately. That suit does NOT hide what he's working with."
"Imagine him pinning you down after a fight, all that adrenaline still pumping... you'd feel the bass in his chest."
"I don't even care what he looks like. I just want one night. ONE. NIGHT. With whoever is under that mask."
One post showed a blurry shot of Spider-Man crouched on a fire escape, his legs spread, the suit stretching taut across his thighs. The caption read: "I want to sit on his face and never get up."
Y/N closed the laptop so fast the screen clicked shut.
Her heart was hammering. Her cheeks burned. She pressed a hand to her forehead, groaning.
"I'm not above this," she whispered to the empty room. "I'm so far below this it's embarrassing."
She threw the laptop aside and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The city hummed outside—distant sirens, a neighbor's TV, the low bass of a car passing by. Her skin felt too tight. Her cunt ached, a dull, persistent throb that had been living in her bones for weeks now.
The clock on her nightstand read 11:47 PM when Y/N finally collapsed onto her bed, still wearing her jeans and a thin camisole.
Sleep came heavy and reluctant.
---
She woke with a gasp, thighs pressed together, a dull throb between her legs.
The clock read 2:47 AM.
Her skin was damp with sweat. Her nipples were hard, rubbing against the cotton of her shirt. She'd been dreaming again—fragments of a body above her, weight pressing her into the mattress, a warm mouth trailing down her stomach. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his hands. Strong, calloused, knowing exactly where to touch.
"I've got you, baby. I've always got you."
She threw an arm over her eyes, breathing hard. She was wet, aching, clenching around nothing. She slid a hand down her belly, into her underwear, her fingers finding her clit swollen and desperate.
She rubbed herself slowly, trying to chase a release that never came. She imagined the web wrapped around her wrist again. Spider-Man's lenses staring down at her. The low laugh from the video.
"Fuck," she whimpered, fingers moving faster. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. She could feel a shape just out of reach.
Her body remembered. Her mind didn't.
She pressed her palm harder, hips bucking, but the orgasm hovered like a mirage, untouchable. She let out a frustrated sob, pulling her hand away, her chest heaving.
Outside, on the fire escape, a shadow shifted.
Peter pressed his back against the brick wall, his own breathing uneven. He'd heard her whimper through the glass. Heard the wet sound of her fingers working. The whine of her frustration when she couldn't finish.
His cock was hard, straining against the suit. He'd come here to check on her after the explosion—to make sure she was safe, to watch her sleep like he did most nights. He hadn't expected this.
But he couldn't leave. Not while she was aching.
Not when he was the only one who could fix it.
He pressed a palm against the cold glass of her window, the mask hiding the anguish on his face. Soon, he told himself. Soon I'll find a way.
But for now, he just listened to her breathe, and hated the spell that kept them apart.
———
The knock that rattled Ned's door at 11 PM was frantic—three sharp, pounding hits, then a pause, then another. He barely had time to unlatch the lock before Y/N pushed past him into his apartment, her eyes wild, her hair a mess, her chest heaving like she'd run the whole way.
"Okay," she said, hands on her hips, pacing his narrow living room. "You were right. You were fucking right."
Ned closed the door slowly, crossing his arms. He was in sweatpants and an old band tee, clearly winding down for the night. "Right about what, exactly? Because I'm right about a lot of things."
She whirled on him, jaw tight. "The sex thing. The needing-to-get-laid thing. The I'm crawling out of my skin thing." She raked her fingers through her hair, tugging at the roots. "It's not just being horny, Ned. It's like—" She stopped, struggling for words. "It's like my body is craving something specific. A specific touch. A specific rhythm. A specific person. But I don't know who or what. I don't remember. I just feel this ache that nothing fills."
Ned's teasing demeanor softened. He gestured to the couch, and she collapsed onto it, head in her hands.
He sat beside her, voice careful. "An ex? Someone you dated before? Maybe your brain locked away a breakup that hit you harder than you think."
She looked up, rolling her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "No. It's not an ex. I don't have any traumatic breakup memory. It's—" She groaned, frustrated. "I don't know. It feels like a ghost. A phantom limb."
Ned was quiet for a moment. Then he said, slowly, "Maybe you don't need to find that specific person. Maybe you just need to try someone new."
She blinked at him. The idea hung in the air, fresh and foreign.
"Someone new," she repeated, tasting the words.
"Someone who doesn't come with baggage or memories. Someone who can just—" He made a vague gesture. "Fuck you into forgetting whatever's haunting you. A clean slate. A hot body. A night of no strings."
She stared at him. Then, slowly, a nod. "Maybe you're right."
His grin spread wide. "I am right. And I know exactly how to start." He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. "There's that new nightclub in midtown. Opened last week. 'Velvet Underground.' It's got black lights, VIP booths, and supposedly a very attractive bartender who does body shots. I've been dying to go."
"A club," she said flatly.
"A club where you can find a guy—or girl, no judgment—who will take you home and fuck you until you forget your own name. That kind of club."
She chewed her lip. The idea terrified her. Thrilled her. She thought of her empty bed, the wet sheets, the incomplete orgasms. She thought of the phantom hands in her dreams.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Let's do it."
Ned clapped his hands together. "Yes. I'll text you the details. Wear something slutty. I'm talking a dress that says 'I'm here to get railed.'"
She laughed—a real laugh, shaky but genuine. "You're such a bad influence."
"Someone has to be."
They spent the next hour planning. What time to arrive. Which drinks to order. An exit strategy if the guy was a creep. Y/N felt lighter than she had in weeks, a fragile hope blooming in her chest.
---
Outside, pressed against the brick wall of the adjacent building, a figure in red and blue watched through the sliver of curtain left uncovered.
Peter's hands curled into fists.
His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
Someone new.
The words echoed in his skull, each syllable a knife twist. She was going to let some stranger touch her. Some random guy from a club. He'd put his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat...
A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, muffled by the mask.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
He pushed off the wall, landing silently on the fire escape below. His mind raced. He couldn't stop her—not directly. He couldn't reveal himself, couldn't break the spell. But he could intercept. He could follow. He could make sure that no one—no one—got close enough to touch what was his.
Even if she didn't remember it.
He swung into the night, a plan already forming. The club. He'd be there. Not as Spider-Man—too obvious. He'd ditch the suit, put on something tight, something that would make her look. He'd find her on the dance floor, buy her a drink, let the night unfold.
The hunt was on.
The strapless bodycon dress was a weapon, and Y/N knew it.
Black velvet hugged every curve from her collarbone to mid-thigh, the hem riding up just enough to make men's eyes glaze over. She'd paired it with strappy heels that made her legs look miles long and a thin silver necklace that caught the light. Her hair fell in loose waves, makeup smoky and deliberate.
Ned let out a low whistle when she stepped out of her bedroom. "Holy shit."
"Too much?" She tugged at the neckline nervously.
"Not enough. You're going to break necks tonight. Possibly some hearts too, but who's counting." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"
She took it, laughing. "Let's get me laid."
---
The Velvet Underground lived up to its name. The interior was all dark burgundy and dim gold lighting, with a massive dance floor pulsing under black lights that made white fabrics glow. Bodies moved together in a haze of sweat and bass, the air thick with perfume and alcohol.
They claimed a spot at the bar, and Ned ordered them both shots of tequila. "Warm-up," he shouted over the music.
Y/N downed hers, grimacing at the burn. A second followed. Then a third.
By the fourth, the edges of her anxiety had blurred into a pleasant haze. The bass thrummed through her bones, and she found herself swaying, scanning the crowd. Potential candidates everywhere—sharp jawlines, broad shoulders, confident grins.
None of them made her stomach flip.
But then the door opened.
And he walked in.
Peter had planned this.
Tight black jeans that hugged his thighs and sat low on his hips. A simple white T-shirt, thin enough that the outline of his chest was visible when he moved. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms. He'd styled his hair messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and he wore that lazy half-smirk that had always made her knees weak.
Her favorite outfit.
He remembered the first time she'd seen him in it. They'd been dating for a few weeks, and he'd shown up at her door looking like this. She'd pulled him inside by his collar, pinned him against the wall, and kissed him so deep he'd seen stars. Her hands had tangled in his hair, pulling, while the other roamed down his stomach to palm him through the denim. She'd broken the kiss just to whisper against his lips, "You look so good it should be illegal. I want to ruin you."
And she had. For hours.
He carried that memory in his bones as he pushed open the club door, scanning the crowd with practiced casualness. His eyes landed on the bar.
There she was.
Strapless black dress. Hair loose. Cheeks flushed from alcohol. She was even more beautiful than he remembered—which was saying something, because he remembered every detail.
He pretended not to see her at first. Ordered a drink. Leaned against the bar, letting the black lights catch the contours of his arms.
Then Ned spotted him.
"Hey! Peter!"
Peter turned, feigning surprise. His eyes landed on Y/N, and he let them widen slightly—just enough. "Oh. Hey. Didn't expect to see you guys here."
Y/N's breath caught. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping. "Hi."
Just that. Hi. But the word came out breathy, almost involuntary.
Ned gestured him over. "Come join us. We're just warming up. Y/N's on a mission tonight."
"A mission?" Peter raised an eyebrow, sliding onto the stool beside her. Close enough that his knee brushed hers under the bar. "Sounds intriguing."
She opened her mouth to respond, but the words came out slurred. "M'sion... find someone... hot..."
Ned sighed. "I think the tequila hit faster than expected."
Peter smiled knowingly. She always did get tipsy fast. Three drinks and she'd be clinging to him, whispering dirty things in his ear. Four and she'd be begging to go home. Five and she'd be asleep before they hit the door.
"I can help you get her home," he offered, voice steady. "If you want."
Ned looked relieved. "God, yes. I was not looking forward to carrying her six blocks in those heels."
They helped her off the stool. Her legs wobbled, and she stumbled forward—
Right into Peter's arms.
Her palms landed flat on his chest. Her head tipped up, eyes glassy and unfocused. She blinked at him, a dopey smile spreading across her face. "Wow. You're... strong."
His hands caught her waist, steadying her. The velvet of her dress was soft under his fingers, her skin warm beneath the fabric. He could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse.
He lowered his voice, letting it dip into that husky register she'd always loved. "Oh yea?"
She nodded, earnest and drunk. "Mmhm. Like... hero strong."
If only you knew.
Ned was already heading for the door, waving them along. Peter kept one arm around Y/N's waist, guiding her out into the cool night air. The city hummed around them, taxis honking, distant sirens, the buzz of neon signs.
The walk to her apartment was slow. She kept tripping on cracks, leaning into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. At one point she looked up at him, squinting.
"You smell... familiar."
His chest tightened. "Good familiar or bad familiar?"
"Good." She nuzzled into his shoulder. "Really good."
Ned shot him a look—half curious, half amused. Peter just shrugged, playing it casual, though his heart was hammering.
They reached her building. Ned held the door while Peter helped her up the stairs. At her apartment door, she fumbled with her keys, nearly dropping them twice.
When she finally got it open, she turned around, throwing her arms around both of them in a messy group hug.
"Thank you," she mumbled into Ned's shoulder. "You're the best."
She pulled back, swaying slightly, and turned to Peter.
Her eyes met his.
The air between them thickened.
"You..." She reached up, touching his cheek with drunken clumsiness. Her thumb brushed his jawline. "You look so good tonight."
The words came out soft. Barely a whisper. Heavy with something she couldn't name.
Peter's throat tightened. He wanted to grab her, pull her inside, pin her against that door and remind her exactly what she was missing. He wanted to kiss that drunk confession off her lips and replace it with moans.
But not yet.
Not yet.
He smiled, gentle and aching. "Get some sleep, Y/N."
She blinked slowly, then ducked inside, closing the door with a soft click.
The lock turned.
Peter stood there for a long moment, hand pressed flat against the wood. He could hear her on the other side, shuffling, probably kicking off her heels.
"She say something?" Ned asked from behind.
"Just saying goodnight."
Ned hummed, unconvinced. "You know, for a guy who just met her, you're pretty invested."
Peter turned, keeping his face neutral. "She's a friend. I don't like seeing friends drunk and alone."
"Uh huh." Ned didn't push. "Well, thanks for the help. I'm gonna crash. See you around, Peter."
"Yeah. See you."
When Ned disappeared down the stairwell, Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He pressed his forehead to the door, listening. On the other side, he heard her humming—off-key, sleepy—as she padded toward her bedroom.
Soon, he promised himself. Soon she'll know.
But for tonight, he'd settle for knowing that even drunk and confused, she still thought he looked good.
That was enough.
For now.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence of his apartment swallowed him whole.
Peter stood there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the wood, listening to the echo of her voice in his head. You look so good tonight. Drunk, slurred, honest. She'd meant it. Even without knowing who he was, her body remembered. Her eyes had traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw, and something deep in her gut had stirred.
But she was inside, alone, probably already curled up in bed, dreaming of strangers.
And he was out here. Alone. Again.
He pushed off the door and walked to his kitchen, grabbing a glass of water he didn't want. The apartment was too quiet. Too empty. The walls seemed to press in on him, carrying the weight of every night he'd spent like this—restless, aching, watching the clock tick toward dawn while the city hummed outside.
It's hard when no one loves you and the ones you love can't remember you.
He set the glass down harder than intended. It cracked. Water spilled across the counter.
"Fuck."
He stood there, dripping, staring at his own reflection in the dark window. A stranger in his own life. Spider-Man saved people. Peter saved no one. Not even himself.
He loved being Spider-Man. Loved the rush of swinging between buildings, the wind in his face, the sound of sirens fading as he swooped in to help. Loved the gratitude in strangers' eyes when he pulled them from wrecks, the way kids pointed up at him with awe.
But Peter deserved his own life too. A job he didn't have to hide. Friends who called him by his real name. A girl who looked at him like he was the only man in the world.
He closed his eyes, and there she was. Y/N. Laughing. Touching his face. Whining his name in that breathless way she used to when he was inside her.
"You're so good, Peter. Fuck—don't stop—"
His hand curled into a fist.
Then his spider-sense flared.
Sharp. Urgent. Something wrong.
He sighed, heavy and resigned, and reached for the suit.
---
The city was cruel tonight.
He swung from rooftop to rooftop, the wind biting at the exposed skin of his face and hands. Below, the neon lights of Manhattan bled into puddles on wet asphalt. Somewhere, a woman screamed—he veered toward it, landing on a fire escape to find a mugger wrestling a purse from an elderly lady. He webbed the guy to a lamppost in seconds, returned the purse, and was gone before the woman could finish thanking him.
Two blocks over, a car crash. He helped pull a family out before the fuel line sparked.
A domestic disturbance. He talked a man down from a balcony ledge.
A break-in at a convenience store.
A fire on the Lower East Side.
He kept moving. Kept saving. Kept pretending that each life he touched filled the hole inside him.
But it didn't.
Because the whole time, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of her. Her safety. Her smile. The way she used to trace the scars on his shoulders after a bad fight, her voice soft with worry: "You can't keep doing this, Peter. One day you won't come back."
And he'd kissed her forehead and promised he'd always come back to her.
Now she didn't even know to wait.
---
He landed on a rooftop overlooking her building.
The lights were off in her apartment. She was asleep, probably still drunk, tangled in sheets that smelled like her perfume. He imagined her lips slightly parted, hair fanned across the pillow, the slow rise and fall of her chest.
He pulled out the photo he kept tucked inside his suit. Polaroid, edges worn from handling. Her smiling at the camera, hair messy, wearing his hoodie. She'd taken it one morning after they'd spent the whole night tangled together. He'd been making coffee, and she'd grabbed his phone, snapped the picture just as he turned around.
"So I can look at you even when you're gone," she'd said.
He didn't know she'd end up being the one gone.
He pressed his thumb to her face, tracing the curve of her smile.
Soon.
Soon, he'd find a way. Something drastic. Something that would break through the spell's hold and make her remember—or at least make her feel it, even if she couldn't name it.
Soon, he'd be inside her apartment. Inside her. Reminding her exactly what she was missing.
But for now, he tucked the photo back, turned toward the next siren, and launched himself into the night.
For her. Always for her.
The bell above the door chimed, and Peter walked in like he owned the place.
Y/N looked up from the register, head pounding, eyes barely open. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot, and she was pretty sure she still smelled like last night's cheap perfume and regret. The hangover was a dull throb behind her eyes, a punishment for every shot Ned had convinced her to take.
She squinted at him. Him. The guy with the dangerous smile and the bracelet she didn't remember giving him.
"Morning," she grumbled, not even trying to sound pleasant.
He grinned. Actually grinned, like her misery was the highlight of his day. "Someone had fun last night."
"Someone regrets everything."
He laughed—that low, easy sound that did something annoying to her stomach—and walked past her to the counter. "Just the usual, please."
She turned to make it, moving slow, her head throbbing with every step. The espresso machine hissed, and she winced.
Behind her, she heard the door open again—a small commotion, a child's voice. She glanced over her shoulder.
A little boy, maybe seven or eight, had run in too fast, his backpack swinging. He collided with the table where Peter had set his bag, sending it toppling. But before it could hit the ground, Peter's hand shot out, catching it mid-air with reflexes too fast, too precise.
"Sorry, mister!" the boy said, eyes wide.
Peter just smiled, crouching down to the kid's level. "It's okay, buddy. No harm done." And he reached out, ruffling the boy's hair with an easy, affectionate motion.
Y/N froze.
The gesture. The way his fingers moved through the dark strands, the gentle mock-scolding in his tone. It was exactly how Spider-Man had ruffled that kid's hair in the interview she watched online. She'd watched the clip multiple times, her body heating each time—the way those gloved fingers had been so careful, so human, beneath the mask.
She blinked, shaking off the thought. No. That's ridiculous. Lots of people ruffle kids' hair.
But something nagged at her. The precision of the catch. The casual confidence. The way he moved.
Peter straightened, catching her stare. His eyebrow arched. "Something wrong?"
She realized she'd been staring. Heat crept up her neck. "No. Nothing. Your coffee."
She shoved the cup toward him, maybe a little too aggressively. He took it, amused, and leaned against the counter instead of leaving like a normal person.
She needed to get this over with.
"Listen," she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "About last night. I was... a lot. I know I was all over you, and I'm sorry. I don't usually—I mean, I was drunk, and Ned was being an ass, and—"
"Cute."
She stopped. "What?"
"You were cute." He took a sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim. "Not 'a lot.' Cute."
Her face burned. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out. Just a stupid, flustered silence.
He smiled—that knowing, crooked smile that made her knees weak—and pushed off from the counter. "See you around, Y/N."
He walked out, the bell chiming behind him.
She stood there, heart hammering, watching him disappear down the street.
Fuck.
She touched her cheek. It was hot. She was blushing like a teenager. And worst of all, she was thinking about him—the scent of his cologne, the strength in his hands when he'd caught that bag, the way his voice had dipped when he said "cute."
She shook her head, turning back to the register.
But as she wiped down the counter, her mind wandered. To Spider-Man. To Peter. To the way both of them made her feel seen in a way she couldn't explain.
Maybe I have a crush on him.
She bit her lip.
Or maybe I'm just that desperate.
But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something about him. Something familiar. Something that pulled at the edges of her memory, just out of reach.
And somewhere across the city, swinging between rooftops, Peter smiled to himself, her blush burned into his mind.
Soon, he thought. Soon, you'll remember.
The city was settling into dusk, streetlights flickering to life as Y/N walked home, her bag slung over one shoulder. The hangover had faded to a dull ache, replaced by the restless energy that had been gnawing at her all day. She was thinking about Peter—the way he'd laughed, the way his hand had caught that bag, the way he'd called her cute.
She was so lost in thought she almost missed the commotion.
A sharp cry. An old man's voice, cracked with panic. "Help! Someone help!"
Y/N's head snapped up. Across the street, a figure in a hoodie was sprinting away, an old leather bag clutched under his arm. Behind him, an elderly man stumbled, reaching out helplessly.
"Hey!" Y/N didn't think. She ran.
Three blocks. Her lungs burned, her legs pumping, the thief weaving through pedestrians. She was fast—she'd always been fast—but he was younger, more desperate. He ducked into a narrow alley, reeking of garbage and stale urine.
She followed without hesitation.
The alley was dark, shadows pooling like liquid. She could hear his footsteps echoing, slowing. He was cornered. She rounded a corner, ready to tackle him—
And then he was gone.
No. Not gone. Pinned.
A figure in red and blue dropped from above, landing silently. The thief was already webbed to a wall, the bag dangling from Spider-Man's hand. The hero turned to her, the white lenses of his mask catching the faint light.
"You really need to stop running into danger," he said, his voice modulated, teasing.
Y/N's heart pounded—not from the chase, but from him. From the way he stood, the way he moved.
She tried to step forward, to get a better look at the thief, to see where he'd gone into the darkness—
A thwip. A strand of web shot out, catching her wrist, yanking it to the brick wall beside her.
She stared at her hand, pinned by the familiar white silk. Again.
"Are you kidding me?" she snapped, yanking at the web. It held firm. "You can't just—"
"Watch and learn," Spider-Man said, and in two quick moves, he had the thief subdued, the bag retrieved, a police call tapped into his comm—all while she stood there, helpless, a memory flickering in the back of her mind.
Webs. Restraint. A voice whispering in the dark. Hands on her wrists, pinning her down. A body pressing against hers, the rough texture of a suit, the heat beneath it.
She blinked, the image dissolving like smoke.
He was in front of her now, the old man's bag tucked under one arm. He reached up and flicked the web on her wrist. It dissolved instantly, dropping her hand.
"You're free," he said. "Now go home. It's not safe."
She rubbed her wrist, glaring at him. "You can't just do that whenever you want! I was helping! I could have—"
She stepped forward, jabbing a finger at his chest plate. "You don't get to decide when I'm in danger! You don't get to just—"
She pushed him. Hard. He didn't move, but she kept going, frustration boiling over, her hands flat against his chest—
And then her foot caught on a loose piece of asphalt.
She stumbled forward, off-balance, straight into him.
Her body collided with his, her hands instinctively grabbing his arms to steady herself. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, the fabric of his suit smooth and textured beneath her palms.
And something clicked.
The feel of it—the tight compression, the subtle ribbing, the exact way the material hugged the muscle underneath—sent a shiver through her. Her eyes widened. She didn't know why, but her hands began to move, sliding down his arms slowly, almost reverently. She felt the curve of his shoulders, the strength of his forearms, the way his muscles tensed under her touch.
She looked up.
The mask stared back at her, white lenses unreadable. But she could feel him watching her, feel the sudden stillness in his body.
Her breath caught. She could see him beneath the mask. Not his face, but something else. A feeling. A memory just out of reach.
I know you. I've felt you before.
She lifted a hand, reaching for his mask, her fingers trembling—
He stepped back.
Just one step, but it was enough to break her hold. Her hand hung in the air, empty.
"I have to go," he said, his voice tighter now, less playful. He set the bag down. "The police are on their way. Stay safe."
And before she could say another word, he was gone—a blur of red and blue vanishing into the night sky, leaving her alone in the dark alley, the old man's bag at her feet, her skin still tingling where she'd touched him.
She stood there, heart racing, frustration and confusion twisting in her chest.
Why does he feel so familiar?
She clenched her fists. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a name she couldn't remember, a face she couldn't see.
And yet, he's a stranger.
She bent down, picked up the bag, and walked out of the alley, her mind churning.
Who are you?
The question echoed in the empty space where Spider-Man had been. And somewhere, high above, hidden in the shadows, Peter watched her go, his hands shaking, his heart aching with the weight of everything she didn't remember.
——————————
The bell above the café door chimed, and Y/N's heart did a little flip she immediately suppressed.
Peter walked in, all easy confidence in a loose black t-shirt and those worn jeans that hung just right on his hips. He ran a hand through his hair—still slightly damp, like he'd just showered—and gave her a small smile as he approached the counter.
"Morning, Y/N."
She should have said something. She should have smiled back, asked for his usual order, made some casual remark about the weather. But her mind was still reeling from last night. The alley. The webs. The way her hands had traced the suit's texture like her fingers remembered what her brain couldn't.
Instead, she just nodded, her movements mechanical as she punched in his order. "Americano."
He blinked, clearly noticing her clipped tone. "Yeah. Thanks."
She turned to make the coffee, her back to him, feeling his gaze on her. She could sense the question in his silence—what's wrong?—but she couldn't bring herself to address it. She didn't know what to say. Hey, I think you might be the superhero who's been haunting my dreams and my subconscious sex life, but I can't be sure, so just pretend everything's normal.
She slid the cup across the counter. He took it, their fingers almost brushing. She pulled back too fast.
"Thanks," he said again, slower this time, searching her face.
She just nodded and turned to wipe down the counter, even though it was already clean.
The café was quiet—a lull between the morning rush and the lunch crowd. Ned was in the back, restocking cups, humming something under his breath. Y/N busied herself with meaningless tasks, acutely aware of Peter settling into his usual table by the window, pulling out his phone.
He didn't look at her again. Or maybe he did, in brief glances she pretended not to notice.
After a few minutes, he stood up, stretching his arms above his head. The motion pulled his shirt up just slightly, revealing a sliver of his stomach. Y/N's eyes tracked it before she forced them away.
"Bathroom," he said, more to announce it than anything, and disappeared through the back hallway.
The moment the door clicked shut, Ned emerged from the stockroom, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Okay. Now's my chance."
Y/N frowned. "What chance?"
Ned didn't answer. He darted to Peter's table, where the worn leather messenger bag sat propped against the chair leg.
"Ned, what the hell—"
"Shh." He was already crouching, unzipping the bag with practiced ease. "He's so mysterious. I just want to snoop a little. See if he's hiding anything interesting."
Y/N's heart lurched. "Stop! Put that back." She hissed, crossing the café in three quick strides. "What are you doing? That's his private stuff—"
"Relax, I'm just looking." Ned's hands moved through the bag's contents—a wallet, a phone, a protein bar wrapper, a small notebook. "Boring, boring, boring. How does this guy have no personality in his bag?"
"Ned, I swear to God—"
He pulled out a crumpled piece of fabric. Dark red and blue, folded into a rough square.
His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he's a fan."
He unfolded it, and Y/N's breath caught in her throat.
It was a mask. A Spider-Man mask. The white lenses stared up at her, empty and familiar.
Ned held it up, smirking. "See? Fanboy. Probably wears it to bed or something." He scoffed, tossing it carelessly back into the bag. "Guess even mysterious guys have heroes."
But Y/N wasn't listening.
She reached down, her fingers trembling, and picked up the mask. The fabric was cool against her skin. She ran her thumb across the surface—the subtle ribbing, the tight weave, the exact texture that had pressed against her palms last night.
The same texture.
Her blood ran cold.
She remembered the alley. The way her hands had slid down Spider-Man's arms. The way the suit had felt beneath her fingers. The way her body had known it, even when her mind couldn't.
This was the same mask. The same fabric. The same—
She looked up. Ned was staring at her, his smirk fading into confusion. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She couldn't speak. Her throat was tight, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
She was holding Spider-Man's mask.
Peter's mask.
Peter is Spider-Man.
The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the air from her lungs. She stood there, frozen, the fabric clutched in her hands, the truth burning through her.
He's the one who saved me. He's the one who webs me to walls. He's the one who watches me from the shadows.
He's the one I've been dreaming about.
She thought of the dreams—the vivid, explicit dreams where Spider-Man's voice had whispered filthy things in her ear, where his hands had pinned her down, where his body had moved inside hers like he knew every inch of her. The dreams where she had arched into him, moaning, pleading, coming undone.
Her face flushed, her thighs pressing together involuntarily.
Oh God.
She had been dreaming about him. About the man who had been coming into her café, smiling at her, teasing her, touching her—and she hadn't known.
But her body had.
Her body had remembered.
"Y/N?" Ned's voice was sharper now. "Put it back. He'll be out any second."
She forced her hands to move, folding the mask roughly and shoving it back into the bag. She zipped it closed just as the bathroom door creaked open.
Peter emerged, wiping his hands on his jeans. He glanced at them—Ned standing awkwardly by the table, Y/N frozen behind the counter—and his brow furrowed.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine!" Ned said, too quickly. "Great. Just—telling Y/N about a thing. A thing I saw. Bye."
He scurried back to the stockroom, leaving Y/N alone with Peter.
He walked to the counter, picking up his coffee, his eyes studying her. "You sure you're okay? You seem... off today."
She couldn't look at him. She stared at the counter, at the espresso machine, at anything but his face.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice flat. "Just tired."
He didn't push. He just nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Alright. I'll see you later, then."
He turned and walked out, the bell chiming behind him.
Y/N stood there, her heart pounding, her mind racing.
Peter is Spider-Man.
And she had been dreaming of him fucking her senseless.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse. A strange mix of fear, confusion, and something else—something hot and hungry—coiled in her stomach.
She had questions. So many questions.
But more than that, she had a need.
A need to find out if the dreams were somehow real.
----------
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Summary: Peter Parker x scientist!Reader -> You don't find making friends easy, but when Peter starts to talk to you, you wonder is you wouldn't mind more than a working relationship.
Disclaimer: Hurt/comfort, little angst, fluff between reader and Peter, mentions of grazes and small wounds, egotistical scientists (other co-workers), reader had a golden retriever called Lyra, Peter takes care of reader when they're sick, slow burn, friends to lovers.
Making friends wasn’t something that came easy to you. Or maybe it did. Maybe it was the act of keeping them that was difficult.
You’d first noticed it when you were a teenager. Everything was fine and normal – sure, you had the internal struggle of worry, thinking you were being judged for every movement you made but everyone felt like that at that age.
But, as you began to get older, you noticed the change.
The cliques formed, you said ‘no’ to a lot of things, or you were too busy with school or hiding behind the fear of saying yes and hating every moment. Eventually, people went their separate ways.
Then came high school where you found out there wasn’t really a ‘nice’ clique. The ‘geeks’ judged the ‘nerds’, the ‘populars’ judged everyone who judged them, there was secretly a ‘mean’ and ‘nicer’ group of every clique you came across. You did make a few memories with some, had plenty of conversation but eventually you became…something that didn’t fit.
But that was okay.
Then came college where working lives, studying life and social life became something that needed to be packed with long lasting memories that you could keep in a box and look at through photos and stories.
Instead, you studied, you binged a lot of TV and movies during your down-time, you discovered the hardest task of being an adult was figuring out what to eat for every meal for the rest of your life, and you tried to wrap your head around the world you’d been thrown into.
Time passed. People came and went. Stories were shared, but you could almost track it; the moment they realised you were too much. Too weird, too loud, too quiet, too stubborn, too stand-off-ish, too…much.
Eventually, and not in an act of theatrics but rather in the slow, quiet kind of way, you stopped trying.
You stopped trying to make friends, you stopped trying to see a conversation for more than what it was, you stopped trying to push yourself into people’s lives; it was a lot easier to push yourself out of their lives, than it was in.
And, although it would seem lonely on paper, you made it work.
You had your family; sure, you couldn’t tell them everything and sure, they couldn’t really keep a secret to themselves, but you had them. You had the characters that lived in the stories you read which, maybe was a little sadder in reality but, they didn’t judge you for being yourself.
And, you had your dog.
“Hey, baby,” you smiled brightly as you laid your coat on the hook beside the door and threw your keys onto the hallway table. Your dog, Lyra, was a fluffy golden retriever who spent most of her time sleeping on her back, surrounded by the comfort of your plethora of throws and blankets.
Lyra sat at your feet, laying her head on your knees before jumping up and trying to lick your face. You laughed, happy to be home, finally.
By the time morning rolled around and you’d leave for work, she’d hop back onto the sofa and roll onto her back the minute you’d put your coat on.
“Badge!”
Despite working at Stark Industries for almost six years, Happy still managed to scare you most mornings. You held it up from the scanner to the window. He just nodded and motioned for you to carry on.
After the morning meeting had concluded, you got straight to work. The recent projects had been focusing on software updates for the last two generation products.
“Y/n, could you take a look at this for me?”
Peter appeared at the side of your desk, holding a grey tablet out to you. “Sure, what is it?”
“An old project of mine. Think it could work?”
You looked at Peter for a second, a little confused, before you looked over the work. “Uh, yea, sure. You’d probably need to change out the cell battery for something a little longer lasting- I think a couple people on the ninth floor have been successful in a couple things. Why are you asking me?”
Peter shrugged. “I needed a second opinion and you’re meant to be one of the best.”
“I…Why not ask further up?”
Peter smiled a little as he laughed and took back the tablet you handed him. “Because the only difference between this floor and them is the amount of ego in the room.”
That made you laugh. Then he panicked. “Don’t tell HR.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. And I think they’d be on your side.”
Peter nodded in agreement. “Yeah, guess you’re right. Hey, uhh, I heard there’s gonna be a party after work on Friday?”
“There is?”
Peter chuckled a little. “Yeah, it’s been sought after for the last couple of months, I think. Will I see you there?”
Call it trauma, call it common sense, but you felt every past memory flash across your mind.
Not being told. Being brought along by a friend. Finding out it wasn’t your scene. Finding out you were specifically wasn’t invited. The plus-one was just to help someone else feel less nervous.
The pity invite. The fake invite. The actual invite that was cancelled because there was a better party someplace else.
The atmosphere when you were around people that weren’t actually your friends. The atmosphere when you thought you were.
“Oh, uh,” you sat back in your chair. “No, probably not.”
“Why not?”
“Just…” In previous times, saying ‘it wasn’t your scene’ didn’t stop people from judging or asking more questions. Questions you didn’t want to spend half an hour defending with answers that shouldn’t have to be said outloud. “Busy, that’s all.”
“Hot date?”
“No,” you shook your head. “Just busy. You have fun, though!”
Peter nodded. “Well, thanks for helping. See you round?”
You nodded. “See you round.”
Usually, that meant never. Or maybe once or twice a year max.
But, in whatever moment of fate, it wasn’t. You saw Peter three more times that week. And when you tried to clock out early on Friday as others set up for the party which nobody had mentioned to you, other than Peter, he caught you in the elevator.
“Do you have some time?”
“For what?”
“There’s something I’d like your opinion on.”
That was how you found yourself with an access badge pass to the fourteenth floor of the building, following Peter into his private lab.
Inside, it was messier than you’d expected, but even you could find what you needed if you had to.
“I was making modifications to Sam’s wings. Shuri sent me over the prints of her work and she trusted me with it, which is just…huge. But, it got me thinking about a couple of different things. Modifications, creations. And…”
Suddenly, Peter went off on a long ramble about different items that could be used for the team, arrow adjustments for Kate, weight distribution on shields and wings – just about everything.
And, instead of being surprised by the amount of words he could say within sixty seconds, or the kind of cases he was talking about; the thing you were most shocked by was the fact that Peter trusted you enough to…ramble without breathing.
To give you so much information within a few minutes without seemingly feeling self conscious.
“And I’ve seen a lot of your work,” Peter told you. “So, I’m hoping you’ll say yes when I ask you to help.”
“You…” You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to…help?”
“Co-engineers. Collaborate on different technologies and creations.”
Peter told you a little more and, for the first time, you didn’t feel the fear of being around someone for all the working hours of the day. You could disappear into the quiet corners when you were in a room of forty or more.
In a room of two, it was harder to hide.
But it was work.
It wasn’t friendship.
It was a working relationship where conversations would find a difficult time searching for topics outside of work.
So, you said yes.
And for the next six weeks, you got used to having more working space, your own lab which connected to Peter’s via two glass sliding doors which could be shaded out if needed – but Peter rarely ever did.
Mostly it was when he needed to test the lighting of a suit and needed a pitch black room in order to do so.
The first thing Peter noticed about you, aside from your work ethic and strategic abilities was the fact you didn’t talk all that much. You’d smile and laugh and reply to things he said, but you didn’t talk much about anything other than the task at hand.
Once or twice you made an off-handed comment about the traffic on the roads when you’d accidentally come running in late – only by two minutes – which let him know you drove to work and didn’t take the tube.
But, other than that? He could read your file - his pass gave him access to it. But that felt wrong.
And he couldn’t have been more thankful than when he accidentally ran into you outside the dog park and lake.
“Peter?”
“Y/n?” Then he spotted your dog. “You have a dog.”
You smiled. “Yeah, this is Lyra. Lyra, this is Peter.”
Crouching down, Peter was handed a paw by Lyra before you told him he could pet her, though she’d probably just try and lick him to death.
“Oh my god, you are so adorable. I didn’t know you had a dog,” Peter said. “How old is she?”
“Four,” you told him as she sat down. “An old neighbour of mine had six pups to sell and Lyra was one of them. Pretty sure she chose me, though.”
Peter smiled, turning his head a little and laughing as Lyra wagged her tail and continued to lick his cheek. “Lyra.”
“She’s okay,” he told you. “Thank you, Lyra.”
“What are you doing here?” You eventually asked him.
“I was just about to grab a coffee from the cart across the park. They sell the best I’ve ever had.” Peter told you before he nodded across to it. “Actually, would you like to join me? That’s if you're not too busy?”
“Uhh,” you looked at Lyra. “No. That-that would be great, actually.”
Peter beamed. “Great. I, uh, I guess I’ll lead the way. So, you have a dog.”
You smiled. “I have a dog.”
“Anything else I should know about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know anything about you.”
“You haven’t read my file?” You questioned.
“N…no?”
“You have access to it,” you pointed out.
“How do you know-”
“Happy tested me for the first twelve months of my job. Level twenty five badge gives you clearance to view employee files.”
“I…didn’t know you knew that. But, I haven’t. It felt wrong.”
“Well,” you shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
You’d found, over the years, that telling people what they wanted to know was an easier and much more simple way of avoiding the answers you had to defend, as well as avoiding the topics that made people turn away from you thinking you were too intense, too loud and too much.
“Okay, uhh,” Peter thought about it for a moment. “Ah, okay, easy one. What’s your coffee order?”
You told him – or rather, you told the barista. To which Peter also told them his before he paid.
“Peter, you really didn’t-”
He shrugged with a smile as he placed his wallet back inside his pocket. “My treat, honestly.”
“Well…thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, what is your favourite colour?”
You chuckled, “Ooh, too far.”
Peter laughed subtly at getting your reference before he asked; “Seriously though?”
You told him and why he asked why, you told him why. It wasn’t anything profound. It was just a colour that made you feel happy. You asked him in return.
“If I’m gonna be interrogated over colours, I want to know yours, too.”
He nodded. “Seems fair.”
He told you his and before you knew it, you’d both slipped into less interrogative questions to a natural conversation that, for once, wasn’t about work.
It was nice, having a friendlier working relationship. You and Peter talked more whilst you worked. You found out about his life with his Aunt and how he came to work with the Avengers. He found out about how you’d accidentally discovered that your work in college had found its way across a lab tech’s desk at Stark Industries.
“You’re a much better replacement,” Peter said. “Jack was an asshole.”
You chuckled a little. “Thanks.”
The first morning you brought in coffee as a surprise for Peter, you’d been nervous as hell. A billion questions swirled around your head.
What if he doesn’t like coffee? No, he ordered one. And he’s drunk the shitty stuff from the ninth floor. What if his coffee order has changed? What if it’s wrong? What if, what if, what if?
“I, uh, I got you a coffee.”
“You did?” Peter, through the tired eyes, smiled. “Thank you.”
For a moment, your eyes scanned Peter’s face. Without thinking, you reached out and turned his chin lightly til he was looking at you.
“Your eye,” you pointed out.
It was subtle, but there was a deeper semi circle just under it, blending into his cheek bone.
“Oh,” Peter’s face flushed as he turned away. “It’s nothing.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, just…ran into a wall.”
You stared at him. “Just ran into a wall?”
“Yep.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
For a moment, Peter thought you were seriously mad at him. You walked away in silence, dropped your bags and your coffee by your desk across the room and then you disappeared for at least two minutes.
“Y/n?”
Suddenly, you came back inside holding an ice pack. “Here.”
“How many people know?” You asked Peter as he sat down with a small ‘thank you’ and held the ice pack against his cheek.
“Know what?”
“That you’re Spider-Man?”
Peter internally panicked. “What?”
From his desk, you reached for the same newspaper you’d brought from the coffee shop. The headline read Spider-Man Saves Star-Boxer From Mugging: But gets punished for it
“They ran the story before print, this morning. And Happy seemed annoyed you didn’t have your badge. I put two and two together.”
“From a…black eye and a missing badge?”
You shrugged. “And a few other things.”
You nodded over to the webbed cabinet at the back of the room. Vials for web-fluid that would deplete and regrow, without a single Avenger or person you didn’t already recognise coming to collect them.
“But,” you added. “You don’t have to worry. The secret's safe with me.”
Peter’s smile was suppressed when he got an ache in his cheek. “Thanks.”
“I don’t know how your healing abilities work, but I can see if I can make something to help with the grazes.”
Peter looked at his forearms and his hands. Cuts and bruises healed, but even he suffered with dry skin which only slowed the healing process of smaller injuries.
“With my senses, my skin’s sensitive to a lot of stuff.”
You nodded. “I can work with that.”
It took you less than thirty minutes to make a small concoction of balm. Rolling up a stool to sit beside him, you carefully applied it to the couple of grazes he had across his skin.
“Stinging?”
He shook his head. “No. Thank you.”
You shrugged a little, twisting the lid onto the pot. “Don’t worry about it. Here, apply it when you feel like you need it.”
Peter took it as you laid it in his palm and, for a brief moment, he held your gaze on his own. “Thank you.”
Feeling awkward, you cleared your throat a little and rolled your stool back. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. If you ever need some more, I can make you some.”
Peter watched as you walked away, a little flustered but trying to act as normal as possible.
By the time Peter caught a look of himself in the bathroom mirror a few hours later, his skin wasn’t just healed but it also looked as if he’d never been attacked by the harsh chemicals of the cleaning solution he’d used before he came to the lab.
Your balm worked miracles.
And more than once.
As the weeks progressed, Peter kept his eye on you. He’d learned a few more things about you; the fact you hummed songs when you were busy but trying to keep yourself calm, that you always pushed your lunch hour to make the day seem less long, and then, in one rather saddening and angered moment, he found out why you were always ‘busy’ when things came up outside of work.
It had been a long week of running tests and pulling tiny machines apart. So, when a group of the scientists from your previous floor walked past, chatting and laughing before knocking on the lab door, Peter was pleased to hear a party was going to be held a week later.
“What do you say, Y/n?” Peter asked, turning to see you at your desk on the other side of the lab. “We could make an evening of it?”
You smiled for a moment, but before an answer could leave you, you heard one of the scientists quietly call Peter’s name.
“There’s not a lot of room and the list is kinda selective, you know, so we can only let so many people know and-”
You saw Peter’s shoulders tense as he folded his arms across his chest. But that wasn’t the thing you focused on.
You’d seen their faces the moment Peter had turned to you. You’d been through the whole scenario most of your life; if they didn’t look directly at you and ask you, you weren’t invited.
“I thought you said-”
One of the other scientists cut in. “I guess we could extend the invite and-”
Walking over, laying one of the Shield tech-pads on Peter’s desk for him to take a look at, you smiled in their direction. “It’s alright-”
“No, it’s not.” Peter cut in.
But you spoke anyway. “Yes, it is. I’m busy next Friday anyway.”
“Doing what?” Peter turned to you and asked.
He’d noticed something over the last few months and he was just a few moments from having his theory confirmed.
“Lyra’s got an appointment at the vet’s for her three month check up,” you said, effortlessly. “Couldn’t find another time.”
The rest of the scientists smiled in relief, making their way out.
“Guess we’ll see you there, Pete? Bye!”
As the room fell quiet, you headed back over to your desk.
“Why do you do that?” Peter asked.
“Do what?”
Peter turned, watching your every movement closely. “Lyra had her three month check up two weeks ago. I know that because Kate told me she saw you leaving the office when she was waiting to get Lucky checked.”
Oh, shit.
“Why did you lie?”
With a deep breath, you spoke with a calm acceptance. “Because it’s just easier. This isn’t my first rodeo, Peter. I know where I’m not wanted. And, I also know when it’s just a pity invite. I’m not gonna force people to be friends with me.”
Peter watched as you chuckled. You found your own story too funny for his liking.
“Jesus,” you chuckled. “I live with myself 24/7. Nobody needs all of that.”
Peter was stunned to his core.
“Who told you that?”
You looked at him. “Nobody had to tell me, Peter. I just…knew. Well, a few people told me when I was younger. But the older you get, the less people say it, but they do still show it. But you don’t have to worry! I’m used to it. Seriously.”
Peter didn’t know what to do first; sit down from the shock, hug you or call Kate and Yelena to hunt down whoever had convinced you that you weren’t wanted.
“But-”
“Peter, please,” you said. “Please do not worry about me, or feel bad for me or anything like that. I like my life and, in all honesty, there’s a lot less drama that I have to deal with now.”
Peter, in his shocked state, had walked closer to you and taken a seat by your desk. “Drama?”
You looked at him, torn between two paths. One meant you changed the subject and accepted he, deep down, didn’t want to know, or at least, would listen to your story and realise he didn’t want to know. The second was to tell him and rip the band-aid off, and let him decide whether he actually wanted to know.
A third diverged before you spoke; maybe he was genuinely curious…and even if it turned out he didn’t want to know, it gave him something to gossip about with his friends.
Taking a short breath, you found yourself telling him the truth before you could make a definite decision.
“I’ve not had a lot of friends in my life,” you told him. “Some of it is from a lack of trying, but some of it isn’t. And the few times I’ve had people I could call genuine friends…it turned sour pretty quickly. I’m either too much for people, or not enough. Usually, it’s the former.”
Peter just sat and listened. And, despite the growing pain in your chest as you continued to speak – the same pain that usually told you to stop talking before you crossed the line and ruined everything – you kept talking.
“But it’s okay,” you cut in. “After the first couple times, I learned my lesson pretty quickly. And, even though they’re not my friends anymore, I still appreciate the friendship. After all, they helped teach me the difference between the kind of invites people get and what they actually mean, you know.”
Peter’s brows furrowed. His senses were tingling that you were nervous, but on the outside you didn’t seem it. But, he wanted answers.
“And what do they mean?”
You shrugged a little, thinking about them all and where to start. “Well, there’s…there’s the pity invite. That’s the invite you get when they forget you’ve been in the room or standing next to the person that is actually invited. There’s the invite that’s handed to you because someone else needs help or support. Most of the time, you get forgotten about or have to leave early because your friend has worked up enough courage.”
You thought for a moment before giving a few more examples; the non-invite invite, the spoken about but never acted on, the general invite that is secretly specific, the cancelled invite…
“And people have done this to you?”
You shifted on your feet a little. “Yeah, but, it’s not completely their fault. Like I said, I live with myself 24/7. I can get pretty annoying after a short while.”
Peter’s brows furrowed as he leaned back in shock. “I don’t find you annoying.”
“Because you don’t know much about me. Guaranteed if you did, you’d be secretly pushing me off to another engineer and within six months I’d be at the plywood desk in the corner of the sixth floor.”
Peter was stunned into silence.
You chuckled a little, again. “But I wouldn’t blame you.”
Without another thought, Peter stood and hugged you which shocked you a little.
“W…What is this for? Are you okay?” You asked Peter, carefully wrapping your arms around him.
“Am I-” Peter took a small breath. “I’m okay. But I’m sorry that people have treated you like that.” Peter felt you shrug under him. “I swear to Thor, if you tell me ‘it’s alright’ or that you’re used to it, I’m gonna have Yelena hunt these people down.”
“Okay,” you said, a little quietly.
Peter hugged you a little tighter and, despite his senses telling him you were trying to fight your own feelings, you leaned into the hug a little.
It was brief, but he felt you pull back. Unknown to him, on the rare occasion you leaned into a hug to accept it, people tended to move away.
But, feeling him hold on, you accepted the hug.
“I’m sorry people made you feel like that.”
You didn’t know why, but your voice shook as you spoke. “Uhh, th-thanks.”
By the time you and Peter decided to go home, you didn’t know how to fully feel. It was the first time you really wondered if you felt okay without having someone who truly cared in your life.
You tried to act normal for the next few days, thankful to have Friday night to think things over.
But that was short lived.
Lyra barked as someone knocked on your apartment door, jumping from her spot on the sofa.
“Alright, alright. Back up,” you told her as you got in front of your door and looked through the peep-hole.
“What are you doing here?” You asked Peter as you opened the door.
With a tired-ish smile, he held up the paper bag of take-out. “I’ve got twenty bucks worth of take-out and an entire weekend free. You’re probably sick of seeing my face and if you are you can just say, but if-”
Lyra behind you barked loudly and wagged her tail. So, with a smile at Peter, you held your door open a little more. “Come on in.”
What you thought was going to be a one-time thing, suddenly turned into a Friday night tradition and, slowly, Peter learned more about you as you felt comfortable enough to lower your walls and let him in.
“You ever seen something like this before?” Kate asked Clint as they both stood outside Peter’s lab.
Inside, for the last hour, Kate had been transfixed by how you and Peter worked together. Barely a word had to be said, but you both knew what the other was planning to do.
Clint had nearly crashed into her in the hall, since she was just standing there, staring at the glass wall of the lab.
Clint paused for a moment, lowering his clipboard as he watched you and Peter, along with Kate.
Clint smiled. “Once.”
“Who?”
“Fitz and Simmons,” Clint told her. “They’re married now.”
Kate nodded. “I think that’s what’s gonna happen here.”
Clint watched you and Peter for a few more moments. The casual touches to waists to move the other out of the way for a moment, the dips under arms, the steady hands and considerate movements around one another.
The brief looks when the other wasn’t looking, the positioning of items that the other would need before they know it, the easy access to each other's work, the smiles and memories being made in front of their very eyes.
Clint nodded in agreement. “Yep.”
Kate was shocked, looking at Clint. “You agree with me? You just agreed with me? Oh, my god.” She followed him down the hallway. “You agreed with me! Yes!”
Meanwhile, inside the lab, you and Peter started talking about the movie plans for Friday night, very quickly finding yourselves in a debate over the best Back to the Future movie and whether or not m&ms in popcorn at the cinema is a good idea.
Eventually, time moved on and park walks in the morning became a common occurrence between yourself and Peter with Lyra. Having Peter’s usual lunch order logged inside your brain, like your drink order was in his, became natural.
Then, one evening after you’d called in sick at work, you’d opened the door to Peter, who had his Aunt May’s chicken and dumpling recipe in a washed take-out tub in his hands.
Through tired eyes, your brain registered Peter was at your front door, but you were pretty sure you were still half-asleep. It wasn’t until his hand touched your head that you realised he was real.
“What are you doing here?”
“Happy told me you’d called the front desk rather than HR. And when you didn’t text me, I figured you were probably worse than you’d told Happy.”
“That was Happy?” You asked, vaguely remembering talking to someone.
Peter nodded, helping you through your apartment. “Yeah. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”
You turned around. “Why are you here? I’m gonna get you sick.”
“Good thing that I have a great immune system. Perks of being bitten by a radioactive spider.”
You sighed. “So cool.”
“Come on.”
Peter got you back into bed, covering you up. “Stay there, I’ll go and take Lyra on a walk. Try and get some rest.”
You nodded, but you must have fallen straight to sleep because next thing you knew, you were opening your eyes to a fluffy golden ball hitting their tail against your bed as Peter carefully laid a tray on your bedside table.
“Hey,” you said, groggily. “When did you get here?”
You recognised Peter’s smile. “A couple hours ago. I took Lyra for a walk, remember?”
You nodded. “Right.”
“You were fast asleep when we got back so I made a quick call to the pharmacy. Do you never get sick or something? You had, like, zero medicine.”
You nodded. “I’m not usually around a lot of people and I clean…”
You wanted to fall back to sleep, but Peter gently shook you awake. “Hey, come on, medicine first.”
Holding the glass of water with you, you took a drink of water to wash away the terrible taste of medication. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”
Peter looked at you. “It’s what friends do.”
“Still doesn’t mean you have to.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But your track record of ‘friends’ isn't what I’d call friends. And you are my friend. And I care for you. So, I’m here to take care of you.”
Unable to say anything, and in your groggy state, you wanted to cry. But, keeping your emotions down, you reached out for him and hugged him.
“Thank you.”
Peter smiled a little, “You don’t have to thank me. Just try and get some rest. I don’t think I live up to Lyra’s usual walking buddy.”
You chuckled a little as you laid down, patting the side of the bed letting Lyra jump up and lay beside you.
“She loves you really.”
Peter smiled, his eyes casting over both Lyra and your tired state. “I love her, too.”
Peter reached out, eventually, and pressed a kiss to your head for a moment. Though, you couldn’t be too sure. You were on the edge of consciousness and maybe already half-dreaming.
“Get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
It took you three days to get over the flu. And Peter stayed with you the entire time.
At least, you thought he did.
He was there when you woke up and just before you went to sleep. You’d recognised a few different smells that drafted through your home, so somebody had been cooking.
And when you finally found enough strength to have a shower and walk out of your bedroom, you found him and Lyra lying together on the sofa.
“I think she’s found her new favourite human,” you smiled.
Peter opened his eyes to see you standing, still tired looking but rested, as you gently squeezed a towel around your wet hair. “What? Oh. Well, I may have bought her love with cereal. Did you know she prefers them over treats?”
You chuckled. “I did. It’s a new thing she’s been doing.”
“I blame Kate,” Peter said as he stood up. “I don’t think Lucky’s seen normal dog food since she adopted him.”
You chuckled, again. “One afternoon with Kate and my dog comes back with a cereal addiction. I feel like I should be more worried.”
Peter smiled before finally reaching you and changing the subject. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks. Did you…did you stay here the whole time?”
Peter nodded. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
For a brief moment, your gaze locked onto his and rather than shuffling away awkwardly, you smiled. “Thank you.”
“I’ve, uh, I made some soup and a couple other things. Mrs Barton swears by this chicken and jalapeno soup…thing. I think I got the recipe right, so hopefully it isn’t too hot. And, uh, I made some dumplings. They’re from a box, though- did you know how sticky bread actually is to make? I should try using it as webfluid-” Peter chuckled, rambling.
But you just smiled a little more before suddenly wrapping your arms around him.
“What’s this for?” Peter asked, hugging you back without question.
“This is for…” You thought about it for a moment. “For staying with me. And for being you. And…just because. And also because I can’t remember if I hugged you two days ago or if I dreamt about it.”
Peter chuckled, still holding you. “You did hug me, but this is nice.”
You smiled, hugging him a little tighter.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said.
“Me, too.”
Then, from the sofa, Lyra jumped up, putting both of her paws onto yours and Peter’s shoulders.
A few weeks later, however, things started to change.
Touches and looks became more noticeable, and so did the tension in the room. There was a bubble forming around yourself and Peter when you were in a room together and others were beginning to notice.
And, though it wasn’t affecting your work, it was affecting your working relationship whether or not you and Peter wanted to admit it.
The brief pauses when you got caught in each other's path stalled both of you. Neither of you knew which way to step or move. The subtle and unnoticed touches burned your skin, but you knew if he held on longer, it wouldn’t brand you but warm you.
Then came the afternoon that changed it all.
Peter had been on a field mission for two days and he’d been forced to go radio silent. He’d been on a couple before and your time in the lab was spent counting down the minutes until you could talk to him again.
But something about this mission felt different. There was at least a small amount of communication between, if not you and Peter directly, a middle agent.
But there had been nothing.
Until you came off your lunch break and found him sitting at his desk, looking worn but safe.
“Oh, my god.”
Dropping your coffee cup by one of the desks, you raced over to him, stopping short of hugging him in order to take in his injuries.
A black eye that was slowly healing, a couple more bruises and cuts along his body and grazes against his knuckles.
“Jesus, what happened? I’ll grab the-” As you were moving towards the cupboard behind him to reach for the healing balm you’d made, Peter pulled you back towards him and kissed you.
He kissed you like he’d been waiting half a lifetime to find you. The way he held you let you know he wasn’t prepared to let you go, either.
“Not that that…” You tried to steady yourself by holding onto him as the kiss stopped. “But what was that…”
“There’s a lot to explain but the…” Peter swallowed, thickly, holding onto you and pressing his forehead to yours as his eyes closed. “The first thing is that I have feelings for you. More than a friend should feel. I’ve been trying to shove them down but over the last two months and this mission…I don’t want to lock them away. And I think- well, I’m hoping I’m not deluding myself in saying this but I think you-”
Holding onto his face, tenderly, you pulled him in and kissed him again. “Yes, I feel the same.”
Peter smiled through relief. “Thank god.” Then he kissed you again.
And again.
And again.
Until you, reluctantly, stopped him. “Before all that, though, you’ve gotta tell me what happened. Peter, you’ve got injuries all over you.”
Sitting down, still holding onto you, Peter sighed. “It was rough.”
As he kept his hands on your waist and hips, letting him know where he was, you reached for some healing balm and gently applied it as he talked you through everything.
That evening, after talking everything over, you had Peter remove his t-shirt so you could take a closer look at his wounds.
“They’re healing,” he told you, calmly, holding your hands against his bare skin and leaning his head against yours.
“I’m glad you’re safe.”
Peter’s hand held the side of your head and tilted your chin up a little, and kissed you.
By the time Peter went on another mission, not only did he come home safe – safer than he did when he first kissed you – but he also came back with another verbal surprise.
“I love you,” he told you.
You’d both been teetering on saying it for two weeks before Peter left for his mission with Yelena. But the minute he came through the front door, he kissed you and told you over and over again.
“I love you, I love you, I am in love with you, I love you.”
You laughed a little as you kissed him back over and over again.
