summary: peter’s new arachnid senses often leave him disoriented—hibernating and waking up in places he doesn’t recognise. it’s a small problem, one he's willing to deal with on his own, till he wakes in your apartment with his arms wrapped around you.
pairing: peter parker x reader
content: no bnd movie spoilers (feel free to read if you haven't seen bnd), FLUFF, clingy! peter parker, comfort, light banter, arachnid! peter, peter goes through it, yearning
Peter hates most of the new developments that arrived with the enhanced levels of his arachnid half—and migraines are definitely top of the list. Particularly the ones that start early in the morning, muffling his senses and rendering him a zombie slob for the entire start of the day. He stirs in his sleep, a soft, pounding ache burrowed in the back of his skull. It's an irritating sensation, one he's already grown familiar with, worsening the overheating, the sensitivity that comes with his overloaded senses, the pull of nerves behind his eyeballs.
His nose burrows deeper into a comforting scent, arms tightening around something soft. Letting out a dragged sigh, low against his throat, the pain fades into something barely noticeable. A sort of relaxed relief that hasn't hit him in years, with his entire body growing slack and heavy, the kind that only comes after a restful sleep. One he hasn't achieved since—his gaze peers open, blinking heavily as his eyes adjust to his surroundings.
The first thing he catches sight of is a familiar bundled sight of hair, and the curve of a shoulder. He must be dreaming. The sunlight stings the sensitivity of his eyes, and he blinks harsher in an effort to recollect himself. His brows furrow as he loosens a hand, parting from his tight grip to run his fingers gently over the loosened hair.
He wasn't dreaming. Somehow, he was laying in your bed, hugging you like an oversized koala.
"What?" He mumbles, the word falling soft out of his cotton mouth.
You stir slightly in response to the grazing of his touch, and it kicks Peter-Tingle on high-alert that this was not a figment of his imagination. He's quick to un-hand you, scooting backwards towards the edge—and tumbling harshly onto the floorboards with a loud thump, snatching the sheets with him.
The noise echoes in his eardrums, curls splaying out over the floorboards, and Peter is completely frozen. In absolute cold, drowning terror, he watches you stir fully, turning around and stretching at your limbs—a dissatisfied frown perched in your lips at the sudden loss of warmth.
What has he done?
"Spider-Man?" You mumble, voice groggy, almost muffled as your nose dips deeper into the pillow, the one he occupied seconds ago.
Your gaze finally peers open, one palm coming to rub at your undereyes—before meeting his own widened, nearly terrified expression.
"You're awake." You state, as if his existence within the walls of your apartment is a daily, common occurrence. Even if he hasn’t stepped foot into his most favourite apartment, in years. "Hm, you've got brown eyes, who would've thought?"
Why is he here? Why are you so calm about this?
“I’m—so, so sorry.” His words fumble over each other, ears reddened at the tips. Feeling awfully exposed, he wraps his arms around his knees as he lifts himself into a sitting position, caving in on himself as he averts his gaze. “I don’t know why—or how—oh god. Was I hugging you? How did I even—I’m so sorry, I swear I have no clue on how I ended up here.”
Worse, he wasn't wearing a mask. Or much of anything really, aside from an old t-shirt, and Hello Kitty shorts that barely fit his thighs. As his fingers grip at the edge of the shirt, running over the hem, it hits him that these are his clothes. Ones he never stole back from your place, that he had merely assumed was lost to time.
Nothing could have prepared him for this situation, no prep-time or warnings from E.V.I.E.. He didn't have the protection of being Spider-Man and the mask that's become his second skin. No, he had landed bottom-first as bare-faced, shell-shocked Peter.
"You really don't remember how you got here?" You question, lashes fluttering shut as you struggle to stir awake. "Damn, I was wondering if you could tell me."
"No—I swear, I completely blacked out." He scrambles for a response. "Next thing I knew, I was in your bed—I can't believe I just said that."
Running a hand past the bridge of his nose, he hides pathetically behind his fingers, his best attempt of a mask against the chaotic churn of nerves bundling through his gut. He had promised to keep you safe by staying as far away as he could—aside from the daily checking of your social media pages and the occasional swing down your usual coffee shop just to see if your favourite order remained the same, but this? How was he ever going to forgive himself for it?
He hears shuffling, in the normal sense and not the heightened echoes he’s used to ever since his arachnid side started spinning out of control. Strangely, his senses have been dialed down to normal since he regained consciousness—and he can’t dumb it down to just a good rest. It has to be cause of you.
His lashes flutter against the pads of his fingers as he meets your gaze through the gaps. You face him head-on, sitting cross legged right in front of him, head tilted in innocent curiosity.
“You’re a cuddler.” You hum in acknowledgment.
He was genuinely going to be the first Spider-person to ever die of shame, not that he's met many, but he's sure Peter 1 and Peter 2 have never unknowingly climbed into the bed of their special someone because they couldn't control their own DNA evolution. A low sound escapes his throat, clenched through his teeth—completely at a lost for words.
He has no clue on what he’s supposed to do, not when there's no routine or steps to fall back on. Be Spider-Man (Mask's gone). The man the city actually wanted (One who preferably doesn't have panic attacks wearing Hello Kitty pants). Stay far away from his previous life (Scored a huge FAIL here). Get flowers for May (Done). Scroll through your social media pages (..Done). Feel the thrumming vibrations of the washing machine after patrols (Skipped, was too nauseous). Rinse and repeat.
There’s no coming back from this, and it wasn’t even in his control. He hadn’t meant to find you. The last thing he could recall before passing out in his apartment was—he had just wanted to go home. He swore that was all he intended.
“Hey.” Your voice, soft and warm, finally coaxes him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even realised just how tight he had been clenching his eyes shut—as his gaze takes a few seconds to adjust back into colour with you in his full view.
Slowly and gently, your own fingers raise to pry his away from his face. He’s sure he has hand marks all over his skin, but you look at him with such a soft expression—he nearly keens.
“I got you. You're safe.” You reassure, repeating it as a mantra. “You’re safe here.”
His Adam’s apple bobs harshly, and he feels the tightening of his chest nearly burst at the seams. God, he missed you. All he wanted was to hug you, and tell you he was sorry—for all of it. That he hadn’t gone a single day without wanting to hear your voice, to be exactly where he was right now—that this was all he needed if he wasn’t so weak. If he wasn’t cursed.
“Sorry.” That’s all that comes out, a croak in his voice that he failed to swallow back.
Your lips quirk into a soft smile, and you look like home. He feels his muscles physically deflate in tension at the sight, something no inhibitor or invention could ever replicate. His life has been spinning out of control, and you've just set the needle aside without even blinking.
“You’re all good, Spidey.” Your voice is warm, comforting. “Aside from hogging the blankets, it wasn’t half-bad for my first sleepover with a vigilante.”
His lips part, a laugh caught in his throat—half shattered, half hopeful.
“Could you—I don’t know, explain to me what happened?” He raises his hands, gesturing to your apartment. “I can’t believe I lost control—I don’t remember anything.”
Your lips part, a small grin tucked between your lips. "If you insist."
A loud crash resounds behind you, kick-starting your frightened senses. Head whipping to the window, you spot your window ledge shoved half-way with brutal force, and a body covered in deep reds and blues on your wooden floorboards.
"Holy shit." You mutter to yourself, skillet pan still in hand, the oil coating its surface bubbling into tiny pops.
Spider-Man is in your living room. Spider-Man is spread out across your floorboards, seemingly knocked out cold, in your apartment.
Another sizzling pop snaps you out of your stump, and you realise the collapsed vigilante is your responsibility. Your fingers fumble to switch off your stove with a click, skillet haphazardly placed over the stove burner—apron still hanging around your neck as you rush towards the body. God, you hope it wasn't an actual body.
"Spider-Man?" You call out tentatively, and you're struck by how his body moves in response, the stretch of his back with that familiar logo disappearing to reveal a mop of dark brown curls.
He wasn't wearing a mask. You didn't know what you expected from a hero who seemed nearly indestructible on the news, even when in the process of being smashed into buildings by tanks, but Spider-Man looks much younger than you expected, ahead of you by at most a couple years—bearing a youth that is almost frightening.
He certainly did look battered. Bruises littered his cheek, as if he had slammed himself into bricks or concrete on the way, before he had landed himself in your apartment. Dark circles pooled as a dark shadow under his eye-bags, and his hair was a wet, clumped mess from the rain.
You didn't know where to begin—if you were even allowed to touch him to check if he's hurt, or to call a professional. Did the professionals even know who he was, of his true identity? What if you doomed New York City's most beloved vigilante to his fate, just because you made the wrong call?
Your knees meet carpet, hands trembling in indecision and nerves, coming to rest on his shoulder. At your touch, a hiss escapes his lips and you immediately snatch your hand back, clutching it at the wrist. Who were you kidding, you were the last person equipped to save a person's life—much less a hero's.
You rise halfway, head swinging around to locate your phone—when you feel an insistent pull of your apron, tripping you back to land on the carpet.
"Don't go." He whispers.
Your gaze snaps back to his face, and find his eyes open. Or at least, that's where his pupils should've been. He must be half-unconscious, with the way his eyes are blown into a darkened void, lips parted in some sort of daze.
"I'm going to get help." Your words form despite the panic arising in your chest at the state of him. Is this poisoning? What else could explain the blackened sclera, the way darkened veins coated his skin in an almost bluish-purple. "I'll be right back." You promise.
He shakes his head, almost insistently stubborn, jaw clenching in panic. "No, don't go." His grip tightens almost instantly, and you're swept by his abnormal strength with a sudden tug, tumbling on top of him. "Please."
You freeze, feeling the wet raindrops from his suit seep into the cotton of your apron. Before you even have a chance to push yourself off, his arms wrap around you protectively. Squashed between his broad chest and the tight grip of his hold, your nose is buried into the crook of his shoulder. You smell fresh detergent, sweat, and something so achingly familiar—it churns your senses into mush that it takes you a few seconds to register.
He's shaking, and almost feverishly warm.
"Spider-Man." You plead. "Listen to me. You don't look good. And I do not want a dead Spider on my conscience, so please—you have to let me go so I can find some professionals, just someone to check if you're alright."
His touch is a sizzling heat as the warmth envelopes you, almost like a weighted, heated blanket.
"No. Stay." He pleads. "Please, I don't want—I just need you."
He sounds so exhausted. Why wouldn't he be? Before he had suffocated you into this strange circumstance of a hug, his entire face had been dull in colour, sweat pooling at the curls over his forehead, and he just looked—fragile. Completely unlike the hero of the city you're used to seeing on screen, whether it be receiving the keys to the city or those cheerful quips that make its frequent rounds through the internet when he swoops in to save the day.
"Spidey." You call him gently, trying to think of how to persuade him. "—I won't leave you alone, I promise. Just let me get up, to at least fetch you a change of clothes. You're soaked."
The seconds passing by without a response, or the loosening of his muscles, feel like the longest beats of your life. Your own heart thumps along with the rise and fall of his chest, waiting with bated breath.
"Promise?" He murmurs weakly.
"I promise." You whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."
You feel the slow release of warm breath against your skin, the way his fingers tremor over the small of your back. Something in him relaxes just enough, and his arms give in, thumping heavily at his sides. You rise instantly, palms pushing at his chest and falling back onto the carpet. Feeling the wet residue of the rain coat your apron, and the side of your cheek that had been buried in his shoulder—your cheeks grow impossibly hot.
You need to snap out of it. He needs clean clothes. Yeah, that's a start.
Stumbling in your step, you rush towards your wardrobe—digging through the unorganised mess for a bag of clothes you had kept hidden in the most corner nook. One you hadn't thrown out since your first discovery of its existence, containing Hello Kitty shorts, some old, faded T-shirts—choices you would've never purchased for yourself but had for as long as you could remember.
You had run through a list of reasons for its existence, seemingly packed for an overnight guest. Maybe from that house-warming party you had thrown once before deciding you much preferred your space being reserved for only you, and someone had left their clothes mistakenly. Despite whatever plausibility or excuse—you never found the strength to throw them away. Even when you had every reason to, your mind instinctively buries the thought and the bag remained exactly where it was, kept in a zip-locked bag for it to be used by someone.
Apparently, today was its much-needed day.
Hoisting the bag over to the living room where he still laid, cheek pressed to the carpet, you’re relieved that the tension that previously consumed his expression has faded somewhat, with his lips parted slightly in slow exhales. His body seemed to be recalibrating, instinctively calming down right in the centre of your home.
Your hand comes to rest on his cheek, tapping it gently. Although his eyes with that dark void don't open, a low rumble escapes his throat—convincing you that he's still somewhat conscious.
"Hey, Spidey." You whisper. "I brought some clothes. Do you have the energy to change?"
He doesn't respond, and you poke your tongue into your cheek, analysing the length of him with dawning dread. It's no big deal, you just have to peel off this ridiculously tight suit with no zipper in sight without making it weird, and attempt at successfully pulling a T-shirt over his head.
Making your choice of a 'I Survived My Trip To NYC' graphic tee found at the top of the pile inside, your gaze switches back to the sprawled vigilante. From how heavy his arms had been earlier, rendering you immobile when pinned under them, you wouldn't dare make the mistake of assuming his weight would be easy to flip over. You could attempt to at least expose his back for you to take off that suit—assuming the costume even had a zipper.
Your long calculation apparently does the job for you as Spider-Man senses you near, and his arm curls protectively around your thigh, burying his nose into the crook below your knee. Your entire body stills, a tight grip over the tee as he gently rests his head over your knee, the soft texture of his curls brushing goosebumps against your skin. HIs body turns just enough to expose the expanse of his back—and the sight of a hidden zipper beneath that familiar symbol is a good sign.
Okay, sure. You could work with that.
He was ripped. You should've expected that, but the slow rise and fall of his chest expands the muscles across his exposed torso. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from the sight, reassuring yourself that your eyes were purely looking for possible injuries. You wouldn't go that low to check out a vigilante who was passed out in your living room.
Your fingers press into the sides of his cheeks, maneuvering his head so you could fit the opening of the tee over his head. Curls run through the white fabric before landing over his shoulder blades. It's strangely intimate, the way he's easily pliable in your hands—trusting you so completely. His lashes flutter once every few seconds, but he remains exactly where he is, body wrapped almost completely around yours—acting as a human barrier to you and the outside world—as you dress him in something soft and clean.
He's not supposed to be here, and you're not supposed to feel this protective over a stranger who dresses in two primary colours. Yet, seeing him at rest—makes you feel calm. The quiet of the apartment is a low hum rather than the empty chasm you’re used to, and your fingers run through his hair almost habitually.
You can't just leave him on the floor. There's also the latter half of his suit you don't want to deal with.
"Spidey." You whisper.
He lets out a low groan, wincing as his eyes shut tighter—burying himself deeper into your skin.
"No-no." Your hands come up to gently cup his cheek, coercing him.
His lashes part, and you're met with that same, expansive void, finding your own reflection in his gaze. He's still not quite himself, you believe—but he is able and willing to listen to you.
"I need you to put on these shorts." You gesture to the Hello Kitty pants you laid out for him. "Then, I need you to come to bed."
His brows furrow, lashes fluttering slowly as he processes your request. "Bed."
"Yes." You repeat. "You're exhausted, and I'm not leaving you on my floorboards. It's not too far, so please—help me out a little, Spidey."
His gaze doesn't blink, but you feel the shift in his muscles at your command. He stumbles as he raises himself, body slumping into you—but you steady him with your own grip. His nose buries itself once more into a crook to inhale your scent, this time being your shoulder.
"Okay." You mutter. "That's progress. Come on, up."
It takes you a couple minutes, mostly because he clings to you with every step and he is made of heavy weight. Whatever they feed the heroes of New York, it was clearly something out of limits from your measly grocery bill. By the time he managed to slip himself into those Hello Kitty shorts while you kept your gaze heavily fixated on the ceiling, making sure only to look when the waistband was tight around his torso, it wasn't long before he tripped himself face-first into your blankets. Your own body collapses beside him—equally tired as he is.
You attempt to form a pillow fort in your daze, a barrier of sorts. More for him than you, as you're sure in the morning once this side of him disappears—he'll have a much different reaction to waking up in an apartment with a stranger he doesn't know.
It gets demolished within seconds.
As if the pillows have formed a personal vendetta against him, they're thrown aggressively onto the floorboards. Your hand reaches out to grab them because you had just put them in the laundry—but your wrist is snatched too and you're tugged into his embrace.
You land back into the sheets, cheek smothered against his chest, and there he goes again, wrapping himself around you like a cocoon.
Here in your bed with his arms wrapped around you like you're his only anchor, brows furrowed tight—Spider-Man looked so human. Soft, and incredibly vulnerable. His arm still grips limply onto you even if you can feel his consciousness fading, as if the lack of contact would have you disappearing completely from his reach.
"Those pillows were meant for you, y'know." You mutter, unable to hide your amusement.
His lips curl into a stubborn pout. "Don't want them." He grumbles, words nearly incoherent with the small parting of his lips. "In my way."
You snort softly, before noting the dirt that coats his cheeks. With such a close proximity, you see everything. The soft lines at the corners of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, and just how beautiful he was.
"You've got dirt on your face." You whisper softly. "I should help you with that."
His grip tightens considerably, and you're dragged up so close to his face that your noses nearly bump into one another.
"Okay-okay. I'm not going anywhere." You feel the need to remind him, hand slowly lifting to press against his bruised cheek.
If the press of your finger-pads against the bruise was painful, he didn't show it—only burrowing his face deeper into the curve of your palm, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. The crease between his brows finally unfolds, and the years coated on his expression fades with it—leaving him looking impossibly young.
"Smells like you." He grumbles lowly, pressing the tip of his nose deeper into your palm.
Your heart skips a beat, traitorously even when you're sure he won't remember any of this by the morning.
“Do you have anyone?” You ask gently. “Someone I need to call?”
It’s heart-breaking, the way he immediately shakes his head, his curls ruffled against the sheets. For someone so beloved by the city, even in such a weakened state, he still believes that he has no one.
"Why are you here?" You murmur more for yourself, gazing openly over the fanning of his lashes over his darkened circles.
If it weren't for the expansive heat seeping from his broad chest through the cotton tee you tugged over his head, you would've believed yourself to be in the thick of a sweet, non-sensical dream.
You expect him to be fully asleep, but you hear it, low and almost inaudible. "Home."
Your heart tremors, barely able to comprehend it. "What?"
His words grow muffled against the sheets, the mess of his curls sinking deeper into the pillows—but you hear it. “Wanted to come home.”
Peter watches as you wring a cloth of its excess water over the sink, and the familiarity is dangerously luring. How many times has he sat here on your couch, watching as you prepped a medicine kit or a towel after his patrols? It’s almost unfathomable how quickly the new routines, rigorous with repetition and duty, all that control—that responsibility that leashed him tight falls apart the second he is in your proximity. Where old overpowers the new, because there is nothing he craves more than this. The past—the memories that became more present than reminder, when his own life had pressed ‘pause’ the moment he lost you.
He should’ve insisted on leaving when you offered to clean up the dirt that still coated his face. He should’ve shattered the hope that gleamed in your eyes when he gave you the barest nod, knowing how dangerous that fleeting belief could be when his own had never held value.
He did none of what he was supposed to do—and he didn’t even have the gull to feel ashamed for it, taking in the sight of you with unconditional hunger, absorbing every trace of movement and the way your voice resonated in the hearth of your home. He belonged in your life once, the same way the remains of his old t-shirts were kept in your wardrobe, or how the bathroom door still has the replaced hinges he fixed once on your third home date. There’s him all around, and the sight was its own guilty pleasure that the universe hadn’t completely stripped away the parts of him that used to exist in your life.
"You didn't do anything." You reassure him from across the kitchen counter. "Trust me, when you showed up in my apartment—you weren't in a state of anything other than being near-collapse."
His expression contorts. As if he needed more reasons to hate these new changes to his body—messing up all that is predictable. Predictable is good. It's safe. What isn't within even the remote levels of safe, is forcing you to look after him the entire night because he isn't even in control of his own body.
You stop in front of him, brushing some magazines and half-littered candy wrappers to the side as you sit on the coffee-table, knees brushing against his.
"Breathe." You murmur softly, eyes crinkling with a soft teasing expression.
He hadn't even realised he was holding his breath, being so close to you that it makes him feel faint. Oxygen swoops back into his lungs, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you openly with his mouth slightly gaped.
The cloth in hand raises to press against his cheek, and he feels the slight sting of its cool temperature against the warmth of his skin, the bruise above his cheekbone.
It doesn't truly register for him, not when you're staring at him so keenly he feels the need to ask. "What?"
"I just didn't expect Spider-Man to be so—" You struggle to find the words. "Human. I don't know. I suppose that sounds stupid, but you could pass by me in a coffee shop and I'd just sum you up as a cute stranger I'd never see again, not an actual crime-fighting vigilante."
The two of you were together, so it shouldn’t have struck him with elated surprise to hear it, but the admission that you still found him—he feels sixteen again, taken back to when you had first pressed a kiss onto his cheek and he understood immediately on what it meant to fall in love so completely that you could never look back.
You're too focused on dapping the wet cloth to notice his widened gaze, or the way he swallows dryly—licking at his lips. "You think I'm cute?"
"I mean—this entire time, I half-expected Spider-Man to be at least half-spider. Plus, I have eyes." You tease, your fingers gently brushing the wet cloth over the darkened soot across his cheek, rubbing off the marks. "I meant to do this last night, but you kept protesting when I tried to leave the bed. Clinging onto me—"
"Okay, okay." He raises his hand, catching you by the wrist. He's definitely flustered now. "I don't need to hear the details. I believe you."
You snort softly. "Thought you wanted the full story."
"Yeah, summed up—minus the details." He splutters. "I'm already dying inside from shame, and I've definitely ruined my impression with you forever."
"That's not true." You hum.
He blinks slowly, processing your words.
"There's no shame in reaching out for help, hero or not. I know you’re under a lot of public scrutiny but—it doesn't change who you are, y'know? You're deserving of support, just as much as everyone else. Even if the world expects you to be a hero—" You state. "You're still a person, and it seemed like you really needed someone."
He stiffens, jaw tightening as his eyes avert from yours to pinpoint his focus elsewhere—anywhere but you.
"You're not just someone." He mumbles lowly.
The press of the cloth against his cheek falters. "What?"
"You're—" His voice trails off, jaw clenching tight. “You weren’t scared of me?”
He understands how he can get when he loses control. The way his vision blacks out, and how his mind caves into silence—with his body moving on instinct rather than command. The reflection of a monster in the mirror, everything he swore not to be. The version of him that snuck into your apartment, clinging onto you as a lifeline—was stripped of the rules and promises he had made to keep everything together.
It was him at his most selfish—doing what his instincts pleaded—no, begged for him to do, and he had caved in for all of it. That's why he's here, and why you're staring with an expression he didn't dare uncover.
“I think you’re a lot more scared of yourself right now than I am.” You answer truthfully. “You were in a lot of pain. The last thing I would be was scared, when all you needed was someone to look out for you. Even if it's just for a little while.”
"I—" What is he supposed to say to that? That you're right on, and you've always been even without knowing who he is, and that he's been losing himself ever since he lost you? He swallows thickly. "I haven't been myself lately."
Your fingers tighten imperceptibly, grounding him. "You're still you, maybe you've just been putting aside what reminds you of that. I'm no vigilante, but working yourself to the bone and collapsing in a stranger's apartment—I think that's a signal for a horrible work-life balance."
"I have been resting." He argues. "I get enough hours, I have proof."
"Yeah, that's definitely why you slept like a log last night."
His lips part, gaze finally meeting yours, staring at you wordlessly. Eventually, a laugh escapes his lips, deepening the lines near the corners of his eyes. It's a little sad, and you wonder just how much he had to carry on his own—for a laugh to sound that broken.
"This is hard. I'm not supposed to—" He mutters, and that's the closest thing to raw honesty that you've pulled out of his mouth. "You're way too good for me."
Your smile deepens, and your fingers trace gently over his cheek where the bruise was finally fading. That must've been the mistake of it—the familiarity of muscle memory after a long patrol. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek in thank you.
It’s only when he spots your frozen expression that he realises what he's done.
"I was not supposed to do that." He mutters to himself, widened eyes locked onto the spot where he left the kiss.
You blink, and he follows the movement—staring at each other in complete silence. His expression contorts, and you can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you.
"That was—wow." You choke back on your laughter. "I think you're running out of things you're not supposed to do, Spidey."
His own gaze crinkles into a smile, abashed. "I'm sorry, I just—I wanted to thank you. It was out of habit."
"Habit—you crash into people's apartments often and give out these free kisses?" You tease. "Is it part of the job description?"
He shakes his head immediately, terrified by the suggestion. "No—no. I swear this is my first time ever doing anything like this. I got the habit from my aunt, she used to—um..."
His expression dampens considerably. "Kiss my cheek for good luck."
Your gaze softens. "She sounds sweet."
"Yeah." His laugh churns awkwardly with a wince. "You would've loved her."
You watch him, and you sense it again—that chasm that ran deeper than the surface of his winced smiles. The way he shook his head when you asked if he had anyone, and even now, the way he fumbled with his fingers as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself in your gaze—and how he hadn't suggested once since waking up that he wanted to leave.
He was waiting, the way one waits for permission to exist in a room when they haven't been invited in one for years.
"Spidey." You call out.
He whips his head to look at you, pupils still widened in some perpetual disbelief, over the fact that he was in your apartment—that you were right in front of him.
"I'm going to make breakfast." You start, not leaving room for argument. "And you're going to help me."
He blinks once, then twice in astonishment. He swallows dryly. "O-Okay."
Your smile loosens into something reserved for a vigilante you had stayed up all night checking his temperature for.
You find that Spider-Man is pretty good in making pancakes, and that he easily maneuvers himself around your kitchen as if he had already memorised the layout. Of where your favourite mugs are, and how he didn't question twice when taking out the ice-cream tub without you needing to say it.
You could narrow it down to Spidey-senses, or whatever theories that's come up on your feed for his inhuman capabilities—but could it really just be that? Could his super-human abilities be the only reason behind why the warm hazel of his eyes light into the tiniest fireworks as he watches you scourge on your pancake, smiling at him with butter at the corner of your lips—as if the sight of you eating breakfast was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen?
Or why he picked you as his destination for home, or the slip of his tongue on how you meant a great deal more to him than just a someone who so happened to let him stay the night.
You have so much to uncover, but for now, he's just a boy in a NYC graphic tee that’s his exact size, and fluorescent shorts that do nothing for his thighs. He catches your gaze on his peculiar outfit, and his own lips purse in amusement.
"Any reason for the outfit choice?" He murmurs, a knowing smile covered by his fist as he rests his chin over his wrist, head tilting slightly as he gazes at you. "It's inventive."
"Oh—" You blink. "I don't know. I kinda always had them. They don't belong to me, but I just didn't see a need to throw out free clothes."
Your lips quirk up, teasing. "Suits you though. Think you'll keep it?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I think I'll have to return it."
"Why?"
"So I can borrow it again." He suggests slowly.
You stare at him, unable to hide your growing grin. "Smooth, Spidey. Real smooth."
His gaze lights up. "Better than the cheek kiss?"
"Tons better. You could try it again—I'll see if I can adjust the scores." You tease.
"Really?" He stutters, akin to a flustered high-schooler.
"Yeah, but you'll have to tell me your name." You gesture with a point of your fork. "Can't go around giving free kisses without ID."
You meant it as a joke. You're no expert in superhero protocols, but you're sure the codenames meant no personal information spilled outside their work-life. Even when you've already seen his face, and shared a bed with him, and let him take your second favourite mug though he can't possibly know that last one. There's lines you've certainly crossed, but his name?
You part your lips to take back your impulsive request, to brush it off—only to find genuine consideration forming in his expression. Your smile falls slack in wonder. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't possibly.
Yet, he looks at you, almost peering deep into your soul. He looks at you as if he knows you, all boyish and unguarded. Whatever he sees, past the bed-hair and ice-cream smothered lips—it's worth it to him. It's worth something honest, and sacred—a truth he'll never be able to take back. It's a genuine, soft thing—a precious smile that lifts his lips, one you have no idea how brave he is for keeping. He has made his choice, and you're a part of it, always.
Peter looks at you, and he sees the only present he'll ever want. Past spells and starting-overs and stupid choices—at the centre of it all, it all becomes so simple. You—who his body sought out of instinct, who inhabited his mind with your own personal island, who had taken his heart from the first time he saw you. You're home, and no rules or lines drawn could've stopped him from returning back to you. His everything.
"Peter. Peter Parker."
likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3!!
marvel masterlist - coming soon! (do let me know if you'd like to be added to a peter parker taglist, i may be making one as i have more fics coming up for him <3).
Operation: Hangout In Peace | Peter Parker x Fem!Stark!Reader
SUMMARY: When you start dating the intern, Peter Parker, your dad enforces a list of rules for when he comes over. In order to ensure the rules are followed, you two must be babysat at all times, meaning the team circles in and out of who’s on monitoring duties. When you sneak out to hangout with your boyfriend without your father’s permission, the entire group of the world’s mightiest heroes are sent out on one major mission. Finding you…until they find out you’re building legos…? Tony begins to question his parenting. Perhaps a heart to heart conversation will help (it won't).
A/N: Consider this a part 2 to Dirty Little Secret :)
WARNINGS: Og tower fic so yes you have Wanda’s powers but purple, Clint is in the vents, Thor has poptarts, Steve is so incredibly corny (he uses ‘Gen Z lingo’), reader and Peter want to kiss in peace, sassy Peter
WC: 5.9K
Main Masterlist!
Being the daughter of Tony Stark had its perks, but it also had its drawbacks.
For one, you weren’t allowed to have a boyfriend. But when you went out anyway and started dating the new intern, who turned out to be Spider-Man, your dad realized there was no stopping you.
So, he set ground rules. Such a curfew, monitored hangouts, and so much more to the point it felt like your boyfriend wasn’t even your boyfriend.
The only alone time you ever got was at school, and even then you weren’t alone with the thousands of students and hundreds of staff.
When you did hangout one on one, it had to be monitored, either by F.R.I.D.A.Y. or another member of the team.
You preferred F.R.I.D.A.Y. because it was far less embarrassing and you could be alone in your room, but the door had to be open. She’d warn you guys to keep space between you when you’d lay in your bed, watching a movie. As soon as Peter’s arm even dared to wrap around you, she’d beep and tell him to remove his arm or else lethal action would be taken.
Peter would pull his lips into a tight line and cross his arms over his chest with a huff, no longer even interested in the movie on the laptop.
Out of all the babysitters who’d been tasked to watch the two of you, you and Peter learned who you liked best and who you despised the most.
You both mostly liked it when Natasha was in charge of watching you.
She’d let you both go into your room with the door shut because truth be told, she didn’t care.
On one occasion, however, she was banned from ever watching you two again.
The door to your bedroom was shut, the first rule already broken. Music played softly from behind the door and Natasha was sitting in the living room, legs kicked up on the coffee table, book in hand.
She checked her watch, noting that there was about another hour before Tony got back.
Unfortunately for her, you, and Peter, he was coming back earlier.
In your room, Peter sat at your desk, fixing his web shooters as you sat on your bed finishing up some homework.
Peter called you over to get your opinion on the altered design. You shot out of the bed and walked over, leaning against the desk beside him as he explained it.
You smiled. “Web grenades,” you said in awe. “That’s super cool, Peter.”
Peter’s face warmed up. “You think so?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
The room went quiet, the only sound being the music.
Peter slowly leaned in as did you. Your eyes fluttered shut, nose brushing against the tip of his when-
“Parker! Out! Now!”
Peter jumped back, the desk chair falling from beneath him. He hit the floor with a loud thud, panic racing through his body.
Your eyes widened, seeing your dad in the doorway who looked like he was about five seconds away from shooting him with his repulsor.
“Mr. Stark! I-”
“Save it,” Tony lectured. “Get up and get out of here.”
Peter almost tripped trying to stand up. He grabbed his stuff and tugged his shoes on, the laces untied. He was about to leave, but stopped.
He raced over to you. “Bye! See you tomorrow!” He pecked your cheek, earning him a near death sentence.
“Oh, you little shit!” Tony yelled. “I swear, I’m gonna-!”
Peter yelped, racing out the door where you found Natasha giving you an apologetic look.
After Natasha got fired from babysitting duties, she was replaced mostly by Bruce who still gave you and Peter space, but ensured there were still boundaries that Tony wanted.
You were no longer allowed to have the boy in your room, but Bruce allowed it, so long as the door was open.
He’d swing by and check in on you both every once in a while, asking if either of you were hungry or needed anything.
The first time he babysat you both, he came by to check in on you and found you both sitting on the floor going through Peter’s comics.
Peter was flipping through one, yapping your ear off about it as you rested your head on his shoulder.
Bruce stood in the doorway for a moment, a small smile on his lips. He cleared his throat and immediately you both jumped back, pretending that you weren’t so close.
“Don’t worry,” Bruce said. “You don’t have to worry about me telling Stark,” he laughed. “I was just going to order a pizza. What kind do you kids want?”
And that was the moment you two started to prefer it when Bruce was on patrol.
Then, there was the worst of the worst.
Sam and Bucky.
The first time you realized they were the ones on watch for the day, you told Peter to just not come over.
He insisted on coming over because he wanted to ‘spend time with his girlfriend’, which he unfortunately ended up regretting.
For starters, they heavily enforced the rules. You and Peter weren’t allowed in your room under any circumstances.
You had to sit on the couch, at least two cushions apart while Sam and Bucky monitored from the chairs directly across from you.
It was so incredibly awkward for two teenagers, but they seemed entertained by it.
At first, neither you nor Peter spoke, you just glared at Bucky while Peter stared at the floor, too nervous to meet the gaze of either men.
And it stayed like that for about twenty minutes until Sam spoke up.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do you two want to hangout so bad if all you do is sit in silence? Aren’t you gonna do something?”
“What are we allowed to do?” you asked. “I feel like I’m in prison on a monitored visit.”
Bucky shrugged, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Talk, watch something, play with those stupid legos you guys like,” he suggested. “I don’t know. Just stop staring at me, it’s getting weird now.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous,” you grumbled.
Peter turned towards you, trying to make the best of the situation. “I was talking to Ned about Homecoming and we were thinking that-”
“No,” Bucky interrupted. “Absolutely not.”
Peter pressed his brows together, slowly turning to face Bucky with narrowed eyes. “What?”
“No,” Sam chimed in, shaking his head. “Nope.”
You blinked. “No, what?”
“No!” Bucky and Sam shouted at the same time as if it were obvious.
Peter sank back into the couch, face flushed pink.
You pulled your lips into a tight line, shifting awkwardly.
If you could blow up the entire tower as revenge, you would. You couldn’t understand why your dad had these stupid rules in the first place and you certainly couldn’t understand why Sam and Bucky felt the need to even enforce them.
You supposed they just enjoyed watching you and Peter suffer.
It was dead silent again until you made a suggestion.
“Wanna watch a movie?”
Peter’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, sure!”
You got up and grabbed the remote, turning the T.V. on. You and Peter both settled on Star Wars and before you could even hit play, Bucky snatched the remote from your hand.
“Hey!” you exclaimed. “Give that back!”
“We’re not watching that,” he said, exiting out of the screen. He stood beside the couch, right where you were standing, one hand on his hip as if he were watching an intense match of Sunday night football. “We’re watching something else.”
You groaned and threw your head back. “You know, you don’t have to watch it if you leave.”
“And leave you two alone?” Sam chuckled. “No way.”
Bucky clicked a few buttons and suddenly a new movie was playing.
“What the hell is this?” you asked as both men moved their chairs to either side of the couch.
“A real movie,” Bucky said plainly, and suddenly you recognized the movie he had played on numerous occasions.
Some old war movie from what you thought to be a hundred years ago. It probably predated the dinosaurs which was when you thought Steve and Bucky were born.
“I don’t wanna watch this,” you whined. “Put it back on Star Wars.”
“No,” Bucky said. “Now be quiet and watch. This is important historical stuff.”
Your jaw tightened as you side eyed him from beside you. You turned your gaze to the screens and immediately started to grow bored.
You were about thirty minutes in and Peter was starting to grow antsy too.
He glanced over at you and you smiled softly at him.
His fingers slowly slid across the cushions, yours doing the same until you met halfway.
Your fingers intertwined with his as you both looked back to the screen.
It stayed that way for about two minutes because Sam glanced over to check on you. He leaned forward in his chair and did a double take before he shot up from his seat.
“Oh, hell no!”
Sam and Bucky forced you both apart and ended up kicking Peter out, telling an over exaggerated story to your father about what happened.
And that was when you decided you hated them as babysitters.
Wanda and Loki came along and because of their powers, they always knew what was going on, no matter how sneaky you thought you were, which started to grow annoying.
Wanda didn’t necessarily care what you were doing, but she did start to care when all she could hear was the sounds of you two kissing behind closed doors. That was when she said you weren’t allowed to kiss anymore.
Loki told the entire tower a long while ago that he ‘despised the Stark witch with purple powers’, so naturally when he came along, it felt like you were under house arrest. Sometimes Peter could try to sneak a kiss from you and end up blasted twenty feet away from you. Other times, Loki wouldn’t even let you look or speak to Peter.
Then there was Thor who would quite literally sit between you two on the couch, telling stories about his life as a young boy on Asgard while smacking on an entire box of Poptarts with his mouth wide open.
And then there was Vision who took his job incredibly seriously, making the tower feel like a prison.
Steve came around every once in a while and ran the place like the damn navy, enforcing rules left and right like his life depended on it.
Then there was Clint…
One time he pretended not to care what you and Peter did, which resulted in you both in your room with the door shut. You were in the middle of a pretty intense game of Mario Kart when Clint came plummeting through the vent, straight into your room.
He was spying on you both through the goddamn vents!
Soon enough, you and Peter came to the realization that the only way to actually be able to spend time with one another would be to sneak you out of the tower.
So, you used your genius little Stark brain to disable F.R.I.D.A.Y. and disengage all defense systems at your bedroom window.
It was half past midnight and no one ever came by your room that late.
Now was the perfect time to head out.
A soft thud hit your window and you smiled, seeing a masked hero waving at you on the other side, the little spider lenses conveying excitement.
You opened up and your window and your boyfriend landed inside your room with quiet, practiced ease.
“Hi,” he whispered, cheesing from under his mask.
You smirked. “Hi.” You walked over to him, and his hands found your waist. Your fingers came up and lifted his mask just above his nose, pecking his lips quickly before pulling his mask back down.
Peter’s face flushed pink. “Are you ready?”
You nodded. “Yeah, just need my jacket,” you whispered, heading for your closet.
“Tiny Stark?”
You froze, a small gasp escaping you.
Peter glanced at you, fear in his eyes.
“Yeah…?”
“You okay?” the voice you recognized as Thor yawned.
“Yeah.”
…
…
…
“Is someone in there? I thought I heard you talking.”
“I’m…I’m on the phone. With- with uh- MJ.”
…
…
…
“Makes sense. Night.”
“Goodnight.”
You stood there for a second, listening to Thor’s footsteps head back to his room. You let out a sigh of relief.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
You grabbed your coat and slipped it on. Peter held his arms out to you, and you wrapped your legs around him, arms wrapping around his neck.
He climbed out of the window and shut it quietly.
“Ready?” he asked.
You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes. “No,” you replied honestly. “Just go.”
Peter jumped off of the side of the tower, flicking his wrist, a line of web catching onto the neighboring building.
“Holy shit!” you exclaimed, freaking out. You gripped onto him tighter, squeezing your eyes shut as your stomach dropped with each and every swing.
“It’s okay!” Peter chuckled. “I’ve got you!”
“What the hell!” you exclaimed, nails digging into the back of his suit. “How do you do this?!”
Thankfully the swing to Peter’s apartment wasn’t too far. He landed on the window and opened it, helping you inside.
You climbed in and gasped, clutching your stomach as he climbed inside, shutting the window.
“You okay?” he asked, yanking his mask off and tossing it aside.
You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah…I don’t know how you do that without throwing up,” you grimaced.
Peter chuckled. “Wanna build legos without getting yelled at?” he asked, already making his way over to his stash.
“Yeah!” you beamed.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Little did you know before sneaking out, Tony couldn’t sleep. He was up late at night down in the lab, tinkering as he always did when his mind wasn’t at ease.
He’d been hearing all about how you and Peter were breaking rules left and right and how the babysitting situation with Loki had gotten so out of hand that Peter refused to come over anymore, much to your dismay.
Nat had gotten into Tony’s ear about letting you be a teenager and have your boyfriend over without overbearing you two. There was no issue with ground rules, the issues stemmed from how ridiculous they were.
With a loud clank, Tony stropped his screw driver and pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing that he should probably talk to you about it. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., check to see if the little Stark is sleeping.”
“Checking in on Stark Jr.”
Tony started mumbling to himself about how stupid the whole situation was. He couldn’t understand why you had to choose Peter of all people and he couldn’t understand why you even wanted a boyfriend.
Not too long ago you were ranting about how stupid boys were but as soon as Peter came into your life, you only ever wanted to be around one person, which was him.
“I am unable to contact her through her bedroom. It would appear that all communication systems have been disabled in her room and that all defense systems outside her room have been disengaged.”
Tony blinked, nodding his head as he was both impressed and shocked that you’d do such a thing.
Then again, you were his daughter.
“Huh…” he muttered to himself. “Give me playback on Parker’s suit,” he said, pushing his rolling chair across the floor to his monitor. Immediately, he put two and two together. You and Peter were up to something.
“All recording systems inside of the suit have also been disabled.”
Tony stared at his reflection in the monitor, his finger hovering over the power button. “Those little shitheads…”
Tony leaped up from his desk. “Gather the team, would you? We’re going to find them.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Peter had changed out of his suit into pajama pants and some nerdy t-shirt Ned gave him for Christmas. You were sitting on the floor across from each other assembling legos, the Imperial Star Destroyer to be exact.
Peter was babbling on and on about the small missions he had been taking to save the city, ranging from saving a cat from a tree and helping an old woman cross the road.
You couldn’t help but to smile at how excited he was to save people. It was absolutely adorable.
You snapped a couple of lego pierces together and giggled as he mimicked bank alarms going off, and flicking his wrist as if to show you how he swung in to save the day.
Little did the two of you know, outside, the entire team of heroes were on high alert searching for you.
“I’ve got eyes on the target,” Clint said through the radio.
He was perched on a building across the way from Peter’s apartment, an arrow aimed right at the window.
“Where?” Tony asked almost immediately.
“His place.”
“Well, what are they doing?”
Clint chuckled. “Building…legos.”
Loki’s laugh echoed through the comms. “You mean to tell me this idiot mortal flying around in a bucket of bolts dragged us all out here to look for his offspring who’s building legos?”
“She seriously snuck out to build goddamn legos?” Bucky scoffed over the comms. “Real fine parenting, Stark.”
Nat hummed. “Weren’t you the one who told Tony her and Peter were breaking all the rules while you were on babysitting duty?”
“Because they were,” Sam interjected. “They were holding hands.”
“What’s so bad about hand holding?” Bruce asked with an awkward laugh.
“You know,” Thor’s voice boomed, making Clint wince and take his ear piece out, still able to make out everything Thor was saying. “Back on Asgard, there was this myth that said if you held hands with your lover for an extended period of time, nothing in the cosmos could tear you apart.”
“Well, I’m about to tear them apart,” Tony announced. “I’m going in.”
“Why?” Wanda asked. “They’re not doing anything harmful.”
“Stark loves control,” Steve retorted.
“Uh…” Nat trailed off. “They both told me that you pulled out a tape measure to make sure they were three feet apart. Sounds like you’re equally controlling.”
“Structure isn’t control.”
Tony landed on the building beside Clint who was putting his ear piece back in. “How long have they been building legos for?”
Clint shrugged. “Since I got here.”
Tony watched through the window as Peter carefully took the pieces you assembled and clicked it to the ones he assembled.
Peter smiled and put his hand up, high fiving you.
Tony flinched, catching his breath. “Can you stop doing your spy shit on us? You’re gonna give me a damn heart attack.”
Clint only chuckled, completely used to Nat sneaking up on people.
“You’re going to give yourself one if you keep losing your mind over every little thing she does,” she said.
“Can we go home now, or what?” Loki asked over the comms. “I’m losing my eight hours of sleep.”
Before Tony could say something snarky, Nat spoke up. “Yes, you can all go back. Stark thanks you all for your help.”
“No he doesn’t,” Bucky grimaced.
Clint grabbed his arrows. “I’m out. Don’t kill her, she’s kind of funny, slightly less annoying than you,” he said, placing a firm hand on Tony’s shoulder.
Tony flipped him off and he climbed down from the building.
The team headed home, leaving Nat and Tony on the roof.
Tony let out an exasperated sigh as he watched you start to put together the next pieces of the lego set, glancing up at Peter every now and then with such a loving look in your eyes.
“I hate having to watch her grow up,” he mumbled.
Nat turned to him with a small smile. “I can imagine how difficult it is, but the more you try to stop her, the more she’ll fight you on it. Like right now,” she said, motioning to the window. “She literally just snuck out to build legos. That’s insane, Tony.”
Tony groaned. “Why does she even want a boyfriend? Life was so easy when that freaking kid wasn’t here. Maybe I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t,” Nat laughed. “You like him and honestly, you should be glad she chose him. He likes her a lot.”
Tony hummed. “I guess he’s a half decent kid…”
Back inside the bedroom, Peter’s brows pressed together as he glanced out of the window.
“What’s wrong?” you asked.
Peter’s spider senses were going off, alerting him of something he couldn't quite put his finger on. “I don’t know…” he trailed off. “I feel like someone’s watching us or something.”
You glanced out the window, not seeing anything. “I don’t see anything, Peter.”
Peter got up and drew the curtains back, returning back to the floor, but instead of sitting across from you, he sat beside you.
“You don’t think your dad knows…” he whispered, as if he were lurking somewhere. “Do you?”
You shrugged. “Honestly, if he knew, he would’ve probably blasted you with a bomb by now.”
Peter’s brows rose. “How reassuring.”
You giggled and pecked him on the lips. “You’ll be fine.”
You went to put the lego pieces back together, but Peter’s hand grabbed your waist. You turned your gaze back to him. “What?”
“You can’t just kiss me on the lips like that and turn away from me,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks and nose burning pink.
Your lips curved upward as you leaned in, kissing him slowly as he melted into it.
His hand came up and cupped your face softly, lips moving against yours gently, causing you to sigh in content.
Finally, you could kiss your boyfriend in piece.
No babysitters.
No threats.
No interruptions-
“Open the curtains or I’ll send a repulsor through it.”
You and Peter pulled away, shock on your faces at hearing your father’s voice through Peter’s phone.
“What the?!” Peter exclaimed. “How did you-”
“Five, four, three, two-”
“Okay! Okay!” Peter said, scrambling to his feet and yanking the curtains open only to find Tony hovering there in his suit.
“Sneaking out to build legos, huh?” he asked, looking right at you.
You rolled your eyes. “And make out, but-”
“Don’t say that!” Peter hissed, fearing for his life.
“Open this window,” Tony demanded.
Peter gave you a petrified look before opening the window with shaking hands.
The head of your father’s suit turned to you, then back to Peter. “Take her back home. Right now,” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Stark!” Peter replied.
“And you,” Tony said, turning to face you. “You’re grounded for…I don’t know how long but you’re grounded.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
You were in fact not grounded.
Natasha had gotten into Tony’s ear again about letting you be a teenager and explained to him that he could set boundaries without being overbearing.
So, that’s how Peter ended up allowed back at the tower in your bedroom, but the door had to stay cracked open a minimum of three inches and you had to stay at least two feet apart from one another instead of three.
No kissing, hand holding, or hugging was allowed.
It was so stupid, but you went along with it.
Until you didn’t.
You’d leave the door cracked open and kiss Peter all you wanted, listening for footsteps. Whenever you two heard them, you’d separate and act like you weren’t doing anything.
You got away with it for a long time until Tony caught you both one day and realized that you had been breaking rules all along.
He was walking up to your room to see if you wanted some of the dinner Wanda had whipped up.
The soft hum of music played from your room and he could faintly make out one additional sound.
The unmistakable sound of two people kissing.
He slowly peaked through the crack in your door and low and behold, you and Peter were making out on your bed.
“Hey!” he shouted.
You gasped, pulling away from Peter. Eyes wide, you stuck your hand out, purple mist covering the door handle and slamming the wood shut.
Tony yanked at the door, banging on it with his fist. “You open this goddamn door, right now!”
A few seconds later, your hold on the door loosened and Tony came crashing inside, a vein or two popping out of his forehead.
You were sitting on one end of the bed, Peter on the other with a comic in his hands, acting as if he had been reading it the whole time and not making out with you.
Tony glanced between the two of you, blinking rapidly as if it would magically put you back into the position you had been caught in just seconds ago.
For a second he thought he was losing his mind until you spoke up. Then it hit him that you were messing with him.
You smirked at your dad’s face. “What?” you asked.
Tony was at a loss for words after that.
He didn’t want you to sneak around him anymore and he thought he was making the rules less strict, so he couldn’t understand why you continued to go against his word.
After a week of you and Peter pulling the same stunt, he had grown tired of it.
He went to Natasha, the only person he thought could help.
“And they just won’t stop,” he went on, pacing his lab. “I mean, it’s absolutely ridiculous.”
Nat sat at one of the spinning chairs and shrugged. “I mean…they’re just kissing, right?”
“But it’s constant!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “And she’s only doing it to piss me off.”
“Well it’s working,” Nat laughed.
Tony sighed and leaned against the metal of the desk. “I’m going to have an aneurysm.”
Nat sighed and kicked her feet up onto the desk. “Just…talk to them,” she said plainly. “Get on their level and have a conversation. Tell them that he’s allowed over but they have to keep the door open.”
“I did!”
“No,” Nat said with a head shake. “You said they have to keep the door open and they can’t even hold hands,” she corrected. “You can’t set ridiculous ground rules and expect them to follow the illogical ones.”
Tony groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t you just talk to them for me? You’re good at the whole…heart to heart thing.”
Growing up, your father’s father wasn’t really the greatest parent, and Tony didn’t want to follow in those steps. However, because he had a shitty father, he wasn’t so sure how to get on your level and have a conversation like the one Nat was proposing without snapping.
Nat snorted. “She’s not my kid.”
“Yeah, but she acts like you’re her mom so…”
“No Tony, you can do it.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Tony sat on the stairs just a few feet away from your bedroom, reading over the crumpled piece of paper in his hands.
Steve walked by and eyed him. “What’s that?”
Tony rubbed his eyes. “A heart to heart.”
“You have a heart?” Steve asked, earning a glare from Tony. “My fault,” he said, pulling his lips into a tight line.
Tony raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. “My fault?” he repeated. “How old are you?”
Steve smiled, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket. “Parker and your daughter have been teaching me all the ‘hip’ lingo.”
Tony cringed. “For the love of God, don’t say ‘hip’.”
Steve flipped through his pages. “Oh! Right here…” he said, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to see better.
“Please don’t,” Tony sighed. “I really don’t have the patience for this.”
“Captain America mogs Iron Man,” Steve said proudly with a smile, shutting his book. “It basically means-”
“I know what it means,” Tony deadpanned. He swatted his hand at Steve. “Now, get out of here please. And I hope you realize no one says that in real life.”
Steve opened his mouth to say something but stopped.
Just a few feet away, Steve and Tony could hear you and Peter kissing from outside of your door and the sound of both of your soft giggles in between them.
Steve smirked at Tony’s jaw clenching. “Duty calls,” he said, nodding at Tony before taking a step past him down the stairs. He stopped about two steps below the one Tony was sitting at. “Sounds like Parker’s got rizz.”
“Literally no one says that,” Tony said, completely exasperated. “They’re setting you up to get bullied, by the way.”
Steve shrugged, waltzing down the stairs.
Tony groaned. “I hate this tower,” he mumbled to himself before standing up and making his way over to your bedroom door.
He could still faintly hear you and Peter kissing over the music, followed by your giggle.
“Peter, stop!”
“You don’t like it?”
“No!” you laughed.
Peter hummed and again, the sound of kissing ensued.
Tony shut his eyes in annoyance and knocked. “Hey…” he trailed off. “I…I just wanna talk.”
The door slowly creaked open, purple mist on the handle.
You sat on one end of the bed, Peter on the other, who gave Tony an annoyed look, which was the first time he had done so, but at this point, he was completely unaware of his expressions. He just wanted to go back to kissing you and hearing your soft laughter at his antics.
Tony shut the door and walked into your room, grabbing your desk chair and pulling it up beside your bed. “We need to talk,” he said, a slight nervousness in his tone that was a few seconds away from being taken advantage of.
“Okay…?” you said, completely unaware as to where this was going, because never in your life had you seen your father so awkward.
You and Peter shifted, moving to sit beside one another, legs criss crossed. The music still played, adding to the awkwardness.
“I wanted…” he trailed off, shutting his eyes. “I- what I- goddamn it!” he exclaimed, losing his train of thought over the music. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., kill the music, would you?”
“Stopping the music.”
Tony let out a sigh and clicked his tongue. “I was trying to say that…we uh…oh shit, uhm…” He blinked, looking up at the ceiling trying to remember the not so passive aggressive words Natasha told him to use.
Peter slowly leaned over to you, whispering something into your ear that Tony couldn’t make out.
You immediately giggled, nodding your head in agreement.
You both looked back at your father, and you tried your best to conceal the laugh coming out, but failed miserably.
Tony watched, lips parted. He glanced at you, then looked to your boyfriend who he now wanted to kill. “Alright, you know what. It’s your Aunt May,” he said suddenly, staring daggers at Peter.
Peter blinked, his heart already beating a million miles a minute. “What?! Aunt May?!”
“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Something happened. Something bad.”
“Is she gonna be okay?!”
Tony shrugged. “I don’t know, but we should leave and get you back home.”
Peter followed Tony out of the Tower and into his car, but not before giving you a quick kiss.
In the car, he was freaking out, insisting that he should just swing to his apartment to get there faster.
“But, Mr. Stark, if I swing I can-”
“You don’t need to-”
“My aunt! What if she-”
“Relax.”
“Oh, my gosh what if-”
“Would you just put a cork in it-”
“Aunt May-!”
Tony slammed on the breaks in the middle of the road, making a hundred cars honk at him. “Look! Nothing is wrong with your Aunt May!”
“…Huh…?”
Tony lightly let off the gas, driving down the street, eyes fixated on the road. “There’s nothing wrong with your aunt,” he said, tone more leveled.
“I don’t understand,” Peter said. “You said that-”
“I know what I said and I said that because there’s something very wrong with what’s going on between you and my daughter.”
Peter’s heart sank. He didn’t want to be banned from the tower again and he sure as hell didn’t want you to not be allowed to date him.
“Oh, Mr. Stark,” he said. “I’m sorry I…I don’t know what I’m sorry for because apparently even breathing in her presence is a crime but-”
“Look, pal,” Tony said, holding a finger up in Peter’s face. “Watch that mouth on you.”
Peter sunk in his seat. “Sorry…”
“I don’t understand why you two constantly need to be kissing or touching each other,” he grimaced. “If you would behave like normal human beings, then maybe we wouldn’t need such intense ground rules.”
Peter blinked. “What’s the point in having a girlfriend if you can’t kiss her? You’re basically just friends at that point.”
“Then just be friends.”
“But I wanna kiss her!”
Tony yanked the wheel, making Peter hit his head against the glass. He parked the car on the side of the road and turned to face Peter properly.
“Do you want to be banned from the tower again?”
“No…” Peter grumbled, rubbing the side of his head.
“Okay. Then you can…date…” Tony grimaced, as if the words pained him to say. “…my daughter, so long as you don’t kiss and leave six feet between you two.”
“I thought it was two!”
“Well, it’s six now!”
Peter sat up straight, a pleading look in his eye. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, your daughter is the best thing that has happened to me,” he said sincerely.
Tony shrugged. “Yeah, she kinda has that effect on people. She gets it from me.”
“Sure,” Peter deadpanned, rolling his eyes with a sass Tony hadn’t seen. “Anyway, my point is, I can’t just be her friend. I…I love her.”
Tony’s eyes widened as his brows rose. “You? Love my daughter?”
Peter’s face flushed pink, realizing that he had just admitted it out loud. He loved Tony Stark’s daughter. “Yes.”
Tony stared at Peter for a long while, so long that Peter was beginning to think that he was plotting ways to kill him.
“Incoming call from Romanoff,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced.
“Answer it,” Tony said.
“Tony,” Natasha’s voice came in sternly.
“Natasha.”
“Where are you? Where is Peter?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Natasha said. “But you should be.”
Tony’s brows pressed together. “Why?”
“Because your daughter and Loki are using their voodoo magic stuff to try and curse you.”
“What?! I thought he didn’t like her!”
“Turns out he does, so I would highly suggest bringing Peter back.”
If there was one thing Tony was afraid of, it was you and the God of Mischief himself teaming up to plot his demise.
“So…does this mean I can still date your daughter?” Peter asked optimistically, leaning over the center console.
“No.”
Over the line, the two could make out the voices of you and Loki.
“Lethal or non lethal?” Loki asked.
You hummed. “Which do you recommend?”
“Lethal,” he responded without hesitation.
“Lethal it is.”
Tony’s jaw dropped, eyes going wide.
“I don’t think you have much of a choice, Mr. Stark.” Peter smirked.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
A/N: Feel free to send in tower fic requests! I’ve been so obsessed with them again, 12 year old me would be proud
SUMMARY: You’ve been seeing some mystery guy as of late so when he shows up to your apartment for a party, Ned and MJ are excited to meet him. To get away from the noise, he takes you back to his apartment where you make a horrific discovery. Not only is he Spider-Man, but you were allegedly in love with him.
WARNINGS: Mentions of Peter lightweight stalking the reader, suggestive dialogue, make out scene :) , angst, angst, more angst, happy ending!
WC: 4.7K
Main Masterlist!
He didn’t mean to make it weird, but he had made it so painfully weird.
While out, Peter found Ned and may or may not have followed him onto the subway and to his extremely crowded apartment. The bouquet of flowers crinkled in his hands as he pushed through the sea of bodies, music bumping so loud he felt the rhythm in his chest.
A red solo cup made its way from the kitchen to the crowd, all the way to his hand, being filled with the most putrid alcohol his tongue had ever tasted. He gagged, discarding the cup and searching for the guy who used to be his best friend.
Somehow, he ended up in a bedroom. The door was cracked open and his curiosity got the better of him. He opened it slowly and carefully made his way inside.
He glanced around the room and almost immediately realized whose room he was in.
It was yours.
You had met Peter a few months back after he ‘coincidentally’ bumped into you on the busy streets of Queens. Truth be told he was following you like a total creep because he had saved you just a few weeks ago from the Scorpion who didn’t care who got in his way. After that, he was on high alert for your safety, because clearly stalking you through Ned’s Instagram wasn’t enough.
But that wasn’t actually the first time you met.
The first time you met was way back in high school in your chemistry class. You were reeled into his dorky personality. He was the only guy whose intelligence was on par with that of your own and was the only one who made you laugh at the stupidest of jokes.
Peter glanced around your bedroom, intrigued by the layout that heavily resembled the one you had in high school, but something about it felt more mature, like your own furniture had grown with you.
While you had been seeing him for a while, grabbing coffee, heading to the movie theater, or even spending hours in the record store, you had yet to bring him to your own place and he had yet to bring you to his.
Your old place wasn’t the best given you lived on your own, but now with two roommates, you had truly stepped it up.
Peter’s eyes scanned around your room. Your desk was full of postgrad documents, monitor left on where you had a tab open looking to transfer to Empire State.
Above that, little polaroids clung to the wall.
Pictures of you, Ned, and MJ on your high school trip, the three of you at high school graduation, you and MJ in your freshman dorm, college graduation, and most importantly the newest edition.
The polaroid Peter took of you just a few weeks ago.
Peter’s expression softened with a soft smile. Even though he had been practically erased from your life, he still managed to make his way back into your heart again.
He was growing extremely conflicted.
Many years ago, he promised you that he’d come back and remind you of your relationship with him. When that fell through because of Aunt May’s death, he promised to leave you alone because he couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason he lost another person he held so close to his heart.
But then when Spider-Man swooped in to save you, things changed.
He told himself that he needed to look after you even closer. So, he started following you. Just to class to make sure you got there safely. Then it was to work. Then it was to hangout with friends. Then it was practically every time you left the house.
On one particular day, you were rushing for an internship interview. You tried to get some coffee, but it was taking forever. When you finally got it, you rushed out, walking as fast as you could.
That’s when Peter accidentally ended up in your way, bumping into you, spilling the drink all over your clothes.
He expected you to be angry, but you weren’t.
He recognized the look in your eyes.
You clearly thought he was attractive and that small gleam in your eyes boosted his ego.
He couldn’t restrain himself from staying uninvolved in your life anymore. Not when you flashed him a crooked smile. Not when you asked for his name. And definitely not when you told him he was lucky he was cute.
Naturally, you both exchanged numbers. The poor boy was apologizing profusely and somehow you still managed to be on time and land the internship.
Thank goodness your coat wasn’t soaked.
And thank goodness after Peter turned the corner, Spider-Man showed up and swung you to your interview.
Now, after having been seeing you for a few months, he didn’t know what to do. You were clearly falling back in love with him, and he was just falling even deeper to the point that it felt like drowning.
He didn’t know if he should tell you, or just act like none of it ever happened.
When would even be the right time to tell you? How would he tell you when he was supposed to years ago?
He didn’t want to ruin what you two were already building again.
Peter turned around and saw the stuffed animals you had scattered on your bed. Even in your early twenties, you couldn’t seem to get rid of them.
He smiled to himself and walked over, grabbing the one of your favorite animal he had given you back in high school. He wondered now if it had any sort of meaning to you because it definitely did years ago.
Suddenly, Peter was pulled from his thoughts when the bathroom door creaked open.
He jumped, eyes wide like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
You walked out of the bathroom, eyes glancing up at him in horror, until you realized it was only him.
“Peter?” you asked, caught off guard, completely unaware that he would be attending your house warming party.
Peter nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to intrude or anything, sorry,” he apologized.
You gave him a warm smile as you walked over to him, eyeing the flowers. “It’s no big deal,” you reassured him, catching his gaze. “Nice flowers.”
Peter shifted awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. They’re for you, actually,” he said, holding them out to you.
Your face flushed a shade of pink as you took them. “Thank you,” you said softly. “They’re beautiful.”
Peter smiled, eyeing you up and down briefly, which didn’t go unnoticed by you.
You looked gorgeous.
“You look really pretty,” he complimented you nervously, his own cheeks burning pink.
You tried to conceal your smile, but failed miserably. “Thank you. You clean up quite nicely, Parker.”
It was suddenly quiet between the two of you, the only sound being the music infiltrating your room.
Peter wondered if he should make a move, or better yet, maybe now he should tell you about the spell.
Wait, no! Now would be a terrible time!
Maybe he could make plans with you for another date and tell you then, or he could-
“I see you found my stuffed animals,” you said, trying to break the tension.
Peter snapped out of his thoughts and glanced down at the stuffed animal that he was still holding. “Oh, yeah, it’s cute,” he laughed to himself. “Where’d you get this one?” he asked, praying that a part of you would remember.
You scratched the back of your neck with your brows pressed together. “I don’t know, actually…” you trailed off, your mind filling with an intense fog. “It’s really weird,” you laughed awkwardly. “Sometimes I try to remember certain things and it’s like someone jumbled up my brain and I just can’t. My mom says it’s because of my phone, but I don’t know.”
Peter snorted at your last sentence, but then his heart started to ache because now due to him, you felt like you were losing your mind.
“Dude, there are so many people in our apartment right now,” a voice spoke, growing louder as it got closer and closer until the person speaking was in your room.
Ned halted at the center of your room, glancing between you and Peter. Then his eyes landed on the flowers and his lips parted, brows raising. “Oh my gosh, is this coffee guy?!”
You didn’t even get to respond because he turned on his heel and rushed out, yelling for MJ. “MJ! Coffee guy is here!”
You sighed and dropped your head into the palm of your hand.
Peter smirked at your embarrassment.
A few seconds later, MJ and Ned came rushing in, shocked expressions on their faces.
“Coffee guy?” MJ asked, staring at Peter.
“It’s actually Peter,” he corrected with a laugh.
“So coffee guy,” she said, turning to you.
You nodded. “Coffee guy.”
Ned walked up to Peter and stuck his hand out. “Well, nice to meet you coffee guy, aka Pater, I’m Ned and that’s our friend MJ.”
MJ saluted Peter as Ned shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you guys,” Peter said, as if he hadn’t known who they were. “She talks a lot about you,” he said, motioning to you.
“Good,” MJ said. “Because she won’t stop talking about you.”
Your face went hot. “MJ-”
“Yeah, it’s really bad,” Ned added. “It’s always ‘coffee guy this’ and ‘coffee guy that’,” he said, mocking you.
“With how often you claim I talk about him, you’d think you would know that his name is Peter by now and not coffee guy,” you said.
“I honestly stopped listening a long time ago,” MJ teased, making your lips part in shock.
“Okay fine, I’ll just never speak again.”
“We all know that’s not true,” MJ said.
Ned chuckled. “We all know you can’t stop talking about Peter even if your life depended on it.” You shifted awkwardly, avoiding Peter’s cocky gaze that was glued to you. Ned waved at Peter. “Well, it was nice meeting you coffee guy, I gotta check in on the party.”
Peter waved at Ned and MJ walked over to you. “Want me to put your flowers in a vase?” she offered.
You nodded and thanked her, handing them off. She waved at Peter as she walked backwards. “Nice meeting you coffee guy- or, what was it? Peter? Peter! Yeah.”
Both of your friends left, and Ned had the courtesy of closing the door, only after flashing Peter a wink.
You let out an embarrassed sigh, to which Peter took advantage of.
“So,” he said, drawing out the word. “You talk a lot about me?” he asked, taking slow, deliberate, steps towards you.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “No. That’s why they only know you as coffee guy.”
Peter hummed with an amused smirk on his face. His hands carefully made their way to your hips, which made your heart flutter. “Is that why you’re so nervous?”
You laughed awkwardly, arms snaking around his neck. “I’m not nervous.”
Peter glanced down at your lips, then back up at your eyes and you thought you’d pass out right there. His amplified senses were going haywire and he could feel how fast your heart was racing in anticipation. “No?”
“No.”
“Then why’s your heart beating so fast?”
You rolled your eyes. “Wanna stop talking and just kiss me already?”
Peter’s smile grew. “If you insist.”
Peter tilted his head slightly, dipping his head to kiss you.
His lips met yours in a soft kiss, almost to test the waters.
You sighed against his lips, kissing him back immediately. You thought you’d have to spend some time learning how he made out, but your lips moved together in perfect harmony, as if it was second nature to do so.
As if you had done it before.
Peter felt like his skin was on fire because for years, he dreamed about that moment.
The moment he’d finally get back with you. The moment he could kiss you again. The moment he could love you again.
“Okay, I- Oh, my God!”
You and Peter pulled apart, faces flushed, lips wet, and now at least six feet away from one another.
“MJ!” you yelled at her.
In one hand she was holding the vase of flowers, the other was covering her eyes.
“I didn’t see anything! I swear!” Her arm shot out, sticking the vase towards you. “Sorry! Here!”
You snatched the vase and put it on your desk and MJ used her other hand to cover her eyes some more.
“Sorry!” she apologized again. “I totally just cock blocked you!”
“What?!” you exclaimed. “Don’t say that!”
“It’s true!” she replied, already walking backwards to get out. “Remember to be safe! And update me tonight!”
“MJ!”
“I lied, I’m totally into your stories,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to be an aunt anytime soon so-”
“Get out!”
MJ flashed you a thumbs up before scrambling out and slamming the door shut.
You groaned and turned to Peter. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Peter was smiling like an idiot completely amused by the entire interaction. “We could go back to my place,” he suggested with a shrug.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
The night streets of New York were cool as you and Peter made your way to his apartment. When you left your own place, MJ apologized again and Ned simply winked at Peter once again.
You were never going to hear the end of it when you came back home…
But none of that mattered once you got to his apartment building.
As soon as the doors shut in the elevator, his hands were on you again and his lips followed.
You laughed against his lips as he pulled you in close, the intoxicating scent of his cologne clouding your senses.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened onto his floor. You almost tripped as he walked you backwards, lips never leaving your own.
Your arms wrapped around his for support as he led you down the empty hallway.
Normally, you would’ve been paranoid about someone walking out and seeing you two down one another’s throats, but you didn’t care.
Not when he was kissing you like a man starved for none other than your taste.
You both made it to his door, mouths still connected like your lives depended on it. Your back gently brushed against the door as his free hand unlocked the door with such ease.
As soon as it was unlocked, he pushed you inside, making you stagger back, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. He kicked the door shut behind him, hands finding your hips and moving your body, your back slamming against the door as a gasp escaped you.
Peter pulled away and buried his nose into your neck, kissing you just as passionately in the spot he knew drove you crazy.
“Peter,” you breathed out, your hand raking through his hair and pulling on it gently.
He groaned against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he said softly.
Your brows pressed together slightly, not knowing exactly why he’d miss you when he just saw you a couple of days ago.
You didn’t have much time to dwell on the matter because he nipped your skin, a soft moan escaping you.
Peter picked you up with such insane ease as if you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around him.
His lips found yours again and he walked you over to his bed, laying you down gently and climbing on top of you, one hand holding his weight up beside your head and the other grabbing your phone that slipped out of your pocket onto the sheets. He set your phone down on the nightstand beside an empty cup of coffee, lips never leaving yours, and moved his hand to cup your face.
You hummed against him, only spurring him on even more.
One of your hands found their way to the hem of his shirt. Your fingers snaked their way up, trailing along the prominent outline of his abs. He sighed in content, melting in your touch.
Peter shifted his weight and you moaned into his mouth feeling him against you.
Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
Peter wasn’t sure what it was, maybe it was the way your tongue entered his mouth, maybe it was the way you kept pulling his hair, maybe it was the way your nails started to dig into his back. Whatever it was, something snapped inside of him.
A wave of immense guilt washed over him.
The kiss grew sloppy, less needy on his side and replaced by regret.
The moment of his lips slowed, he took his hand away from your skin, and now you felt completely empty.
You whined, kissing him deeper, arching your back. “Peter, please.”
His senses were going crazy again, feeling just how much you wanted him and he wanted nothing more but to give it to you.
However, his heart suddenly sank.
What the hell was he doing?
How could he bring you back to his place and make out with you without having told you the truth?
He felt so incredibly guilty. His chest tightened as he pulled away, nerves coursing through his veins.
“I- I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly, climbing off of you.
You immediately sat up, a pit forming in your stomach. “Did I do something?” you asked, already panicking.
“No,” Peter reassured you as soon as the words left your lips. “I just-” he said, cutting himself off, scrambling to get off of the bed, almost tripping over his feet. “Sorry, just- just give me a sec. I’m sorry, one second, okay?”
Peter rushed off into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and leaving you on his bed extremely confused and feeling sick to your stomach.
You kicked your legs off of the bed, sitting on the edge and biting your lower lip. Your eyes darted around the room as your mind started to worry, convincing yourself that you had just ruined everything.
Everything from that night replayed in your mind and you tried to figure out where your actions could’ve made everything go wrong.
You sighed and reached for your phone on the nightstand, accidentally knocking the empty coffee cup onto the ground. It landed with a soft thud and a piece of folded paper fell out.
“Oops,” you mumbled to yourself, sitting on the edge of the bed and picking up the cup and paper.
You went to put the paper back into the cup when something caught your eye.
Your own name.
Your brows furrowed as you unfolded it completely, seeing a letter directly addressed to you.
Scrappy writing in black pen filled the lined paper. It was handwritten from none other than Peter.
The further you read, the more tears began to fill your eyes to the point that you couldn’t even read it, your vision going completely blurry.
At first, you read the part where he admitted to being Spider-Man, and suddenly certain things started to click, like his strength, his seemingly sixth sense, and the way he’d disappear and the masked hero would show up.
But then he admitted to loving you, because at some point you had loved him too.
Not recently.
A long time ago.
He voiced all the things you experienced together. All your firsts and all your lasts. The lasts you didn’t know were the final ones.
Peter poured his heart out to you in nothing but writing. Writing on a crumbled, folded, sheet of lined paper cast away in a plastic, empty coffee cup.
The bathroom door creaked open and when Peter returned to the room that now carried such intensity, his heart sank.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed, the coffee cup on the floor, lid a few inches away from it, the letter in your hand, tears in your eyes.
Peter said your name softly, taking a step towards you.
You slowly lifted your gaze onto him. His heart shattered seeing the hurt in your glossy eyes.
“So, you just weren’t ever going to tell me?” you asked, voice just barely above a whisper.
Peter shifted, swallowing hard. “No, I…” his voice trailed off, nothing else coming out.
You rose to your feet, holding up the letter and walking up to Peter. “My whole life, I’ve felt like my mind was a mess, like something was missing, and it was you,” you said.
Peter’s expression softened, thinking you were about to say something along the lines of how you loved him.
But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
You shook your head, grip tightening around the paper. “You were the reason nothing ever made sense and then you don’t even tell me,” you said, hurt and anger in your tone. “You just find me again years later and drag me back to your apartment.”
“It’s not like that,” Peter said almost immediately, hating that your words were insinuating that he was using you, because that wasn’t the case. He loved you and he’d never do anything to hurt you.
Unless of course it was shielding the truth from you because he thought it would protect you.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” you asked. “Because I think I deserved to know the truth,” you said, voice breaking with every word.
Peter’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
You scoffed, nodding your head. “You don’t know.”
Peter’s bottom lip twitched as he blinked by his tears. “I was going to tell you, that’s why I wrote the note, but…I don’t know. After I lost Aunt May because of that mask, I thought you’d be better off without me in your life. I thought everyone would be so that’s why I never told anyone else either. But then a few months ago when you were in the line of fire of Scorpion and I saw you again, I realized that I didn’t want to live the rest of my life without you in it. I couldn’t live my life without you in it.”
Your expression softened, heart aching. You were angry that he kept something like that from you, because had he told you all those years ago, maybe things would be different today. But your chest tightened at the thought of him being completely alone because of his fear of losing anyone else. “Just because you wear the mask doesn’t mean you have to be alone,” you said quietly.
Peter swallowed, looking down. He didn’t want to be alone, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be without you. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”
“It’s okay,” you said softly. “But…Peter.”
Peter glanced up at you, worry creeping up on his skin at what you’d say next. “Yeah?”
You handed him the letter, his fingers grazing yours as he took it. “All this stuff that you’re saying in here, about what we were…” you trailed off. “The spell worked. I don’t have those memories anymore.”
Peter stiffened, jaw tightening, the paper crumpling in his hands.
“I…” you began, trying to find the right words. “You’ve been in love with someone for years, someone who just now started falling for you. I don’t-” you cut yourself off, adjusting your tone to something softer to cushion the inevitable harshness of your words. “I don’t love you. I barely know you, Peter.”
Peter’s heart shattered, the paper tightly clenched in his hand.
You took a step closer to him, closing the space between you two. You cupped his face and he shut his eyes, a quiet sob escaping him as tears fell down his face.
All he ever wanted was you and now you were telling him that you didn’t love him.
It was like a knife to the chest.
You wiped away his tears with your thumbs. “Please don’t cry,” you said, voice cracking.
Your heart ached watching the boy you used to love unconditionally. You just now started to know him, just now started falling for him.
You didn’t love him.
You were interested in him, liked his smile, his curls, the sweetness of everything he did.
You didn’t love him.
It was hard to love someone you had known and saw every so often for almost three months.
“Peter, look at me please,” you said.
He let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering open as he looked at you through his tears.
“I like you,” you admitted, hands still cupping his face. “I like you a lot and I’d love more than anything to create new memories with you. You’re the sweetest boy I’ve ever known and I’m willing to try to make this work if you are.”
The situation was nothing anyone could ever relate to and it was rather unfortunate.
It wasn’t ideal, but you wanted to try.
Peter nodded, hand holding onto one of yours that were cupping his face. “I’d like that,” he whispered.
You gave him a soft smile, pecking his lips, resting your forehead on his afterwards.
You wished you could know what you and Peter were like before the spell stripped you of your love for him. You could only imagine what it was like and just the thought of it made you sick, because you wanted to know.
You wanted the memories back.
You wanted to love him again.
“I bet we were fun,” you said.
“Like, you wouldn’t believe it.”
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
And so, Peter spent the rest of the night, telling you stories all about you and him.
His window was cracked open, the cool breeze hitting your exposed skin.
You were lying on your stomach in his bed as he sat beside you, leaning against the headboard with his legs crossed.
Your shirt was lifted slightly, exposing the small of your back. Peter’s gentle fingers grazed against your skin, filling it with goosebumps.
“And then after that, we got ice cream,” he said, mid story. “You had this weird funfetti flavor with a bunch of rainbow sprinkles,” he laughed to himself.
“Rainbow sprinkles?” you asked, not believing him.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “But then you dropped it and that was the last five bucks you spent and I had also spent the last of my money so you shared with me.”
You hummed. “And then what?”
“I swung you to my place and when we got into my room, you screamed because Mr. Stark was sitting on my bed.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Yup. He was making fun of me for weeks for ‘sneaking some girl around’,” he said, smiling at the memory. “It was terrible. “And then when he found out we weren’t dating yet he was giving me all kinds of advice and kept trying to set us up.”
You giggled. “Must’ve worked, huh?”
“Yeah. Imagine my shock when we were coming come from school and the goddamn clouds spelled out your name, followed by, ‘will you be my girlfriend?’”
Your jaw dropped. “No freaking way! What?!”
“Yes,” Peter laughed. “I was so embarrassed, but you liked it and kissed me on the busiest street ever. Everyone was watching and the whole school wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks.”
You laughed again. “Okay, well, please don’t do that this time, that’s incredibly corny.”
“For us now, yeah, it’s extremely corny,” Peter agreed. “But your little high school freshman self liked it.”
You rolled your eyes, a small smile on your lips. It slowly fell away a few seconds later because you realized he was telling you things you had no memory of.
You had no idea what he was talking about.
You weren’t reminiscing with your boyfriend on your relationship.
He was reminding you of a love you’d never remember.
Peter glanced down at you. “What’s wrong?”
You pulled your lips into a tight line, trying to avoid his gaze. “Just kinda wish I would remember all this stuff you’re talking about.”
Peter’s lips tugged downward. “Yeah, me too…”
It was quiet for a long beat, the buzz of the city filling your ears as you zoned out.
“Maybe one day they’ll come back,” Peter said optimistically. “But for now, let’s make new ones, yeah?”
You smiled, looking up at him. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
“And…” he trailed off, leaning down and brushing his nose against yours. “Let me make you fall in love with me again,” he murmured.
You smirked, titling your head slightly. “I’d like that."
Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
People complaining about Peters tech being too high tech in brand new day like the movie aint set in 2028 in a world that had a man in a flying metal suit in 2008, artificial intelligence in 2015, and drones that could create life like illusions in 2024 that stuff is probably low quality tech in their world, not to mention Peter's a genius who was literally introduced as a dumpster diver in his first appearance
Synopsis: You see Peter for the first time in years and suddenly find it hard to be around him due to all his new improvements
Masterlist
After erasing the same spot on your paper for the fifth time, the paper finally tore. You ripped the page out of the notebook and crumpled it up in frustration. To your luck, Happy walked into the lab just as you threw it, nailing him right on the forehead.
“Oh. Throwing things before 11 am, are we?” He laughed as he rubbed the spot your paper ball hit.
“Sorry.” You grimaced. “I’ll pick it up. And then burn it. And then run into oncoming traffic.”
“Tough day in the lab?”
“Tough week.” You sighed and shut your notebook. “I’m about to throw this whole notebook in the fireplace.”
“Before you do that, I wanted you to say hello to our guest for the week.” Happy said and pointed his thumb at the hallway to signal that he had someone out there waiting.
“Sorry, Happy. I don’t know if I’m in a stable enough mood to be nice to strangers right now.” You told him, but he was already opening the lab door to let someone in.
“He’s not a stranger. He’s an old friend of your dad’s. Don’t you know Peter?” Happy asked as a guy your age walked into the lab. Time slowed down and you could have sworn a gust of air hit you, causing you to stumble back a little. “Bliss” by Mariah Carey started to play in your head as the most beautiful stranger made eye contact with you. He was in an Empire State University t-shirt that fit him just tad too tightly, but only because he was so defined. Curly brown hair that was just the right amount of overgrown spilled into his eyes, which he shook out of the way. He gave you a smile that felt like you just quite possibly started the second immaculate conception in your uterus.
“Did you hear me?” Happy asked, making you realize you’d been standing there in silence as you gawked at the boy.
“Sorry, I have my headphones in.” You lied once you composed yourself enough to speak.
“No you do-.” Happy began to point out.
“Sorry, was did you say your name was?” You quickly cut Happy off so he didn’t expose your lie.
“Peter. We met a couple years ago before the uh, airport battle royale, if you will.” He told you, and even his voice was attractive. You stared at his face for a moment but struggled to place him. You remembered your dad introducing you to some of his new recruits, but you knew you would’ve remembered if you met this man before.
“I was the sticky one in the red suit.” Peter followed up, hoping it would jog your memory.
That’s when it clicked for you. The picture frame on your dad’s desk, untouched in the years since his passing. There was a boy in the picture making bunny ears behind your dad’s head, the same boy in red and blue pajamas you showed your dad videos of all those years ago. That nerdy kid from the videos had somehow turned into the captivating man in front of you in the years since your last seen him.
“Wait, you’re Peter? Peter Parker?” You asked, failing to hide your disbelief. Peter let out a shy laugh and nodded his head.
“That’s me. Sorry, you probably didn’t recognize me. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. Not since the um, well, it’s just been a long time.”
“Clearly.” You blurted, the quickly followed it up with, “I mean, what’s, uh, what’s new?”
“Not much. I’m in college, but I won’t bore you out the details. It’s really good to see you.” He said as he started to come closer to you.
“It is really good to see you too.” You replied, finally sounding normal just as he enveloped you in a hug. You stiffened in surprise before hugging him back. The scent of his cologne wafted off his skin and if he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you might’ve collapsed on the floor.
“Sorry. I just don’t see many familiar faces lately.” Peter said sheepishly once he pulled away. From how tightly he hugged you, you could tell he really needed it. You had no idea what had happened to him since the last time you saw him, but the sadness in his eyes now told you it wasn’t good.
“It’s okay.” You assured him as you held his gaze. To make matters worse, he had the softest brown eyes you’d even seen. Much to your dismay, you were officially enamored with this man.
“Peter is staying here for the week while he’s home from college.” Happy told you. “Would you mind showing him around? I put his room right across the hall from yours.”
“Of course you did.” You mumbled.
“I can wait outside if you’re still working.” Peter offered politely.
“It’s okay. I need to clear my head a little anyway.” You decided and shoved what you were working on away from you.
As you led Peter through the halls of Avengers Tower, you made absolutely no eye contact with him. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself any further, so you made no effort to make conversation.
“It really is good to see you. It’s been such a long time. So many things have changed.” Peter said to break the silence. You allowed yourself just one glance at him, and immediately caught sight of his enormous bicep. You quickly looked away and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Yes, they most certainly have.” You replied.
“What was that you were working on?” He asked you on the elevator ride to the main floor.
“Just some stupid blueprints that I can’t get to work.” You sighed. “I think just gonna scrap it.”
“What’s it for?”
“I’m trying to make a bracelet for kids that can scan food and detect allergens. It’ll buzz and turn red if they can’t eat the food. But I can’t get it to stop exploding. And I don’t think parents want their kids to explode. Or, maybe they do, and I have a genius invention on my hands.”
“That’s an incredible idea. I don’t think you should scrap it. One of them has to not explode, right?” He asked. His encouragement sounded sincere, making you even more in love with him. You decided to probe for reasons to not be attracted to him, since that would be the only way for you two to coexist while he stayed at the Tower. You brought the tour to the kitchen and showed him the inside.
“This is the kitchen. You probably won’t use it much.” You assumed. “I know most guys our age are all about protein maxxing and pre-workout inhaling.”
“Not me, actually. I love to cook. I make all my own meals. It feels better to eat it knowing I prepared it.” Peter told you, because of course he loved to cook.
“Is that so?” You asked with a dry mouth.
“Yeah! I could show you sometime, if you like. What do you like to eat?” He asked.
“Well, I think my favorite food is something my best friend’s mom used to make a lot when we were kids. They’re called tostones. She made them the perfect amount of salty and crispy.”
“Hm. I haven’t heard of that, but it sounds really good. Are you two still friends?” Peter wondered, making things ten times worse. Asking questions to get to know you was not helping you not fall for Peter.
“We are. It’s just harder to find time for a family dinner nowadays.”
“I bet. Happy told me how busy you are. From what he said, it sounds like you’re ready to take over Stark Industries any day now.”
“That’s the goal.” You admitted. “It certainly pays to be a Nepo baby in a field I actually really enjoy.”
“Hey, you may be Tony Stark’s daughter, but you’re inheriting the company because you earned it.” Peter said sincerely. “I’ve read about the stuff you’ve made. You’re brilliant.”
“Oh, thank you.” You smiled shyly at the compliment. “I remember that you are as well.”
“I wouldn’t say brilliant. I’m nowhere near your level. But I know what to do when I’m in there.” Peter shrugged modestly, highlighting his perfectly broad shoulders.
“I bet you do.” You whispered.
“What did you say?” He asked.
“I asked what you like to do?” You lied. “Physics? Engineering? Chemistry?”
“I love it all. But I think engineering. I made these, actually.” He said as he clinked his wrists together. Two black bands formed on each wrist and he held them out for you to see.
“What do they do?”
To answer your question, Peter shot a web at a flower pot across the room. He yanked it back, caught he effortlessly, and then handed you the flower. You felt your face warm up and accepted it with a soft smile.
“You created those yourself?” You asked him with amazement.
“Yeah. It took me forever to get the web formula right. And then when I did, I had to reconfigure the shooter a thousand times to get it to stop sticking to the inside when I tried to shoot them. But now they work well. See?” He shot another web, but you weren’t sure what he was aiming for this time. You were too fixated on watching his veins when he flexed his forearms.
“Oh, I see.” You said under your breath.
“What was that?”
“I said it’s this way to our rooms.” You quickly covered up and faked a smile. You showed Peter to his room and then got out of there was fast as you could. You leaned against your door after shutting it and stared up at the ceiling as you caught your breath.
Once you were composed, you slipped the Kimoyo beads off your wrist and used them to call Shuri. When she answered, she appeared as a holographic projection in your room. You caught up with your friend for a little bit, but when she asked why you called out of the blue, you had to confess.
“You know Spider-Man?” You asked her.
“The sticky one? Only a little bit.“
“Have you ever seen him without his mask?”
“I have. At your father’s funeral.” She responded. That answer brought you right back to that day at the cabin. You vaguely remembered seeing Peter that day, but the day was mostly a blur. It suddenly made sense why he didn’t specify the last time you saw each other. He didn’t want to bring back bad memories for you.
“Why do you ask?” Shuri asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.”
“No reason.” You lied. “I just had a quick question about him.”
“I don’t know him too well, so I might not know the answer. What were you wondering?”
“Oh, not much. Just when did he, you know…” You trailed off at the end and gestured with your hand for her to fill in the blank.
“I don’t know.” Shuri said with a laugh.
“You know. Was he always so…” You tried again and gave her a look.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Shuri told you.
“When did he get so fucking hot?” You blurted, followed by you looking at your door to make sure it was shut. Shuri bent over laughing as your entire face heated up.
“I don’t know.” She said when she stopped laughing. “He got bit by that spider.”
“How swol was the spider?” You asked out of the corner of your mouth.
“I think I was told it was radioactive. I don’t remember if I was told about its muscle composition.” She replied, making you roll your eyes.
“I don’t know what to do, princess.” You groaned. “He’s staying here for the week, but I can’t be around him. He’s too sexy. I just tried to show him around the kitchen, and all I could think of was riding on a horse with him and holding on to his gigantic shoulders for support. How am I supposed to stay across the hall from him?”
“If you’re that attracted to him, ask him out.” Shuri said simply.
“I can’t. I can tell that he’s a really nice guy. I don’t want him to think I’m shallow and just trying to hop on that because of his looks. He deserves better than that.”
“Are you trying to hop on that?” Shuri asked, gathering from context clues what you meant by that.
“Oh yeah. Ohhhhh yeah. All day.” You answered, making her laugh again.
“Maybe he’ll be flattered.” She shrugged.
“I don’t think he’s that kind of guy. Which makes it even worse. He’s a gentleman. God, I wish I was dead.” You whined and flopped on your bed.
“People have worse problems.” She reminded you.
“No, I don’t think they do. His eyes are so brown, princess. You have no idea. They’re like the Willy Wonka chocolate river. And I feel like that little fat fuck that got too greedy and fell in.”
“Do I know Willy Wonka?” Shuri asked. “Has he been to Wakanda?”
“Honestly, probably.” You replied. “But no, you don’t know him. Oh my God. What am I gonna do?”
“I think if you’re worried about him thinking you’re shallow, then get to know him first. Maybe you’ll discover you don’t actually like him.” Shuri suggested. You sat up on your elbows and stared at a picture of your dad on your dresser. It was time to come clean about the other reason that had been eating away at you.
“Him thinking I’m shallow isn’t my only reason.” You admitted. “My dad only knew about Peter because I showed him the videos of him. He believed in him because I believe in him. If I mess this up with Peter, it’s like I’m cutting on one of my last remaining ties with my dad.”
“Maybe the reason your dad liked him so much was because he reminded him of his daughter.” Shuri said softly. You thought about her words and as much as you wanted to believe her, you were scared.
“You’re very wise.” You said finally. “Someone should put you in charge of country or something.”
“They should.“ She played along. You moved on and talked about other things, but a corner of your mind stayed on Peter.
When you walked into the kitchen the following morning, Peter was already in there. You were about to turn around to leave when he called you over.
“Good morning. Look what I got at the bodega.” Peter said and held up a bunch of plantains.
“Good morning.” You said back. “What’s that for?”
“Well, I looked up tostones after you mentioned them yesterday, and they looked delicious. And since you haven’t had them in a while, I thought we could make it together.”
“You went out and got plantains because I mentioned that they were my favorite?” You asked slowly.
“Sorry, is that weird?” Peter frowned and put the bunch down.
“No, no, no!” You quickly assured him. “It’s not weird at all. I just wasn’t expecting you to do something so nice after how crappy my tour was yesterday.”
“It couldn’t have been that crappy if I found my way back to the kitchen today.” Peter pointed out.
“That’s true.” You smiled. “Let me see your recipe.”
You helped Peter make the tostones and decided your plan to avoid him would start tomorrow. When they were ready, you sat down together at the table to try them.
“Are they as good as your friend’s mom’s?” He asked you between bites.
“Not quite. But still very good. Thank you for doing this. I haven’t had them in so long.”
“You’re very welcome. I wanted you to have a taste of something familiar since you don’t get to see your friend as much.”
“That was very kind of you. I can’t wait to send her a picture of these.” You told him. “She’s gonna be so jealous.”
“Wait, we should invite her!” Peter realized. “I’d love to meet your friends.”
You froze when he said this, suddenly feeling the urge to run away. He had already gone out of his way to make your favorite food, and now he was saying he wanted to meet your friends. Things were getting too real and you needed to leave.
“Um, I’m so sorry.” You said as you stood up. “I just realized I forgot to do something. I have to go.”
You left the room without further explanation, leaving Peter alone and extremely confused.
The next day, you skillfully avoided Peter in the kitchen at breakfast, and again during lunch. It wasn’t until you walked by the gym that you were no longer able to avoid him. It was your fault really, since you did a double take when you saw him doing pull up’s on the chin-up bar. It became extra your fault when you stopped to watch him.
“Oh, he’s ripped as fuck? Amazing. Just what I wanted to find out.” You mumbled sarcastically to yourself.
You were only there for a few seconds before he made eye contact with you. It was too late to take off running, despite how much you wanted to do exactly that.
“Oh, hey!” Peter greeted. “Can you come in here for a second?”
You contemplated running once more, but knew it wasn’t an option. Instead, you walked into the gym, right up to the man you were trying to avoid. His tight black tank top put all his new improvements on display, and you were fighting for your life not to pay attention to that.
“Hello, Peter.” You said calmly.
“I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.” He said as he continued to move up and down on the bar.
“Talk to me? About what?” You asked and prayed for a bolt of lightening would strike that specific part of the Tower so that you would have an excuse to leave the conversation.
“Could you please wait a minute for me? I just have a few more reps.” He said, with manners he just had to have. You stared up at the ceiling to wait for him to be done.
“Take your time.” You squeaked out. He let go of the bat when he was finished and lifted up his shirt to wipe his face with it, giving you a full view of his torso.
“Fuck. My ovaries.” You whispered.
“Did you say something?” Peter asked as he continued to dry his face.
“I said there’s towels over here.” You covered up and grabbed a nearby towel. Without looking, you handed it to him and tried to compose yourself.
“Thanks.” He smiled at you, but you didn’t look at him.
“You wanted to talk to me?” You reminded him.
“Yeah. Are you busy tonight?” He asked you as he dried himself off with the towel.
“I might be.” You said as you forced yourself to keep eye contact and not look anywhere else.
“If you’re not, would you want to come with me to this party?” He asked. “I don’t really know the guy who’s hosting, but some of my friends from high school are going.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t know anyone.”
“It’s okay. You can stay with me. I won’t leave you to talk to strangers. I hate when people do that.” He told you, making you smile softly.
“Yeah, I hate that too.” You said. “I guess I could come to a party.”
You regretted it as soon as you said it. You were supposed to be avoiding him, but it just wasn’t in your willpower to turn down the cute boy inviting you to a party and offering to stay with you the whole night.
“Great.” Peter grinned. “I’ll come by your room around 7?“
“I’ll be there. In my room. Around 7.” You said and pointed finger guns at him, because why would you possibly be cool ever? You quickly put your hands down and hoped for that lightning strike again.
“Sounds good. I’m gonna do some push ups now. You’re welcome to stay and watch, but it’s not my best angle.” He joked, making you let out an audible gulp at the thought of him at that angle. You quickly cleared your throat to cover up the sound.
“Yeah, I definitely don’t want to watch you do push up’s. That would be crazy if I wanted to watch that.” You said through a forced laugh. Things quickly became awkward, and you decided you had to get out of there as soon as possible.
“So 7?” You said, and Peter nodded. You gave him a thumbs up and practically sprinted out of the room after that. You ran all the way to your room and slammed the door behind you.
Peter gave you another reason to fall for him when he showed up at your door 5 minutes early. Punctuality was rare among boys your age, but of course a quality that Peter possessed. If his workout attire hadn’t been bad enough, now he was in a button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You opened the door and let out a small sound that you hoped Peter didn’t catch.
“Hi. You look beautiful.” He complimented you, making you instinctively smile.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” You replied coyly. Peter smiled at you and offered his arm to walk you to the elevator. You thought he was going to press the button for the ground floor, but he went up to the roof instead.
“Where are we going?” You asked on the ride up.
“I was gonna swing us, if thats okay.” He said, making your heart pick up its pace.
“You want to swing me around the city in your big arms?” You asked before you could stop yourself.
“If that’s okay.” Peter repeated as he laughed.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s okay.” You told him and turned your face so that he couldn’t see you mouthing “Oh my God” to yourself.
When you got to the roof, Peter brought you to the edge.
“How does this work? Do I get on your back Bella and Edward style?” You asked him.
“Yes, actually.” He chuckled, taking you by surprise that he knew the reference. You shrugged and climbed on his back, getting enveloped in the scent of his cologne.
“Hold tight, Spider Monkey. And don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.” Peter said before shooting a web at a nearby building. Your dad was Iron Man, so heights did not scare you. What did scare you was getting attached to the feeling of holding Peter, which was admittedly a pretty great feeling. You let out a happy scream as he swung you from building to building. When you landed on the rooftop of where the party was, you fought the urge to hug him.
“Ready?” Peter asked you as he smoothed down his hair. You adjusted your outfit and nodded your head.
Once inside, Peter introduced you to his friends, Ned and MJ. You and MJ got to talking as Peter and Ned over some movie they had just seen. You liked watching Peter in this relaxed setting, but it wasn’t helping you to not fall for him. You stopped watching him and tuned back into your conversation with MJ.
You felt unexpectedly at ease with Peter’s friends. It didn’t feel like you’d just met that night and instead felt more like you’d grown up with them. They included you and got to know you, making you feel at home. Peter having a great groups of friends was yet another reason you were struggling not to fall for him.
“I’m really glad you said yes to tonight.” Peter told you once Ned and MJ walked off to refill their drinks.
“You are?” You asked him, feeling more comfortable around him now that you had some drinks in you.
“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to hang out with you, but I can never find you.”
“How strange.” You said through a fake laugh, because you 100% avoided him all day. Peter looked into your eyes for a moment with a shy smile on his face. You tried not to look back at first and looked all around the room, but your gaze eventually came back to him. You looked into his eyes and felt all your walls crumbling down.
“Can I say something and then we never talk about it?” Peter asked suddenly, making you freeze.
“Um, sure? You said nervously.
“I’m so sorry that I disappeared. After everything with your dad happened, I just couldn’t bear to come back to the Tower. But I should have.” Peter said with guilt in his voice. You were not expecting him to say this and blamed it on the alcohol.
“Peter, it’s fine.” You assured him. “You don’t have to apologize to me. You were his friend. We didn’t know each other.”
“I know. But I always felt guilty about not reaching out to see how you were. He loved you so much. And I loved him. I should have checked up on you. I should’ve gotten to know you.” Peter continued. You could see his eyes welling up with tears and didn’t know what to do. Without thinking it through, you put down your cup and pulled him into a tight hug. Peter immediately hugged you back and hurried his face in your neck.
“Now we’re the weirdos hugging in the middle of the party.” You said as you rubbed circle onto his back. He let out a laugh and hugged you tighter. He came up after another minute and rubbed his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I had to get that off my chest.” He said, looking shy now.
“It’s okay. And honestly, I should’ve reached out too. It was just all so crazy after he passed. But I saw the picture of the two of you on his desk all the time. I should’ve tracked you down. I should’ve gotten to know you.”
“At least we found each other now.” Peter said with a soft smile. You smiled back and nodded your head.
“At least we did.”
Ned came running back into the room you were in, interrupting your emotional moment. You were admittedly a little glad he did, because things were getting too real once again.
“Guys, they’re playing Spin the Bottle in the other room. In real life. Let’s go!” Ned said and pulled Peter’s arm.
“You coming?” Peter asked as he stumbled towards Ned.
“No thanks.” You shook your head. “I’m not really a kissing strangers type of gal. I just don’t think mono is for me.”
“Me neither.” Peter chuckled. “Maybe we can just watch and silently judge the players?”
You shrugged and followed him and his friends into the room. You didn’t really want to watch, but it would be a good preventative from another deep conversation with Peter. And so, you found a spot against a wall as others took their seats on the floor.
“What do you think about all this?” Peter leaned in close to you to ask. You gave him the side eye from how close he was and then looked away.
“I think someone of definately walking away from this with a cold sore.”
“Not that.” He laughed. “But I agree. I mean kissing for recreation.”
“Oh. I never thought about it like that. I guess I would say to each their own, but it’s not really my style.”
“Me either. I don’t want to kiss some stranger at a party with a bunch of people I kinda know watching. I think a kiss should mean something.” Peter said as he looked at you. You looked back for just a moment and then quickly looked away.
“So when you’re kissing for meaning, who is it with? Girls? Boys? A little bit of both?” You asked him. If he was gay, maybe it would help you get over your crush faster.
“Girls. Though, if you can believe it, I haven’t been too lucky in that department.” He said with a half hearted chuckle. You smiled in response but internally cursed that he wasn’t gay or a player.
“Well that’s probably because you’re hideous to look at.” You said bluntly, making Peter laugh. You cracked a smile but continued to avoid eye contact with him.
“Thank you. I was hoping you’d notice.”
“I’m teasing.” You assured him. “I was honestly stunned when you walked in the other day. I could not believe you were the same Peter my dad used to talk about.”
“Stunned?” He asked. “Why?”
“Because I would’ve remembered if you had that face.”
You folded your lips in after you said it, knowing you had said too much. You hoped he wouldn’t catch it and move on, but to no avail. Peter was leaning in closer to you with a big smile on his face.
“What about my face?” He asked with an amused look. You opened your mouth to respond, but were interrupted by everyone’s eyes turning to you. You looked down at the bottle on the floor and saw it was pointed in the gap between two players and set directly at you.
“It landed on you, miss Stark. Guess we have to kiss.” A guy you’d never met before said as he stood up.
“Oh, I’m not playing.” You smiled politely and turned back to Peter.
“You’re in the room. Rules are rules.” The guy continued as he walked towards you, making you and Peter slowly turn to look at him. You exchanged a look with each other before looking back at the guy.
“Well, the rules don’t apply to people who aren’t playing, so.” You said with zero politeness this time.
“Hey, if you have an issue, take it up with the bottle. Just give me a quick one. I’ll be gentle.” The guy chuckled and stood in front of you. Peter stepped in between you suddenly and pushed the guy back.
“She said she wasn’t playing.” Peter said sternly. The corners of your mouth tugged into a smile after seeing the fire in Peter’s eyes.
“Woah. Sorry, dude. I didn’t realize you were her boyfriend.” The guy said in a different tone than the one he used with you. You rolled your eyes at the guys sudden ability to be respectful.
“Don’t say sorry to me. Say it to her.” Peter demanded. “She should not have had to say no more than once before you got it through your thick skull.”
“I’m sorry.” The guy begrudgingly said to you. You didn’t say anything in response.
“Go on. Fuck off.” Peter ordered, and the guy walked away. Everyone was staring at you at this point and a few had their phones out to film, one of the perks of being the child of a micro-celebrity. You looked around the room and felt your face getting warmer by the second.
“I think I’m gonna go.” You whispered to Peter. You swiftly left the room and Peter followed after you.
“Are you okay?” He asked once you were alone in the next room.
“Yeah, it’s just not really my scene. Thank you for inviting me though.” You said sincerely and started walking to the door again.
“I can walk you home.” He offered.
“Don’t worry about it. Stay with your friends. I don’t want you to miss the party.” You assured him, mostly wanting to be alone after that last encounter.
“I don’t care about the party if you’re not there. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I don’t want you walking alone.” Peter said as he gently caught your arm. You looked at where his hand was holding you and sucked in a little breath. Being protective of you was making it hard not to fall for him right then and there.
“Okay.” You decided. “We can walk together.“
And so you did. You walked side by side in silence all the way home. Peter had a no swinging and drinking rule, and you were both a little tipsy. But the cold New York air was helping you come back to your normal state of mind. The silence between you as you walked was comfortable, and you were grateful for that. You liked that he was someone you could be comfortable around without having to exchange any words.
“Brought her back safe, Parker?” Happy asked when the two of you entered the Tower.
“Yes, sir.” Peter said with genuine manners.
“Knew you would, kid. So, was this a date, or can I sleep peacefully tonight knowing you two are across the hall from each other? Because I’m not ready to be a grandfather.” Happy asked, making you start to choke on air. Peter clapped your back to help you out and you finally composed yourself.
“It wasn’t a date.” You finally croaked out. You looked over at Peter, was who surprisingly bright red.
“Not a date.” Peter agreed. “I just took her to meet my friends.”
“Good answer.“ Happy nodded. “Because your dad always told me any boyfriend of yours would have to go through Navy Seal level training before he was allowed to spend the night.”
“Again, not my boyfriend.” You stated as you glared at Happy for embarrassing you. Peter was smiling shyly and scratching the back of his head.
“Well if anything changes in the next 48 hours, let me know. I can have Peter sent off to bootcamp by the weekend. Night, you two.” Happy said before walking away. You and Peter stood there in silence for a minute, this time, a very uncomfortable silence.
“I’m gonna…” Peter finally broke the tension and pointed in the direction of your rooms.
“Right. Me too. Goodnight, Peter.” You said and forced a smile. Peter caught your eye and looked at you for just long enough to make your knees wobbly.
“Goodnight.” He said with a soft smile. You gulped and waited where you were until he was gone. When the coast was clear, you let out a loud sigh and rubbed your face. The week wasn’t up yet and you were losing the battle against falling for him more and more every day.
You eventually retreated back to your room, but you couldn’t settle down. Tonight felt very different between you and Peter, and you didn’t like how things ended after the connection you shared. After pacing your room for a full half hour, you decided to go knock on his door.
Peter just had to open his door with nothing on but a towel around his hips. You had caught Peter just coming out do the shower, and for some reason, he decided to open the door before getting dressed. He had another towel in his hand that he was rubbing back and forth on his damp curls.
“Fuck.” You practically shouted in his face. You instantly clamped your mouth shut and felt your eyes go wide.
“Um, what?” Peter laughed in confusion. You had to think quickly and your eyes landed on his phone cable on his night stand.
“Fuck…my phone charger. It’s broken.” You said weakly. “I guess. Can I borrow one?”
“Oh, sure. Come in.” Peter said and went back into his room.
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll wait here.” You said and kept your eyes glued to ceiling to stop probing him with them. His back was to you now, which was not helping anything. Even his back was hot.
“You can come in. I want to show you something.” He said as he turned back to face you. Your eyes instinctively dropped to his waistband before going back up to his eyes.
“Show me something?” You asked in a low voice.
“One second.” He said and went into his connected bathroom. You blew out a breath once he was gone and fanned yourself. After emotionally connecting with him at the party, he just had to remind you why he caught your eye in the first place.
Peter came back after a minute in his pajamas, thankfully. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his desk drawer and handed it to you.
“What’s this?” You asked as you took it.
“Your scrapped design for the allergy bracelet. I hope it’s okay that I took it out of the trash. I thought it was too creative to throw out. But it was super crumpled, so I rewrote it as best as I could.”
“You saved my design?”
“Yeah. I think if we look at it together, we can figure out what’s missing. Maybe we can get it to stop exploding?” He asked hopefully. Thus, reminding you of the other reason you liked Peter. He was incredibly thoughtful.
“Thanks, Peter. That was really nice of you.” You smile softly as you looked up at him.
“It’s no problem. I had to save it. You’re an amazing inventor. You are totally going to run the world one day.” He said with a shy smile on his lips.
“If I don’t blow it up first.” You replied. It suddenly dawned on you how close you and Peter were. He was just inches away, close enough for you to smell the body wash he just used. You gulped a little and hoped it wasn’t as audible to him as it sounded to you.
“I don’t think you will.” He said softly. “And even if you did, you’d probably do it in a really cool way.”
He was so close now that a droplet from his hair landed on your shirt. You could see every freckle on his nose. He has creases by his eyes, something you somehow hadn’t noticed before despite all your staring at him. Peter seemed to be getting closer by the second, and you suddenly remembered you were not supposed to be falling for him. You pulled away and cleared your throat, leading him to do the same. He turned his face so you wouldn’t see his disappointment and grabbed a phone charger off his desk.
“Uh, here.” He said quietly and handed it to you.
“What’s this for?” You frowned.
“You said yours was broken.” He reminded you.
“Oh.” You laughed in embarrassment. “Right. I did say that.”
You and Peter stood in uncomfortable silence once again. You had come over to smooth things out, but somehow managed to make things feel worse.
“I should probably go.” You said, not bothering to hide how defeated you felt.
“Oh, yeah. I should probably get some sleep.” Peter said without looking at you. The vibe in the room had become palpably bad, but you didn’t full understand why.
“Goodnight, Peter.” You said for the second time that night.
“Goodnight.” He answered with a smile you knew was fake. You saw yourself out and shut your bedroom door behind you before dramatically throwing yourself on your bed.
For the next two days, you got serious about avoiding Peter. You made FRIDAY scan rooms for him before you left your own so that you wouldn’t run into him. If he did come into a room you were in, you made up a quick excuse to leave. You had nearly 48 hours of success avoidance of Peter until he found you on a late night trip to the kitchen to get string cheese.
“Can we talk?” Peter asked, making you jump in surprise. He had concealed himself behind the open refrigerator door so you didn’t know he had entered the kitchen.
“I can’t. I am extremely busy.” You lied as one of your cheese sticks fell on the floor. Peter bent down and picked it up for you.
“I feel like you’re avoiding me.” He said as he handed it back.
“What?” You forced a laugh. “What would make you think that?”
“Because ever since the night of the party, I haven’t seen you. You find an excuse to leave the room as soon as I walk in. You’re always running off if I try to talk to you. You don’t even look at me anymore.”
“Peter, I’m not avoiding you. I just have to leave the room a lot.” You lied, already feeling guilty for what you’d been doing. He sounded so upset and it was killing you.
“Did I do something to offend you? Because if I did, I am so sorry. Please tell me so I can make it right.” He pleaded. You felt a pit form in your stomach knowing you had caused him to feel punished for something he did not do. And yet, you did not have it in you to come clean.
“Yeah, actually.” You lied. “You did.”
“What was it?” Peter asked desperately. “Something I said?”
“Uh huh.” You weakly went along with whatever he said.
“Can you tell me what it was?” He begged.
“Wow.” You blew out a breath. “You really don’t remember?”
“No, I’m sorry. What was it?”
“I can’t believe this. How can you say the very offensive thing you said and not remember?” You asked him. You had dug yourself so deep now that there was no turning back.
“I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.“
“Wow, y’all, wow.” You shook your head. “You’ve changed, Peter.”
You walked away from him after that, feeling yourself well up with tears once he couldn’t see you. You hated yourself for letting things get to this point. You wished you hadn’t avoided him and just spoken to him, or at least not convinced him he did something to hurt your feelings. You went to your room and wiped your face clean of your tears. The blueprint Peter had rewritten for you that was sitting on your desk caught your eye. You picked it up and looked at it again, admitting the swoops and slopes of his handwriting. That’s when you noticed something at the bottom.
“Genius girl, don’t give up. The world needs you to keep going.” He had written to you.
“Ohh, so I’m a massive bitch.” You said decidedly to yourself. You put the blueprints back down and went straight to Peter’s room to set things right. He opened the door after the second knock, looking that he too had shed a few tears.
“Can I come in?” You asked him. He didn’t say anything, but nodded his head as he stepped to the side. You sat down on his bed and he sat beside you.
“Peter, I’m so sorry.” You began. “I’ve been such a jerk to you.”
“What’s going on?” He asked in a quiet voice. “What did I do to offend you?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You assured him. “You have been completely perfect since the moment you got here.”
“Then why have you been avoiding me?” He wondered. You looked into his eyes and let out a sigh. It was now or never to make things right.
“I just don’t know how to talk to you.” You admitted to him.
“Oh. I mean, I can kinda understand that. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.”
“A really long time. And I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” You trailed off and felt your face warm up.
“So what? Annoying?”
“What? No.” You quickly assured him and shook your head.
“So weird? So rude?” He kept asking.
“Nope. Not those either. So, ummm….whats the word I’m looking for?” You asked and clicked your tongue.
“So what? What is it?” Peter put his hand on you shoulder and leaned it to ask you. You stared at him like a deer in the handsome headlights and blinked.
“Hot.” You said in the smallest voice you could muster.
“What was that?” Peter asked and leaned in closer to hear you better.
“So hot.” You said louder and flung your hands in frustration, making Peter jump back at the sudden loud noise.
“I heard you the first time, I just didn’t believe it.” Peter admitted out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re telling me you haven’t talked to me the last few days because you think I’m hot?”
“That’s what it was at first.” You confessed. “But it’s changed now.”
“I’m not following.” Peter told you, making you sigh.
“Look, Peter. When you first walked in, I was stunned, like I told you at the party. Because the last time I saw you, you were this excitable 14 year old kid who was filming himself doing parkour on top of buildings. And now…” You trailed off again and gestured to all of him.
“Now?” He asked, looking down at outfit as if you were referring to his clothes. You let out a groan and rubbed your face with your hands.
“Are you really gonna make me say it?” You whined.
“Yes, actually.” He said firmly, making you groan again. You gave him one last look before letting all your bottled up feeling out.
“Now, you look like Zeus, and I’m sure you have the lightening rod to match. I literally cannot look at you without getting bricked up. When you opened the door the other night in just your towel, I was like oh okay, I’m 21 weeks along, and it might be twins. When you were doing pull up’s in front of me, I had to clench my legs together to not flood the whole Tower and the surrounding neighborhoods. Probably New Jersey too, if we’re being honest. And if that’s not bad enough, you cook my favorite foods and ask to meet my friends. You stand up for me and make douche bags apologize for making me incompatible. You save my freaking scrapped designs and compliment my mind. You’re too perfect! So no, I can’t talk to you!” You finally said, shouting by the end of it.
Peter leaned back and stared at you with a stunned expression for a long time. You stared back with your lips folded in, not moving a muscle. This staring contest went on for quite some time since there was really no appropriate response to what you had said. You may have gone for overkill, but you figured he deserved to know the truth after avoiding him for two days.
“Lighting rod?” He said finally, making you bury your face in your hands.
“Is that really all you heard?” You asked through your hands.
“I don’t really know what I just heard.” Peter admitted. “So you won’t talk to me because you think I’m too perfect?”
“I can’t talk to you because I didn’t want you to think I was throwing myself at you just because you got hot.” You explained. “But then, I started finding out you’re this too good to be true stand up guy who is also hot. So now I hate you and I can’t be around you.”
“If you feel that way about me, why didn’t you just tell me? I wouldn’t have exactly been mad if you threw yourself at me.” Peter told you, making you smile a little. He gave you a look and you were suddenly feeling a little silly for ever coming up with your plan not to fall for him before finding out how he felt about you.
“Because. You were friends with my dad. And I didn’t want to mess that up. And I’m really busy in the lab. And we barely know each other. And…” You trailed off as Peter leaned in closer to you.
“And?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. Your faces were just inches apart now and your eyes were locked on his lips.
“And I can’t take it anymore.” You decided before climbing into his lap to pull him into a kiss.
SUMMARY - your neighbour peter parker has a knack for stumbling in past midnight with bruises, offering lame excuses. you only meant to lend a hand, but one thing leads to another and you discover something shocking
CONTAINS - fluff, mild to severe injuries (peter), spoiler-free (?), not proofread oops
A/N - wrote this right after watching bnd. He has bewitched me once more (not that he's ever stopped)
It is twenty past two in the morning. Your laptop screen glows on the kitchen counter, and you are halfway through a cold mug of tea that should have been tipped down the sink hours ago.
A dull thump vibrates right through the paper thin partition wall, followed immediately by the metallic clatter of a bin taking a beating. Then comes a low, winded groan.
You set your mug down before yanking your jumper tighter around your shoulders, and head into the corridor. The hallway smells of damp carpet. You step up to 4B, fold your knuckles, and rap four beats against the door.
A violent rustle erupts inside.
Someone scrambles blindly over a piece of furniture, trips, curses under their breath, and finally unlatches the deadbolt. The door opens a paltry three inches, held fast by the brass security chain.
Peter Parker peers out through the vertical gap. His curls are plastered to his forehead with sweat, a fresh purple streak blooming right along his jawline. He looks as though he had just finished wrestling.
“Hey,” he rasps, voice sounding like he swallowed a handful of gravel. He pulls a faint, utterly hopeless squint, resting his forehead lightly against the edge of the door. “Is... is everything alright out there?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you say, leaning your side against the doorframe. “Considering you sound like you’re tossing all sorts of things around your flat.”
Peter winces, his hand tightening on the edge of the timber. “Right. Sorry. I just... lost my balance.” he nods, more to himself than to you. “My shoelaces were untied.”
“Your shoelaces.”
“Yeah. Double knot failed me.”
“Right. And the shoelaces hit you in the face?”
Silence fills the corridor. Peter blinks, his brain clearly grinding its gears to manufacture a backup lie, but the bone deep exhaustion in his eyes catches up to him. He lets out a defeated breath that rustles his messy fringe. “It was a very aggressive knot.”
“You are a dreadful liar.” Your eyes drop to his knuckle where he grips the door. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve been through it.”
“Appreciate the honesty.”
“I’m serious. You look about one breath away from collapsing onto the floor.” You turn on your heel without waiting for his rebuttal. “Don’t lock the door.”
You disappear into your kitchen, grabbing a make shift ice pack that is frozen peas wrapped in a towel out of the freezer compartment. When you return, Peter hasn’t moved an inch, though his eyelids are half closed, his weight propped against the doorframe just to stay upright.
You shove the wrapped pack through the narrow gap, causing him to jolt back to life. He fumbles it, his rough fingers scraping against yours as he secures a grip.
“Hold it against your face.” you order, stepping back. “And if you’re going to keep dragging yourself home in pieces at midnight, at least learn how to fall properly.”
A crooked smirk cuts through his exhaustion, tugging at the corner of his split lip. “I’ll uh add soft landings to my list.”
“Do that.” You tap the wood of his door with a knuckle.
“Night,” he calls out, his tone dropping into something surprisingly quiet as you turn away.
You don’t linger to watch him shut the door, but the click of the lock follows you back to your flat, accompanied by the muffled sound of him finally sliding down against the wall to rest.
Three nights later, the knock comes on your door.
It's a tentative, almost apologetic tap—two soft thuds against the timber at a quarter past one in the morning.
You pull your headphones down around your neck, shoving your laptop aside on the sofa before padding over. When you swing the door open, Peter is standing in the dim light of the corridor, looking remarkably clean compared to his last appearance. His curls are damp from the rain outside, and the purple bruise along his jawline from earlier in the week has already faded to a dull yellow.
A ridiculously fast recovery that you brush off.
In his hands, folded into a neat, lopsided square, is your towel.
“I washed it,” he explains immediately. “And I bought my own ice pack. A proper gel one this time. So your frozen peas are safe.”
You take the laundered cloth with a slow tilt of your head. “You know it’s past one, right? Normal people exchange laundry during daylight hours.”
“Yeah, well, my schedule isn’t exactly normal,” he admits, shifting his weight between his feet. He rubs the back of his neck, his fingers tangling briefly in his messy hair. “Plus, I saw the light under your door. Figured you were still awake.”
“I work better when everything else has settled,” you shrug. “What’s your excuse?”
Peter offers a small, self deprecating grin, though his eyes wander past you into the warm glow of your flat. “Odd jobs. Whatever pays cash under the table. Late night shifts keep me out of people’s way.”
He shifts again, and as he does, a sharp wince catches in his throat. His left shoulder hitches up unnaturally high, his right hand instantly snapping up to brace his elbow.
You don’t miss the subtle flinch. “What did you do now?”
“Nothing,” he says a fraction too fast, eyes locking back onto yours. “Just pulled something. Lifting heavy boxes.”
“Heavy boxes.” You raise a brow and take a step back into your entryway, leaving the door wide open. “Come in.”
Peter hesitates on the threshold, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh, no, I really don’t want to bother you–”
“You’re already bothering me by standing there,” you cut in, heading straight for the kitchen counter. “In. Before the cold freezes the whole flat.”
With a quiet exhale, he steps across the entryway. Having him inside your tiny space immediately alters the air. He’s broader than his oversized clothes let on, his presence instantly filling the narrow entry. He stands awkwardly by the coat rack, his lips forming into a thin line as he watches you retrieve a tub of muscle rub from a cabinet.
“Shirt stays on, don’t worry,“ you break the silence, turning back to face him with the jar in hand. “Just turn around and sit on the edge of the sofa.”
Peter blinks, a charming flush creeping up from the collar of his jumper, tinting his face a faint pink. “You really don’t have to do this–”
“I know I don’t,” you answer, gesturing toward the cushions. “Sit.”
Peter sinks onto the cushion, perching on the absolute edge. You sit down beside him on the sofa, unscrewing the small jar in your hands. The crisp scent of eucalyptus instantly fills the space between you.
“Lean forward,” you instruct, rubbing a dollop of the cool cream across your palms. “And try to actually relax for five seconds.”
Peter ducks his head without argument, resting his elbows on his knees. His messy curls drop over his forehead, exposing the skin at the nape of his neck. When you press your hands against the base of his neck, working your thumbs into his left shoulder through the wool of his jumper, he stiffens instantly. A ragged breath hitches in his chest, his whole frame going solid beneath your touch. It’s like pressing your hands into solid granite. Beneath the knitwear, there is no give—just dense hard muscle wrapped tight with strain.
“Breathe, Peter,” you murmur, digging your thumbs in harder to work around a stubborn knot near his shoulder blade. “I’m not gonna break you.”
“Right. Yeah,” he rasps, though his knuckles turn white where his hands grip his knees. He swallows hard, his shoulders slowly dropping under your steady pressure. “Sorry. Just... not really used to it.”
“Not used to what? Basic self care?”
“People…” He hesitates, the word hanging heavy in the room before he quickly catches himself. “People touching my shoulders, I guess. Usually it’s just someone shoving past me on the subway.”
The answer is delivered with a light chuckle and yet it hits with an unexpected sting. At that, you slow the rhythm of your hands, smoothing the warmth of the cream deeper into the stiff muscle.
“Well, you have dreadful posture anyway,” you joke softly, “so you’re going to have to suffer through it.”
Peter lets out a genuine laugh that vibrates right through his back and into your fingertips. His head dips lower, his breath hitching once more, not from pain this time, but from something far quieter, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally lets his full weight sink back against the cushions.
For a few minutes, neither of you speaks. The only sound in the flat is the rhythmic hum of your fridge and the pattern of Peter’s breathing as your thumbs work out the tension in his upper back. The heat radiating through his clothes is almost absurd. Beneath your palms, the stiff line of his spine finally relaxes.
“Better?” you ask quietly, lifting your hands.
Peter turns his head slowly, looking back over his shoulder. Up close, without the shadows of the draughty corridor hiding him, his brown eyes are calm and unguarded. Near his collarbone, a faint, restless pulse flutters, beating far too fast for someone sitting completely still.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “Yeah, actually. A lot better.” He nods.
You wipe the excess cream off your palms onto a tissue, maintaining a steady posture despite the sudden spike in atmospheric pressure. “Good. Because I’m not making a habit of running a wellness centre out of my living room.”
A smile tugs at his lip. He shifts his frame on the cushion, angling his knees toward yours in the narrow space between you. He looks down at his scraped knuckles for a brief second before his gaze travels back up to your face, tracing the line of your jaw before settling firmly on your eyes.
“I could pay you,” he offers, his tone light, though the way he is watching you is anything but casual. “I mean... not in money. But I could do your heavy lifting. Or fix your radiator. It rattles at three in the morning, by the way.”
“You’re listening to my radiator at three in the morning?”
Peter goes dead still, his mouth parting as if to instantly retract the statement. A deep, telltale flush surges right up to the tips of his ears. “I–well, paper thin walls. I just hear things. I’m not... I promise I’m not lingering outside your wall like a creep.”
“I know, Peter.” a quiet laugh bubbles in your throat as you tilt your head. “Relax.”
He exhales a breath that seems half relieved and half flustered, running a hand through his hair. Then, as if suddenly remembering himself, he pushes off the sofa with fluid grace that seems too fast for a guy who claims to be clumsy.
“I should um... probably get out of your hair,” he stammers, taking two quick steps back toward the entryway. “It’s late. Or early. Whatever it is.”
You follow him at a more leisurely pace, resting against the archway as he unlatches the front door.
“Try not to fall on your journey back to 4B,“ you call out.
Peter pauses and looks over his shoulder. “No guarantees,” he chuckles, his gaze lingering on your face for one beat, two beats, before he finally steps out into the corridor. “Night.”
“Night, Peter.”
The following evening, you’re standing in the overcrowded aisle of the corner shop down the block, debating between two identical jars of pasta sauce, when a shadow falls over you.
“The basil one,” a voice says from right behind your shoulder. “The garlic one tastes like cardboard.”
You turn around to find Peter precariously balancing three trays of meat, a carton of milk, and a loaf of bread in his arms.
“No basket?” you breath a laugh, putting the garlic sauce back and taking his recommendation.
“I wasn’t planning on buying much,” he awkwardly clarifies, “I came in for milk. The rest were an impulsive buy.”
Another soft laugh escapes your lips before you reach over to pluck the meat trays out of his arms and drop them into your own basket. “Here. Give me the rest.”
Both his brows raise in surprise. “Thanks.” he falls into step beside you as you head toward the till. “I actually… I owe you one anyway. For the shoulder thing.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I could carry your groceries,” he insists, tapping the side of your plastic basket. “If–if you want.”
True to his word, he waits for you by your checkout counter immediately after paying for his own groceries, taking your brown paper bag the second the cashier finishes packing it up. The sun warms your skin as you walk side by side back to your building.
When you reach the fourth floor, he hands the bag back, his fingers brushing against yours for a second longer than necessary.
“See?” Peter says smoothly, leaning his back against his front door with a proud smirk. “Not one bruise. Flawless execution.”
“Impressive,” you tease as you tilt your head, unlocking the door to your flat. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” he chuckles lightly, eyes staying on you until you step inside. “I’ll um see you around.”
Three nights pass without a squeak from him.
Outside, a relentless deluge lashes against the glass, drumming a chaotic rhythm across the roof. It is nearly three in the morning when the sound hits. A heavy impact that rattles the picture frames on your partition wall.
You drop your phone onto the desk, sprinting across the cold floorboards to the front door. When you yank it open, Peter is on his knees in the dark corridor.
He is completely drenched, water pooling around his worn trainers. His chest heaves in wheezing gasps, one arm pinned tightly against his ribs while his forehead rests against your doorframe. Worse still, the grey hoodie he is wearing is torn open down the left side, heavily saturated in a dark, terrifying crimson.
“Peter,” you breathe, dropping to your knees beside him without a second thought.
“Hey,” he manages, though his voice is barely a thread of sound. He tries to force a reassuring smile, but his face is ghostly pale, his skin shivering violently from shock and cold rain. “Sorry... didn’t mean to... hit the door so hard...”
“I don’t give a shit about the door,” your brows furrow in disbelief as you take his uninjured arm, looping it over your shoulders, and hauling him up with every bit of strength you possess. “Get inside. C’mon.”
He weighs far more than anything you’ve ever carried— dense muscle unanchored by energy—but somehow, you manoeuvre him across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind you. You guide him toward the sofa, letting him slide down onto the cushions.
“I need to see where it’s coming from,” you warn, grabbing a clean towel, a pair of scissors, and a first aid kit from your drawer. Your heart is hammering rapidly against your ribs, pure adrenaline wiping out any lingering fatigue.
“It’s just a scratch. Looks... worse than it is,” he slurs, his hand rising weakly to intercept yours as you reach for the hem of his ruined jumper. “Seriously. I... I heal ridiculously fast–”
“You are bleeding all over my house, Peter, so stop arguing!”
You cut cleanly through the soaked cotton of his jumper, peeling the wet fabric back to assess the tear. But as the dark material parts, your fingers go still.
Beneath the ruined clothes, there is no bare skin or cotton undershirt. Wrapped tightly over his chest and shoulders is a sleek, textured fabric of vibrant red and deep blue—badly torn at the waist, where a shallow, nasty laceration is weeping blood down his side.
Silence drops over the kitchen like blunt weight.
Slowly, your eyes travel up from his torn suit, past his bruised collarbone, to meet his eyes.
Peter’s breath hitches in his chest. His eyes are blown wide with raw, terrifying panic as he looks down at the exposed suit, then back up at your face. He looks braced, desperately searching your expression as if waiting for you to do something crazy.
“Wait–I–” he struggles, his voice cracking with frantic concern. “it’s not–I can explain, please don’t–”
But you simply stare at the web pattern for a long moment, taking slow breaths to steady the overwhelming thumps of your heart.
“Right.” you pick up the antiseptic. “A really aggressive shoelace knot, was it?”
He lets out a breathless laugh, though it quickly falters. “... Wait, you’re not–you’re not freaked out?”
“Of course I’m shocked, Peter.” You unscrew the cap of the bottle. “But you’re currently losing blood, so maybe right now isn’t really the time for questions.”
A gasp escapes him, a mixture of laughter and a sob of sheer relief. The crushing tension in his posture snaps, his head thumping back against the sofa cushions. “You have no idea how hard it was coming up with those lies.”
“I do, actually. They were terrible.”
You work carefully, dousing a pad of gauze in warm water and antiseptic. Peter winces as you clean the edge of the wound, but he stays completely still for you. Once the side cut is cleaned and neatly bandaged, you shift up to sit beside him, bringing a damp cloth to his face.
“Hold still,” you mumble softly.
Peter doesn’t move a muscle. His eyes trace your face with focus as you gently wipe a streak of grime from his temple, moving down the sharp line of his jaw. Right at the corner of his lower lip, there is a tiny, fresh split. You dab delicately at the split on his lip with the corner of the warm cloth. Peter’s breath hitches, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly under the subtle touch of your thumb.
He looks undone. Unmasked, battered, and stripped of every defense he usually hides behind, sitting in half of a spider man suit in your living room while the rain lashes against the glass outside.
“Does it hurt?”
“No,” Peter whispers. He exhales a long breath, leaning his head back with a weary chuckle. “Pretty sure I can’t even move right now.”
You look up for a second, catching the intensity in his gaze. His eyes are no longer on yours, but staring straight at your lips.
A sharp flutter hits your chest, catching the breath in your throat as the air between you turns thick. Your own gaze helplessly drifts downward, tracing the curve of his lips, the faint tremble of it, and the tiny cut you were just tending to.
His hand reaches up, fingers sliding around the back of your neck, his thumb resting against your pulse point. He pulls you forward with patience, closing the narrow gap between your faces until your breath fans warm over his skin.
The second his lips meet yours, everything fades into the background. The kiss is unhurried and soft at first—careful of the split on his lip—that is before his grip in your hair tightens just so to pull you flush against him. A shuddering sigh escapes him against your mouth.
When he finally parts from your lips, staying close enough that your noses brush, a tinge of crimson colours both your faces.
You take a steadying breath, a teasing smile curving your lips. “I thought you couldn’t move?”
“For this?” His thumb gently strokes your jawline. “I can manage.”
“You’re unbelievable.” a smile grows across your face as you reach over the armrest to grab the soft fleece blanket from the back of the sofa.
You drape it over his broad shoulders, tucking the edge around him to keep the draft off his skin. Peter fully settles into the cushion, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. He doesn’t move away, instead letting his weight shift until his head comes down to rest comfortably against your shoulder.
“You’re staying here tonight.” you guide your fingers through his damp curls. “No arguments.”
“No arguments,” he repeats against the fabric of your clothes, his eyelids fluttering shut as his breathing slows into a steady pattern.
Within minutes, the guy who holds the weight of the city on his shoulders is fully asleep beside you, warm, safe, and finally resting.
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.
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