Peter Parker Fic - Tumblr Posts

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

summary: one bed, two friends. do i have to explain?

masterlist.

andrew!peter parker x reader

or could be tom!peter parker x reader :))

(up for interpretation)

warnings: fluff, little bit spicy ;)), friends to lovers, you and peter being cuties omg, lots of swearing, one bed wink wink? adorable-ness, kissing, PETERS A HUGGER OKAY

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

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𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃. Of course Aunt May noticed. The woman raised Peter for the majority of his life, she knew the kid like the back of her hand. Peter was never one to tell secrets to people, he was more of a reserved person; so when one day he ran home at the age of 9 screaming he was in love with the girl who spared him a rubber in Science, the woman was shocked.

That day, he had rambled for an ongoing 26 minutes before May had asked for the name in question. Peter let it slip without thinking of the continuous teasing May would give her nephew for years to come, he was so lost in the art that was you that none of that mattered, not one bit.

Four days after he first fell in love with you, he sucked up his fears and spoke to you once again. He sat behind you in Maths, his head forever buried in the desk to block out your refreshing scent in worry he would only fall more in love; if that was possible at this point.

He remembered that day so well, the day he wished he could redo. He had tapped your shoulder cautiously after ten minutes of procrastinating a simple act for attention. When your head turned to face him, all rehearsed lines Peter wanted to say to you had flown straight out of his head. His throat dried in an instant, eyes doe and cheeks burning with passion. He barely recollected that you had asked if he was okay, Peter’s heart thudded and nodded his head rapidly, feeling his hair bounce with the move.

He swallowed all that was worried and opened his mouth to politely ask: “Would you like to go for ice cream after school?” After many stutters interrupted his question. He remembers your smile so well, your dimples prominent as your cheeks grew rosy pink. You had nodded and agreed with zero hesitations.

Peter had run home, crashing into Aunt May as Peter sprinted through the house. May questioned his rush in concern, Peter responding with her name in mantra hoping she’d understand as he couldn’t not waste any time that wasn’t dedicated to you. After the day out, Peter went for the kiss. Only to be hugged.

Hugged! What the fuck! An embrace? An act of a friendly gesture! (That’s what WikiHow had told Peter anyway.) There was no chance Peter could have you now. So for the next 5 years of his life, you and Peter had been the definition of best friends; much to his dismay.

That’s where we end up now, present day: Peter sat in a booth with Gwen, the two of them peeking over the high rise chairs as the two glared at you laughing at something your douchebag date had said.

What a dickhead. Look at him, his perfect white teeth, that stupid red and white jersey hung over his shoulders, his perfectly curled hair all girls fawned over. Peter could do that, of course he could do that. So why didn’t you pick him? This guy; he’s a phony, an idiot, a stupid fucking- Wait are you wearing Peter’s sweater?

“Is she wearing your sweater?” Gwen had nudged him in time with his thoughts. Peter’s eyes stayed trained on you; how beautiful you were. You took his breath away even years later, you had that much of an effect on him. Every time you looked in his eyes, he wanted you in more ways than one; He wanted you to be in his arms, to feel all that was pleasurable because of him and no one else. And you in his sweater, God- He wanted you more than ever. That childhood crush grew into a more mature, desperate affectionate of lust for what was all of you.

“Peter?” Gwen’s voice snapped him from his mind running on passion. His chest heaving with small pants leaving his plump lips, “Yeah, she is.” A wide smile spread onto Gwen’s face, “So, she’s wearing your sweater on a date with another man?” She paused and looked at him with her mouth agape and eyes wide with joy. “And you’re still tell me she doesn’t feel the same?”

Peter rolled his eyes and slumped back into the seat, “No, Gwen, you say that and then I’m gonna get my hopes up!” His hands dragged down against his tired face, his words elongating into groans and sighs of helplessness. The blonde slid into her seat beside her best friend, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him and he wailed on about the love of his life.

Her hand patted his back in mocking sympathy. “I say that and I’m true.” Her brows raised along with herself, she leaned her body over the chairs again to see how you were doing; only to find you long gone, date too, nowhere to be seen.

Her arms flapped around, hitting Peter rapidly as panic grew unsettlingly on her features. Peter’s head perked up at the limp hand whacking his cheekbone, a moan of pain and annoyance slipping from his mouth. “What? What?” His eyes settled on Gwen’s anxiety ridden face, reciprocating her actions and looking ahead to where her face concerns.

The two empty chairs sent a wave of sickness down Peter’s throat to land abruptly in his stomach. The usual questions ran through the overflowing mind of Peter Parker. Had she left with him? That guy couldn’t do shit to what Peter’s got. Had she fallen for his charms? Fall for my fucking charms, Y/N. Was he-

“Peter, Peter! The phone, the phone!” Gwen’s hands hurriedly searched through Peter’s backpack as she heard the all too well ‘Spiderman Theme Song’ play rather loudly and distorted on his smashed phone. His hands snatched the phone from Gwen’s hands, her face now beet red from the embarrassment of not herself, but her friend.

Peter didn’t have time to process who was calling as his mind was set on shutting off the theme song as many guests were already staring at the two panicking in the small booth. “Hello? Hello?” His voice cracked in humiliation from the sounds of uptight guests quietly chuckling away sipping their expensive ass wine, cutlery dug deeply into the meat they payed an entire Peter Parker wallet full for.

“Hey, Pete.” Your soft voice rung so angelically through his head. The sound of your sigh at the end sent Peter’s mind into a frenzy, a rapid shake of the head and squeezed shut eyes did the job of knocking it right out the other side. Gwen looked at Peter quizzically, wondering who was at the phone. All suspicions were confirmed when Peter did a love heart at his chest and a silent expression of puppy dog eyes before rushing to your response.

“Hey, Y/N. Everything okay?” He snapped back into ‘best friend’ mode for you. Mind reeling from the status of The love of your life’s best friend!“Yeah, yeah. I’m- I’m okay.” You’re voice sounded uncertain, pitch waving as he recognised you did when you lie.

A sigh through your nose rung through the speaker of his phone. “That was a lie,” A breathy laugh fell from your shivering lips. “I’m not doing great, that date was a total bust. Mind swinging up?” Peter heart leaped in your want for him. You needed him, (more or less wanted him, but this is Peter’s mind remember again.) not that stupid jock. Him.

Gwen punched Peter’s shoulder to respond as her ear was pressed against the other side of the phone. “Yeah! Of course I’ll pick you up! Be right there!” Your brows furrowed, “But I didn’t say where I-“ Peter had unintentionally cut you off as he knew you were waiting outside, he was too lost in calls that were asking for him that he didn’t even process your words.

He was perched on top of the building, waiting a couple minutes as Gwen said to make the meeting look more natural than he was stalking you. He watched as you tapped your foot on the wet pavement, arms slithered around yourself as rain toppled down onto your beautiful physique, straightening your once curled hair. Your dress was soaked into your thighs, the temperature treating your thin black tights not so well.

After a long, suffering 30 seconds; Peter gave in and leaped down to your level, taking you by surprise and stumbling backwards before Peter’s arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you into his chest. Your hands gripped into his shoulders, feeling the Spiderman suit fabric under your fingertips, slowly circling the bumps on the suit.

“That was quick,” You gasped as he not-so-subtly tugged your body closer to his, feeling his hips connect to yours as he mumbled some nonsense about that it was his ‘Peter tingle’. “Favour: I need to stay at yours tonight, Dad’s out and I’m not gunna lie, a little scared of staying on my own” The smile that made Peter swoon etched across your smooth skin, eyes dripping with love and hints for what he was oblivious to.

Peter’s hands smoothed across the small of your back, “That’s fine, Y/N. It’ll be a blast from the past.” You could practically see the expression he was holding behind the mask: eyes soft and lip between his teeth, cheeks red and eyebrows upturned.

The two of you swung back to the house you loved oh-so dearly, the place you found the most comfort at outside your own. Aunt May waddled out on hearing an arrival, a smirk hidden behind the fork full of food as she watched Peter walk on in with his hands glued to your waist.

“Hey lovers!” She spoke with a high pitched greet, watching with amusement as you and Peter spilt away from each other; Peter hitting into the painting and nearly knocking it off the wall. She giggled and put her fork down, “Sorry about that! You two look close, Y/N did you know that when Peter was 10, he planned out the whole wedding between you two-“

“May! Please!” Peter’s eyes widened, a thick layer of blush cover the two of you as May laughed on the spot. “Anyway,” He continued awkwardly. “Y/N’s staying here tonight so I’m gunna get the spare bed from the attic.” Peter said before making his way to the steps, only to be stopped by May’s arms and a smug smile of satisfaction.

“Beds no longer there, looks like your gonna have to share! See ya!” Was all that left her mouth before the ping of the microwave took top priority.

You and Peter stood there for a moment, unsure of how to actively say the their crush that they were willing to sleep together. Well, not together together! Just a mutual friend sleeping with friend, a normal hug session, it’s normal! Friends cuddle too, right?

And that’s where you two ended up, both led under the cover in Peter’s bed, on your backs and staring up to the ceiling with a good space between the two of you. It was so awkward. Peter had accidentally brushed against your hand an hour ago and was still a fumbling mess, eyes wide and body hot.

You struggled to get comfy. In actuality, all you wanted was Peter’s muscled arms wrapped around your waist; not wrapped around himself and his shaking body. You had opened your mouth to talk many times, yet nothing left your lips until now. “Hey, friends can share a bed and not be awkward.”

“Right.” Peter turned his head in your direction. “See we aren’t boning right now, we can handle it.” He shrugged along with you as the two of you mocked all your emotions.

“Right! Movies really can be deceiving!” You sounded almost offended.

“It’s so cliché! Like so what if I’m sharing the bed with the woman I love, that doesn’t mean we’re gunna start making out!”

“What?”

Out of the many time Peter had screwed up, this is the top of the list.

“You love me?” You voiced waved.

“No.” Peter panicked.

“So you don’t like me?”

“No.”

Peter’s eyes widened and freaked as he just said- it was all a big fucking mess.

“Okay, okay.” Peter turned his body to face you, hair spread against his pillow and lips chapped from bitting them nervously. Your eyes were blown and filled with what could only be described as hopeful, hopeful for what he let slip out.

Peter’s hand shakily moved a piece of your hair behind your ear and admired your beauty, afraid it would be his last.

“Y/N I love you. So much.”

“Every time I see you, I swear my heart stops. During these years with you nothing more than a best friend, felt like torture. I watched you fall for others which only made my heart yearn for you more, for your love. For your patience, for everything that was ever good about you, Y/N. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever needed. You’re so much to me, so much to Spiderman. I can’t believe I let you be my friend for this long when we know we’re much more than that, more than what the world allowed us.”

You felt yourself slipping into the depth of his words. Body catching on the passion poured into his words, hands caressing the love he held out for you to touch so delicately in his watch.

“Peter,” Your nose bumped against his. “I love you more than anything.” Was all he allowed to leave your lips before his caught your own. His hands soothed your cheeks as his lips moulded with your own. A kiss that could only be described as perfect, poetic almost; the love that smothered the passion was more than either could ask for, an act of love displayed for beautifully a director would be jealous. Peter poured his heart and soul into the palm of your hands, leaving you with all of him to snap his heart in two or mend it more than one could wish; picking the latter left both breathless, desperation on their fingertips as the two grew closer in more ways than one.

The term ‘Friends’ was no longer relevant in the presence of you and Peter, love was all that crossed that path.

And to say, after last night: Peter forever thanked May for binning that spare bed.

i HATE this lmao i tried so?? leave requests so i can stop this bad train of thought help

taglist (let’s bet i’ll defo miss someone, sorry if its you i’ll tag you after if you let me know :))

@bionic-donut @lizzieann143 @fangirling-throughlife @druigss @bunkybarnesbxtch @captainbarness @wnters @phoenix27xoxo @luckypogue @snowfrostedfox @thatweirdbigirl @secretjeon @sage-bun @andrewgarfieldsbae @forever-and-more @bunnietoof @tired-ass-show-girl @dsl1999 @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @tinktohispan @urthereasonimleaving @simp4fictionmen @1-800-drugged @captainquake42 @maggiethemotherbitch @marianthephantoms @mobiusismyfav @arabellelancastersstuff @chenellearose @secretsicanthideanymore @uglyasswoman @vx-vexedvixen @lia-andari @lover1307 @mssrs-padfoot @jasemaja @cyanide-mustard @evasmlp @karltoshaw @caswinchester2000 @tsukishimawhore @weasleytwinscumslut @flymeaway-karasuno @morgane-stark @panicatwakanda @krishavania @lavendersfairy @jessica2008 @ancailinaerach @softmullet @jemimah-b99 @elarasstardust @fxnfandxmmp4 @moo-b1tch @wolfstcr @lizzieandjosiesalz

as you can see i cant tag some of you I DONT KNOW WHY IM SORRY :(

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An you do a fic with Andrew’s Spider-Man x shy reader please

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

summary: peter parker makes you feel a different way, it’s hard to ignore the way your heart races when he looks at you. and its obvious, peter knows this.

this fic does NOT contain ‘no way home’ spoilers, feel free to read ahead :)

masterlist.

andrew!peter parker x fem!reader

(sorry it’s short!)

warnings: shirtless peter djdndjs, fluff, extremely flustered reader, slight injury description and that’s all :)

requested by @lizzieann143

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

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𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 led on the science homework you had left until last minute, pens and pencils scattered on the wooden desk filled with nonsense you had kept since you were a young age.

Your eyelids were falling shut, eyes rolling to the back of your head as sleep attempted to overtake you. Lifting your head into your hands, you sniffled and rubbed your eyes profusely to snap out of your doze. A cup of water was sat on the right side of your desk, the liquid reaching the very top of the glass.

Your throat felt dry from the lack of attention you had given it as your mind was delved into the equations of period tables, the work you would normally have had help from your dear friend Peter Parker. Fixing the problem, you lifted the glass to take a sip of the cooling water.

‘Friend’ you would call him. But that didn’t stop the way your heart sped up whenever you were around him. You would often find yourself staring at him, multiple seats away from his in your shared English class would be your prime time to take in Peter’s beauty.

God, he was beautiful. You had a soft spot for the boy, rarely did you ever allow yourself to catch feelings for a guy. But with Peter, it was different. You couldn’t quite place what made him different for you, maybe it was the way he actually devoted his time to you and understood your lack of communication with anyone outside your childhood friends.

A soft tapping at your window made you jump slightly, your body jolting forwards and your teeth hitting the glass held up to your lips. You groaned for a moment before snapping your head towards the sound, seeing Peter with his head pushed back against the fire escape and mouth agape in relief or pain.

His body was clad in the Spiderman suit, obvious tears down the chest and blood seeping through the cuts. His head of hair was messed up, static pieces from the mask pointing up in different directions and chunks stuck his sweaty forehead.

Your body automatically lifted itself to the window, pushing it up in a hurry as Peter’s body fell in from him leaning his weight against the glass. He fell into you, hands finding home on your forearms and head hung low as he limped in.

Your shaking hands struggled to move the cushions to a comfier position as Peter collapsed on the furniture after a long awaited time. His back arched and head hung from its rest on the arm of the chair, body heat more obvious than ever ask Peter was blissfully unaware of the effect he had on you.

The first aid kit you had been keeping in your room since you first scraped you knee had come in handy, the box placed on your lap and opened with contents spilling out. The wounds Peter sported were deeply placed on the centre of his chest, suit pooled to his hips and lack of shirt.

Peter knew you were nervous, he saw your fumbling hands as you delicately placed the soaked cotton on his chest, drips of antibacterial gliding down his naked torso. Your face was bright red, eyes screaming for a way to not embarrass one’s self and hands disobeying.

“Hey,” Peter’s hands rested on yours, warmth flowing from your fingertips to your heart. “It‘s okay.” He whispered, eyes locked to yours. His palm travelled from your own to trace your jawline, head leaning towards burying it in your neck.

When his skin touched your own, your heart sped up like crazy. His cold nose came in contact with your burning neck, rubbing it against it as he felt you squirm slightly under his touch. His lips begged to feel you, your actions speaking louder than the words you hesitated to say.

Peter moved his head to rest against your own, breaths mingling and blushes reciprocated. Eyes bored into one and other, the opposite sides of the spectrum: in love and afraid to love.

His cold hands rested on your burning cheeks, he watched you fall reluctantly under his love, under the blanket he provided full of all that was possible for the two of you.

“I’ve got you, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

thanks for the request, loved it🥺

taglist for a request?? i don’t know hahahshd

@bionic-donut @lizzieann143 @fangirling-throughlife @druigss @bunkybarnesbxtch h @captainbarness @wnters s @phoenix27xoxo o @luckypogue @snowfrostedfox @thatweirdbigirl @secretjeon @sage-bun @andrewgarfieldsbae @forever-and-more @bunnietoof @tired-ass-show-girl @dsl1999 @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @tinktohispan @urthereasonimleaving @simp4fictionmen @1-800-drugged @captainquake42 @maggiethemotherbitch @marianthephantoms @mobiusismyfav @arabellelancastersstuff @chenellearose @secretsicanthideanymore @uglyasswoman @vx-vexedvixen @lia-andari @lover1307 @mssrs-padfoot @jasemaja @cyanide-mustard @evasmlp @karltoshaw @caswinchester2000 @tsukishimawhore e @weasleytwinscumslut @flymeaway-karasuno @morgane-stark @panicatwakanda @krishavania @lavendersfairy @jessica2008 @ancailinaerach @softmullet @jemimah-b99 @elarasstardust @fxnfandxmmp4 @moo-b1tch @wolfstcr @lizzieandjosiesaltzman

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what do you think peter’s love languages are? :)

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

definitely touch

this guy LOVES holding you

whether it’s holding your hand or hugging you close, he still gets butterflies

he loves knowing you’re so physically close to him

not in reach of any danger, in the safety of his bed and in his arms

peter definitely likes to have his arm slung around your shoulders as school

just a simple gesture to show people that he’s all yours

but if you’re in class and near each other, he will slip his hand into yours under the desk :(

i think peter would be scared at first to have you so close to him

like he would forever be worried that he would drag you into this mess of superheroes

but a couple months in the relationship, he gave into your begs of comfort and never regretted it

being a little shy at first i think peter would express a lot with his touch

struggles to say what he wishes so he more or less shows it to you with actions and embrace

but he’s so adorable i’m done

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i have this idea sjndjs (^^)

Maybe reader discovering that Peter is Spiderman when she is waiting for him in his room to do some school project and he enters through the window with cuts and bruises all over his body ¿ And is just alot of fluff and shy/cute Peter (i imagine this escenario with Andrew!Peter but i think it works for any other peter) :3

𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍!

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

summary: when it turns out your nerdy friend is the spiderman, you really think the school project is important anymore?

masterlist.

andrew!peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, shy-ish peter, cuts and bruises, injuries from spiderman duties, just kinda cute :(

this is SO bad i apologise☹️

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

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𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 twenty-six minutes was how long you had been waiting. About 3/4 of that time was spent with your head buried in the palms of your hands, you had gotten bored of counting the seconds on your watch.

Your hair was spread across his desk, pens scattered randomly from flicking them away for a total of 20 minutes. The school project that required two people was flung on the floor at this point, the staple holding the pieces of paper together barely holding on.

To say Peter Parker was late would be an understatement.

Why would you have thought for one second that your friend would ever turn up on time; considering he had bailed way more than once in many situations. He had promised like tons of times before, yet leaving you alone in his small room to stare at the unfinished project by yourself.

Your fingers tapped on the hardwood desk in a rhythm, thoughts flowing on whether you should leave now or deal with a half-assed apology on Peter’s behalf. Whenever he returned, he would always seem tired, his body constantly yearning for the covers on his bed; only allowing you to feel awkward in the corner as his body would collapse dramatically onto his rickety bed.

The black, nearly empty, pen was held so loosely between your fingers; the object balancing slightly as it tapped continuously on the varnished desk. The tapping soon felt like a timer, a clock ticking down the time as if you were staring at one. You only allowed what your body wanted at this point, you had given up on control long before, about time to give your muscles a rest from hunching over for the loop of hours without Peter turning up.

Just as your eyelids fell to close, a loud bang on the fire escape window made your body jolt suddenly and fall off the chair. Peter’s head was lent against the window, breathing heavily with the glass steaming up under his pants.

Peter had yet to notice you, your body was no longer in eye line and led on the scruffy carpet. Your head perked up at the sound of Peter falling face first through the pushed up window, an outfit of bright blue and red causing your brows to furrow in his blur of motion. Grunts slipped from his lips as he tripped over the school bag he had dumped there hours before his Spiderman duties.

He hopped on one leg clumsily as he tore off the right, tight shoe of his suit; carelessly throwing the object against his wall to ultimately land on your head, a hollow sound racking through his bedroom. “Ow!” You mumbled as the bottom of the shoe smacked in the corner of your head.

Peter jumped in shock of someone else in the room, flying so high that he flipped onto the ceiling, hands and feet attached to the flaking roof. His head hung low and span around in search for the noise, eyes bearing down to see your body underneath a fallen chair and hair spread across the floor.

“Y/N?” Peter gasped, pointing to you with his mouth agape. “Peter?” You pointed back, mouth dropped open with a beaming smile coating your blushing cheeks.

His body fell to the floor with a thud and walked towards your tensed body with his shoe in your hand, flailing about. His feet sped up and ran towards your rising form from the floor, your hair messed up and skin glowing.

Peter’s face came up close to yours, his height towering over yours. His hands were shaking as they quickly lifted to your head, brushing down the ecstatic hair and collecting it behind your ears. “What? What- What are you?” He stumbled over his words and vigorously licked his lips, making the skin go raw.

Your breaths were heavy and your cheeks hurt from the hard smile dominating your emotions. “You’re- You’re-“ Your hands trailed down from his wrists and slid to the tears in his suit, casually ignoring the feeling of his toned abs under the tight a-tire.

His suit had three long tares in it, flesh ripped, blood dried and some not over his paling skin. His body seemed weak, falling into your feather light touch as his headache became more painful by the second.

“You’re hurt!” Your smiled dropped in an instant, attention switched to his physical state in comparison to your adoration that your best friend is the spiderman! “I’m fine, I’m fine.” The words were forced out, pain swelling in the waving sound of his voice.

“Peter, please.” You muttered, moving your hands to his pale cheeks. Small cuts and bruises scattered all over his beautiful face.

His eyes looked into yours, eyelids hooded and sniffles sounding from his running nose. Peter’s lips wobbled with sobs begging to release, a state of vulnerability so close to the edge that he began to lose himself in the attention of you.

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“So you’re telling me that you fought an actual Lizard?”

“The Lizard was actually that, oh god, remember him? The- the scientist guy from Oscorp!” Peter laughed with his forehead pressed against yours, bandages now secured onto his wounds and an ice pack pressed firmly onto the back of his head.

Adorable laughs slipped from your lips, body hunching over doing so. Peter’s hand were wrapped around your own, the warmth seeping onto your skin, sending butterflies throughout your body. Peter shook his head against your own, noses bumping together along with both of your glowing red cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N” Peter whispered, breathe mingling with your own; lips so close to touching but a feeling of distance between you both. “Could say the same about you, Spiderman.” You giggled before moving closer to him.

Your lips were brushing against Peter’s, bodies pressed together and hands entangled together. His lips collapsed on yours, the connection slow and passionate. His hands slipped to your face, stroking your cheekbone so delicately; afraid of seeing you break under any of his pressure. The feeling of his tongue slipping into your mouth made you gasp, his body leaning over yours slightly, himself smirking into the heated kiss.

He pulled away quickly, “We-we, uh, we need to do that school project.”

Your shook your head, “Screw homework, you’re Spiderman!” And then pulled him down on top of you to rest your head on his pillows, Peter hovering over you; giddy that he finally scored the girl of his dreams.

this is so so so bad i’m so sorry FORGIVE ME

taglist:

@bionic-donut ut @lizzieann143 @fangirling-throughlife @druigss @bunkybarnesbxtch h @captainbarness @wnters-deactivated20211227 s @phoenix27xoxo o @luckypogue @snowfrostedfox @thatweirdbigirl @secretjeon @sage-bun @andrewgarfieldsbae @forever-and-more @bunnietoof @tired-ass-show-girl @dsl1999 @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @tinktohispan @urthereasonimleaving @simp4fictionmen @1-800-drugged @captainquake42 @maggiethemotherbitch @marianthephantoms @mobiusismyfav @arabellelancastersstuff @chenellearose @secretsicanthideanymore @uglyasswoman @vx-vexedvixen @lia-andari i @lover1307 @mssrs-padfoot @jasemaja @cyanide-mustard @evasmlp @karltoshaw @caswinchester2000 @tsukishimawhore e @weasleytwinscumslut @flymeaway-karasuno @morgane-stark @panicatwakanda @krishavania @lavendersfairy @jessica2008 @ancailinaerach @softmullet @jemimah-b99 @elarasstardust @fxnfandxmmp4 @moo-b1tch @wolfstcr @lizzieandjosiesaltzman @lendeluxe @yurys-pyon @marrigold-2002 @whataprettyshadeofred

𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐓

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

summary: peter was stupid. a stupid, stupid guy who did anything to please others. even if that meant breaking your heart in the process.

masterlist.

andrew!peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: ANGST, reader is hopeless romantic and deserves better, bet trope, not happy ending, dick peter, sad peter, crying reader, just think backstabber

probs take this down it’s awful lol

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓. The spitting image of purity and heart void of love. Desperation on the brink of spill, emotions dug deep into the pages of school books and circle of friends. Your heart was golden, a reflection any guy would wish to stare back at, but walls were closed upon any newcomers. Your eyes were hearts, ones you could stare in all day. A soft aura surrounded your frame - a commonly reciprocated stillness around people who adored you - it was simple, no one had any hatred towards you. Well.

He saw you as a weak spot. A crack one tap away from smash that he was desperate to cause. He hated that his eyes always shifted in your direction, he despised the way his fingers would play with each other under the desk when you became present in the class. He couldn’t have himself like this, he couldn’t fall in love. Love was a thing irrelevant to a teenage boy; games were something he could be invested in.

That’s what you were - what he made you - a game. Something he could play with whenever, something to toy with when others were ripped from his grasp. It was addictive, watching you fall into the palms of his hands and follow his commands unknowingly planned, he was in full control and knew damn well what he was doing.

Atleast that’s what he’d pretend that’d be. Not a grab for money his friends waved about.

He’d pretend he was the one who initiated this, showing no mercy in attempts for superiority. When this entire time the back of his head was ringing with the words of his friends jeering on commands to supposedly ‘make the sweetheart fall in love’.

He sat with his head in his hands as his friends scattered around him on the benches. “Little Miss Y/N Y/L/N let you share her highlighter?” His best mate, Harry, mocked with a hit on the shoulder. “Looks like Y/N has her heart eyes set on someone!” Peter scoffed, shoving his bag onto the concrete floor. “I mean can you blame her? Peter’s the only guy here with zero bitches?” Another roar came from behind him and two hand slammed onto his collarbone.

“I say you go for it! Y/N’s hot!” Peter shook his head for the hundredth time. “I’m good, mate.” Harry looked at his friend, eyes torn to the blonde sitting infront of his starstruck figure; it clicked, an idea that would earn a bump in popularity in more ways than one.

Harry twitched his head upward in a signal for Peter to listen in. “I say you ask Y/N out-“ Peter eyebrows furrowed in confusion and immediate backlash, before Harry continued, “It’ll make a certain someone jealous.”

Peter’s body leaned back in his chair, thoughts running through his mind as the attention of his crush fluttered his way. He glanced at you innocence figure, wailing for any form of desperate love; ready to fall in the palm of his hand. If he played his cards right, he’d not only grab the attention of her, he’d get his ass kissed for breaking the love of many’s lives; only doing them a favour of a crying girl in walking straight into a desperate guy. Cold hearted he was, just he didn’t care in that moment.

Also, bonus: Harry paid him a £50 note every time he took you out.

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𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 perfect, like you had once been.

You were easy, practically a walking innocent with a single once of attention given and immediately dropping into their arms. He had you in the palm of his hand, his sweat drowning your future expectations as the guilt would soon eat him up.

He held you in his arms currently, your back pressed into his chest and breaths small and your body was unconscious in his bed. You were wearing his shirt, his clothes and his scent. And he loved it. He loved knowing you were comfortable around him.

No, No! He couldn’t love you under any circumstances. He used you for money, his plan with her was working, he finally gave him that time of day to start falling for him. But you had already done that.

Peter was practically rich at this point. The prices topped up the second Peter sprinted in a boasted about getting you to kiss him that night, Harry scowling and handing over the cash.

However he had stopped paying him now. He felt sick seeing his friend do this to you. Watching you so happily run into his embrace while he knew he held his winning prize in the back pocket of his pants.

Even after the payment was over, Peter didn’t stop. He felt success, content, finally happy he had done something that pleased others. People praised him, he felt on top of the world. Knowing you were at home waiting for him, he found himself counting down the seconds until he could keep up his act.

Peter Parker never knew love, never understood it fully. He never experienced the true love, the adoration of falling for that neighbour across the road. Atleast he never though he did.

Peter was seventeen, young and naïve; he couldn’t tell he loved you until the moment he lost you. The moment his regular schedule fell apart under the recognition that you weren’t there.

January 26th, he remembered it.

He held you so closely that day, you were warm, so warm. His phone was going off, he was fast asleep. You were not. Irritation got the better of you and Peter would only ever beg you had a better temper that day when you read Harry’s messages.

January 26th, 22:53pm.

Your body was wrapped so content under your boyfriends covers. The silk was heaven against your bare arms and legs and your torso was occupied with the strong arms from behind you. Peter’s phone would not stop pinging. The vibration on the hardwood table made you want to literally tare your hair out of your head.

Grumpily, you swinged your hand over to slide his phone gracefully onto the bed.

HARRY:

stop you can’t keep doing this

i stopped paying you ages ago

What? Payment? What the fuck had Peter been doing for this long?

HARRY:

y/n deserves so much better than that blonde bitches sloppy seconds

i’ve literally called off the y/n bet and my mate tells me you were bragging about her wtf

You’ve never felt your heart sink deeper into the stomach of worries swirling in your depths. You couldn’t remember why you were happy before, the man that had ever given a fuck about you was the one you trusted to hold you so gently; only one minute ago. Your body felt disgusting, skin itches as his figure snores peacefully, a deep contrast to your current state.

Love was a lie. Something you once experienced, not reciprocated obviously. One you loved so much in the moment, but would soon stab you in the back a twist that stupid fucking knife around and mockingly laugh at you.

Peter never saw you after he woke up, you had left without a word.

The moment he noticed your presence gone, he knew.

He knew you knew. And he hated himself. For starters he didn’t care, no emotion waved over his body until he wasn’t looking at your reflection in the mirror while he brushed his teeth. That’s when he broke down.

He never loved again. As much as his body willed him to do so, he couldn’t bring himself to learn the way you did.

So when he saw you again, a smile spread across your beautiful face - the one he once used to cause - years later; his heart ached so terribly. Your cheeks were perked up and rosy red, age had done you well by only a few years. His body trembled in the loss of all that he lost, all you left him with, what he deserved.

Peter Parker got what came to him. A smirk wiped on your face as you knew he entered the door, you wanted a little fun for yourself. After all, he was the one who bet on it.

no guys i HATE this gunna jump in a bin idc

taglist (if you guys still care idk):

@bionic-donut @lizzieann143 @fangirling-throughlife @druigss @bunkybarnesbxtch @snowfrostedfox @thatweirdbigirl @secretjeon @sage-bun @andrewgarfieldsbae e @forever-and-more @bunnietoof @tired-ass-show-girl l @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @tinktohispan @urthereasonimleaving @simp4fictionmen @1-800-drugged @captainquake42 @maggiethemotherbitch @marianthephantoms @mobiusismyfav @arabellelancastersstuff @chenellearose @uglyasswoman @lia-andari @lover1307 @cyanide-mustard @evasmlp @karltoshaw @caswinchester2000 @tsukishimawhore e @weasleytwinscumslut @flymeaway-karasuno @morgane-stark @krishavania @lavendersfairy @jessica2008 @ancailinaerach @softmullet @jemimah-b99 @elarasstardust @fxnfandxmmp4 @moo-b1tch @wolfstcr @lendeluxe @yurys-pyon @marrigold-2002 @whataprettyshadeofred @slytherheign 

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

summary: while expecting, peter can’t help but brag to every single person he sees that you’re carrying his own little ‘spider-baby’.

masterlist.

andrew!peter parker x fem!reader

peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, hints of sex, just really cute

i thought of this and immediately knew this would be something andrew’s peter would do, so here we are <3

word count: 1K

don’t steal any of my work, thanks!

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𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 smoothing across the prominent bump of your belly, circling around waiting for his daughter to kick. You were sat on his lap, chest against your back and his head between your neck and shoulder; his soft, growing out hair tickled your jaw and your head relaxed back on his shoulder. Your hands were gripped loosely around his wrists, following his movement as they roamed aimlessly around the home your child currently lived.

“I can just tell she’s gunna be a daddy’s girl, you know?” He whispered into your ear, lips brushing against the shell and tingling your entire body. His lips kissed your jaw, feeling a smirk on his lips as his daughter reacted to his words and movement: kicking your belly and signalling that she was already trouble before she was even here.

You held back a smile, failing miserably. “Really? You don’t think she’ll prefer the person whose had her in my stomach for the past 6 months?” You raised your brows, curious on who will be the favoured parent (hint: it was you).

“No way,” He groaned into the skin between your neck and shoulder. “As soon as she finds out her dad is the friendly neighbourhood spiderman, I’ll be the favourite.”

You looked up at his curiously, eyebrow quirked upwards and a smirk painted on your face. “Yeah, totally.” You teased, watching his shake his head and giggling to himself; content with the family he was about to begin his life with, the perfect woman and the most beautiful baby on its way. He couldn’t think of anything better.

He listened to the noise of your heartbeat, the thumps loud with his spider sense. “You can’t tell everyone about this, you know?” He heard your voice. “What?” He questioned.

“The baby, I know it’s been 6 months but I’d rather not walk to work and see ‘Spider-Baby On The Way!’ printed on every magazine.” He smiled at you. “Poor kid isn’t even here yet, I’d rather her first appearance not to be in the tabloids.”

Peter stroked the stray hairs off your forehead, his heart bursting at your dedication to keep this a little family, already feeling pressure for carrying the Spider-Man’s baby girl.

“I promise, love. I won’t say a word.”

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“She’s 7 months along today!” Peter smiled down to the citizens of New York, their smiles up to the man dressed in the spider suit.

The girls squealed, in awe and cheeks a splash red. The men grinned, eyes glistening with happiness and a subtle wink of pride. “That’s adorable, man. See ya Spidey!” Two of the guys waved.

Peter jumped down from the street sign, waving his hands infront of the people and webbing a couple citizens passing by into the little group he had created to engage in the conversation. “Woah, woah, woah! Did you know that my wife thinks that our kid will have my spider powers?” He beamed from behind the mask.

The crowd gasped and awed, heads tilting and eyes doe. Peter nodded his head amongst the reactions, “Yep, yep. I’ll teach her the ropes, but my wife will definitely kick my ass because of it.”

Many people clapped as Peter playfully did a bow towards the crowd and bit his lip to contain his smile. He shrugged off the compliments and congratulations from his fans, loving the thought of everyone being so supporting of his new and upcoming family of three.

“Hope it’s all well, Spidey!” Peter felt like he was going to cry. “Tell your wife congrats!” He’s on the verge of tears. “Take the time of Spider-Man, look after your family!” Sobbing profusely behind the mask.

What a family you would be. The three of you, you. You’re at home, carrying his child with the spaghetti boiling in the pan, knowing damn well you are running your hands over the bump of your belly, pretending it’s his hands. You’re the perfect mother, soon-to-be mother actually. And him, the superhero with a child, the most beautiful child to ever exist and to have the most fulfilled life you can guarantee. You. Shit! You!

He was meant to be home an hour ago! Thanks a lot Spider-Man fans! I blame you completely for making me talk about my favourite thing to only forget about my favourite thing! Damn.

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𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 cold the moment he fell through the window, sprinting to the shared bedroom so rip off his suit and walk in the front door to where you would assume he simply got caught up and didn’t hear what he was saying.

He kicked the door to the bedroom and pulled his mask off his face, yanking down his suit to his torso and trying to pull off his shoes, extremely ungraciously.

The light switching on in the room made his jump and land on the ceiling, head falling down to search for danger until it faced a phone screen.

Spider-Man brags about soon-to-be Spider-Baby with his longtime girlfriend, turned wife.

“You won’t tell anyone, huh?” He heard your voice from behind the glowing screen, holding it up for a while so he could read it upside down. Peter groaned and dropped onto the floor.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think before I spoke. Someone asked me about my future and I immediately thought of you and our child and before I knew it I was— wait a minute, are you laughing?”

He furrowed his brows when he heard your giggles and lip tugged between your teeth with a grin etched across you face. “Peter, I don’t care.” He relaxed his shoulders and fell into a hug with you, one of his hands resting against your belly.

You tilted your head up to bump foreheads with his, noses rubbing against each other as his was cold at the tip, your warm aura heating him up. He leaned to kiss your lips continually, whispering sweet nothings as he apologised still.

“There’s still no way I’m letting you teach our child the Spider-Man duties. Especially not the ropes.”

Peter laughed at you, knowing very much well that he would do it anyway. This was he chance to have a Spider-Baby, who would give up that chance?

this is awful but like anyways

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taglist (let me know if you want to be removed):

@bionic-donut @lizzieann143 @fangirling-throughlife @druigss @snowfrostedfox @thatweirdbigirl @secretjeon @sage-bun @andrewgarfieldsbae @bunnietoof @tired-ass-show-girl @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @tinktohispan @urthereasonimleaving @simp4fictionmen @1-800-drugged @captainquake42 @marianthephantoms @mobiusismyfav @arabellelancastersstuff @chenellearose @uglyasswoman @lia-andari @lover1307 @cyanide-mustard @evasmlp @caswinchester2000 @tsukishimawhore @weasleytwinscumslut @flymeaway-karasuno @morgane-stark @krishavania @lavendersfairy @jessica2008 @ancailinaerach @softmullet @jemimah-b99 @elarasstardust @fxnfandxmmp4 @moo-b1tch @wolfstcr @lendeluxe @yurys-pyon @marrigold-2002 @whataprettyshadeofred @slytherheign

Andrew's Spider-Man and supervillain reader?

Your Favorite Villain│Andrew Garfield!Spiderman x Villain!Reader

Warnings: Brief descriptions of violence; some suggestive content; set in tasm!

Word Count: 1k

Summary: You have no desire to be a hero, so you’re not above causing some havoc to catch the attention of the Amazing Spiderman.

Author's Note: No spoilers for Spiderman: NWH! Thank you anon for putting in a request, I hope I did you justice. I did try to keep this gender-neutral, but I may have subconsciously written this regarding a feminine reader, so sorry about that. I wanted to do a sort of enemies to lovers trope and was inspired by Spiderman and Black Cat’s dynamic. Also to clear any confusion about (Y/n)’s power, they essentially have the ability to teleport themselves or whatever inanimate object they desire.

Feet dangling over the edge of a building, you hum a small tune as you wait for a certain someone to appear. Pulling the box closer to your figure, you examine the priceless items kept inside. Taking out a necklace, you’re quick to clutch it to your person when you hear the sound of Spiderman land behind you.

“You left a mess back at the museum. That’s not like you.”

“Museum?” Standing up, you play dumb before holding the necklace up in front of him. “Oh! Museum! I was wondering how I got all these nice things.”

While you couldn’t see the man behind the mask, you were sure he was rolling his eyes at your antics. Setting the expensive jewelry back in the box, you sigh. “I’m just joking. You can take a joke, can’t you? Or does Spiderman not have a sense of humor?”

Going to pick up the box, you stumble in surprise as you feel his webs tie your wrists together. Hands bound by his webs, you stare at him with a sly smirk. “Do you love binding your enemies, or am I just lucky?”

Peter doesn’t answer, merely shaking his head. The hero walks up towards you, moving the box of stolen artifacts away from you before grabbing your bound wrists. “Come on. We’re going to the station.”

“Do we have to?” You lift your arms, hooking them around the hero's neck to bring him close to you. “You know how this’ll go down anyways. We’ll fight, I’ll give you most of the artifacts back as a sign of a truce before sneaking off. Why not save our energy and do something more productive?”

Glancing down at where his lips would be, you wait in silence, giving him time to think before sighing. Spiderman had too strong of morals. Yet, something happened. Something different than usual. You felt his arms wrap around your waist as he released the sound of a strained sigh. “I don’t get you. One moment you’re stealing from museums, banks, taking anything you want, and then the next, you’re saving citizens by my side. Why do you do it?”

“Why does it matter?” Bringing your face closer to his, you bite your lip. “Hero, villain…Labels are just so restricting. I do things because I want to.”

His grip on you tightens, making you sigh longingly. The two of you enjoy the moment, well aware that neither of you would settle this with ease. Not tonight, anyway. His morals were too strong, and yours too fluid. Still, for these brief seconds, he could ignore what you stole and you his unwavering ability to always be a hero. And so, you kiss him softly through his mask, leaning into his embrace ever so slightly.

“Sorry, Spidey.”

Your apology was quick as you brought your knee up to his stomach before flashing away, appearing at the next building, webs no longer restraining you. You wave teasingly, a smile on your face as you hold the box of artifacts. Peering inside, you huff in annoyance as you realize Spiderman had taken the necklace, the one thing you desired the most from your stolen goods. As if on cue, the hero calls your attention, waving the piece of jewelry from his spot.

“Looking for something?”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

You hear him laugh while swinging towards you, clearly amused by your remark. The box of items disappears from your hold, warping to a location he wouldn’t be able to find without you. He comments on how that’s cheating, making you laugh as you warp, appearing behind him. Attempting to swing at his head with your leg, he catches your foot mere centimeters away. Grunting, he keeps a firm grip while turning around to face you. He swings your foot away, causing you to stumble. The hero catches you with ease, your back against his chest.

“This is certainly an interesting position,” you comment under your breath, aware he can hear you and probably your racing heart.

“Do you always deflect with humor?”

“Just around you.” Again you disappear, now standing at the ledge of the roof. You hold the necklace he had and place it around your neck. “You’re fun to tease and you can’t say you don’t enjoy it.”

He doesn’t respond, making you laugh in response. Silence had never been so loud. Toying with the necklace around your neck, you tilt your head. “I’ll make you a deal, Spidey. I keep the necklace, and you get the rest of the artifacts. Sound fair?”

“I need all of the items. I’m not bargaining with a thief.”

Placing a hand over your chest, you feign being hurt by his comment. “Just a thief? And to think we shared a kiss.”

The two of you stand at opposite ends of the building, neither of you making a move. If you wanted to, you could disappear with the stolen artifacts. In fact, you probably could have taken them without him being aware in the first place. Peter could never understand why you did what you did. You were an enigma, and he was curious to know who was under the mask.

“Clock’s ticking, Spidey. What’s it going to be?”

“You can keep the necklace.”

“That’s a good boy.” You say with a smile on your lips. The box reappears, this time by Peter’s feet. “Pleasure doing business—”

Your sentence is cut short, Spiderman launching a web and pulling you towards him. You let him do so and don’t struggle as he slowly removes the necklace, his fingers brushing at the edge of your mask. Waiting with bated breath, waiting for him to remove it, you watch as he only takes the necklace.

“You could have taken it off.” You whisper, eyeing him suspiciously. “Don’t you want to see who the criminal behind the mask is?”

“I’d rather you willingly do it yourself.” Peter answers before stepping away from you.

“Will I ever get to see the Spider behind the mask? I mean, if I take mine off, it’s only fair.”

“Maybe, but I don’t reward criminals.”

“Not even the ones you like?”

“Try to go straight, alright? You have a gift, one that could be used to help people.”

You had no plans to change your ways. Yet the tone in his voice, his belief that you could do better…shook something in you. Lightly pushing him away, you begin to back towards the ledge again. Blowing him a kiss, you watch as the world shifts, your vision distorting as you start to warp yourself to another location.

“I’ll think about it.”

Yandere!Peter Parker x Reader

word count: 2.4K

genres: University!AU, angst

warnings: suggestive themes, toxic peter, manipulation, obsesssive and possessive behavior, hints of infantilization

summary: Ever since the accident that nearly sent you into a coffin, Peter has spent every moment with you out of fear of history repeating itself. Unfortunately, you love him too much to try and say anything about it.

author’s note: this is a part of my 1K followers present week. I hope you enjoy a slightly unhinged spidey boy.

On the night that Peter saw you falling forty stories from the ground, the crack in his behavior shattered into many pieces like a fallen mirror. To think if he did not arrive a second earlier, your neck would have snapped along with your shattering bones. The thought alone of your skin becoming entirely cold and red blood pouring over the gray cement—and it not being his intentional doing—made him vomit into his bathroom sink whenever he thought about it too hard.

Just the proposal of death almost being able to rap at your door was the reason you were under Peter’s warm body in his bed many weeks after the incident. It started slowly, like a boil. He suggested you stay over at his apartment to mentally recover from the situation, but one night turned into a day, which turned into a week. Now you were completely cooked and hadn’t been to your dorm room in months.

Before you even agreed to date him, Peter had his moments. It was as if one screw was never secured correctly whenever he would interact with you. He was always so physically demanding, even when he was only your friend. He would play with your hands and braid random strands of your hair. And when you started dating, he told you how many freckles that graced your pores as a joke.

Keep reading

I am liking this story a lot. Drew me in, and darned if I wasn't sitting at the table with the lead and Harry Osborn, jumping every time there was a BANG.

Can't wait for an update, but yeah, summer classes are intense--usually cramming a semester's worth of material in 5-10 weeks depending. Good luck!

A DARK AGE

summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, gwen stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. i will do my best to place warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but please read at your own risk.

word count - 10.3k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts //

THE BUGLE was buzzing to life in a way it hadn’t in ages. Landlines were ringing off the hook, accentuated by a chorus of email and text notifications crying out from every cell phone in the building. As you stepped out of the elevator you found yourself staring at a sea of amateur reporters, all of them gathering on the far side of the office around a television set. 

You clutched the coffee in your hand tighter to keep it from spilling as a young man accidentally bumped into you, quickly moving to join the herd of his peers. You shot him a nasty look, ignoring the swift apology he muttered out as he continued to rush past you. 

Despite your intrigue at the collective panic of your coworkers, you didn’t bother moving to join them around the TV. Instead, you walked the clear opposite direction, making a beeline for the office of the only man in New York City that you trusted to know exactly what all of this fuss was about. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Workplace etiquette had flown out the window for you a long time ago. Reporters didn’t have time for benevolence. 

“They’re acting like rowdy animals out there. Foswell is running around the office like he’s in a goddamn marathon! Nearly gave me a third degree burn trying to get past me.” 

A vehement grunt was the first thing to leave Jameson’s mouth, which constituted a typical greeting for him. Following it was the shrill squeak of his old office chair as he spun around to face you. “Haven’t seen the news, y/l/n?” 

You furrowed your brows. “We are the news.” 

Another noise of discontent, followed by a hand coming up to rub viciously at his eyes. If you had learned anything during your time at the Bugle, it was that Jameson was always upset, which meant that you rarely found his vexed appearance very concerning. Yet, despite that, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that something was off. 

“The Daily Globe.” The name of the Bugle’s biggest competitor slipped past his lips like a slur, Jameson’s lip curling as if it had somehow left a bad taste in his mouth. “Some jackass at the station leaked info to them before they even got the crime scene taped off. Bushkin had everything plastered on their front page this morning before most of us even had time to pour a bowl of Special fucking K!” 

“What crime scene?” 

His hand dropped from his face down to his lap, shooting daggers straight at you. “You’re a reporter, y/l/n! Check the fucking headlines for once in your life!” 

“Sorry,” you sneered at him, “some of us actually have a life outside of work.” 

Of everyone at the Bugle, you were the only one with the authority (and the audacity) to backtalk Jameson and actually live to tell the tale. It was a perk of being his top investigative reporter, one that you never let go to waste. 

If anyone else dared to get snarky with him, he’d likely send a paperweight flying at their head. But, since it was you, he only responded to your comment with a dry chuckle—primarily because he was aware that you were lying through your teeth. 

The Bugle was all that was left of your life, the one remaining piece after you had lost everything nine months ago. Jameson knew how fresh the wound still was, how hard you fought to ignore what you’d gone through, and so he elected not to make an actual comment on your remark; a subtle indication that the crotchety man actually did have a heart. 

“Remember Aleksei Sytsevich?” 

You nodded, patience already growing thin as you waited for him to finally just tell you what happened. At this point you were beginning to think you would have been better off to gather around the TV with the rookies. “Of course I remember him,” you told him, “I’m the one that wrote the story on him hijacking that Oscorp truck last year. He goes by the Rhino now, right?” 

Each of you formed your own twisted expressions at the name Sytsevich had picked for himself. The name was fitting given the military grade battlesuit he’d managed to snag from Oscorp, but it was a tad too on the nose for your taste. It lacked creativity, though neither of you really expected anything better to come from the former Russian mafia leader. 

“Sometime last night he was found in an alley off 102nd.” Jameson declared, following you with his eyes as you moved towards his desk, taking a seat in one of the old chairs that sat in front of it. “Beaten to a goddamn bloody pulp.” 

Your nose scrunched up slightly. 

If it were anyone other than Sytsevich that had been left to bleed out in the dead of the night, you might have felt a bit of sympathy for them. But, instead, you only felt hopeful that Jameson would confirm the question that already fell past your lips, “He’s dead?” 

It was cruel to wish death on anyone. You should have felt guilty for the way your chest swelled with hope as you waited for Jameson to reply, but you didn’t. New York was running short on heroes these days, which meant that more and more criminals had begun to use that to their advantage, making a hobby out of terrorizing the innocent. 

Sytsevich had already escaped the Vault once, the so-called impenetrable prison, which meant that sending him back to jail was all but useless. But death? Not even Sytsevich would be able to crawl back from that. 

“No.” 

Your heart nearly sank, and you could tell that the sentiment was shared by Jameson, who looked equally as disappointed. After all of the innocent lives Sytsevich had claimed, he deserved to be put six feet under. 

“Not yet, at least.” He clarified, “As soon as they noticed a pulse they had him life-flighted to North General. Good news is that they don’t think he’s gonna make it through the weekend.” 

You snorted at Jameson’s execution of the comment, as well as the childlike joy that seemed to twinkle in his eyes as he thought about the possibility of Sytsevich finally being gone for good. Still, you could tell that there was more. That he hadn’t quite told you the full story. 

While the impending death of a former mafia leader was quite a story, there was little chance that it had been enough to piss Jameson off so much that the Daily Globe got word of it first. 

Criminals die every day, especially in a city like this. It was hardly front page material. 

“So you mean to tell me that the world is in hysteria all because Sytsevich is about to kick the bucket?” You questioned him, nudging your head in the direction of his office door, encouraging him to acknowledge his frantic employees as they paced the office floor. 

“It sucks that the Globe got to it first, but we should be celebrating!” As demented as it might seem, it was true. “But instead you’re in here wallowing as if we just missed out on the story of the year.” 

The joy that he had felt just moments ago was now extinguished entirely, replaced with an expression that carried far more weight. 

“You’re right. Sytsevich dying an excruciating death would be a fucking fit from a God I don’t believe in, y/l/n.” His forehead creased, thin lines appearing between his brows as he pressed a button on the laptop in front of him, tapping a few keys before turning the screen around to face you. “But the story isn’t just about his death—it’s about who killed him.” 

A wave of shock slammed into you like a ton of bricks, hard enough that it made you lose your grip on the disposable cup in your hand, the contents of it staining the old carpet that lined Jameson’s office. Neither of you paid any mind to the mess and you became consumed by the headline on the homepage of the Daily Globes website. 

SPIDER-MAN RETURNS - BRUTALLY ATTACKS ESCAPED CRIMINAL 

Your eyes grew wide, air getting caught in your lungs as you worked to keep yourself from vomiting right on Jameson’s desk. 

“No.” The word slipped out from under your breath without approval, a flash of pity washing over Jameson’s face as he took in your reaction. He had expected it, though, aware that of every reporter in New York, you would likely have the most intense response to the news. 

But your shock quickly began to morph into something more closely resembling rage. “There’s no way, right? Spider-Man’s been awol for months, J! They really expect us to think that out of every enemy Sytsevich has made that Spider-Man would be to one to fucking kill him? It’s bullshit! They’re just trying to get eyes on their shitty paper!” 

Jameson’s brows raised, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. He was never one to miss an opportunity to slam the Globe. “Normally I’d agree with you,” he mused, turning the laptop back around, “but the NYPD confirmed that Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/l/n. It doesn’t look good.” 

Your blood ran cold, turning to ice in your veins. Darkness started to take over your peripheral vision, threatening to consume the entire space around you. Images flashed through your head—asphalt painted with thick blood, bones snapping, his gruesome screams—it was a past that you had fought so hard to put behind you, only for it to now creep back up on you. 

You instinctively clutched the bag at your side, half debating reaching inside for the little orange bottle you hadn’t touched in months. You restrained yourself though, terrified to feel as if you needed to rely on the pills again. Things were getting better. 

“Spider-Man’s not a murderer.” Your voice was so hesitant, so uncertain, and it made it difficult to tell who the statement was meant to convince, Jameson or yourself. 

Jameson’s shoulders lifted into a lazy shrug as he leaned back in the rickety chair, the plastic creaking at the shift of his weight. You were aware of his stance on Spider-Man, but even he had never considered the possibility of the vigilante committing something like this. 

“No, he isn’t.” He agreed with you, evoking a bit of shock. “But he’s about to be. He’s the only one that can be linked to the crime scene. If Sytsevich dies—and it’s only a matter of time—then Spider-Man’s the one going down for it.” 

Your mind was reeling, yet your body remained motionless, your gaze fixed onto the floor. Coffee still leaked from your cup, forming a sizable stain that only grew with every second that passed. You didn’t care. 

It had been months since anyone had last seen Spider-Man, and during that time, New York had already begun to turn on him. Citizens hadn’t yet forgotten their debt to him, the countless times in which he’d nearly laid his life down for the city, but that didn’t mean that many hadn’t grown to resent him. 

They had been abandoned by their hero, left to question if he was even still alive. And if this was how he returned? A killer? 

“It’ll turn into a man-hunt.” 

There was no other outcome for it, you both knew that much. Since his disappearance, an eerie sense of unrest had settled in the streets. Spider-Man’s absence had created a whole slew of problems, things that the NYPD weren’t equipped to handle. Hope had already become such a precarious thing, and if it were confirmed that their lost hero had abandoned his own code of ethics? It would destroy all that's left. It would unleash pure chaos. 

It would be the dawn of a new age. 

A dark age. 

“Maybe.” He was being cautious with his approach, aware that this topic had the ability to turn you into little more than a ticking time bomb. “Still, there’s not any cold hard proof that he was the one to send Sytsevich to his death bed. All they know for certain is that he was at the crime scene.” 

It was strange to hear those words from Jameson, crafted as a defense for the vigilante he swore to hate. If anything, that only increased your already heightened level of fear. 

Of everyone in the world, you would have never imagined that Jonah J. Jameson would be willing to testify that Spider-Man was innocent in anything. 

“I already told Urich to assemble a team, get out on the streets, and start finding some real proof. I’ve got a source at North General giving me hourly updates on Sytsevich, but we still don’t have much time to put together a story.” 

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your face contorting into a sour expression as you flung out of your chair, ignoring everything about his statement except for one detail. 

“Fuck Urich!” You screamed loud enough that more than a few heads turned from outside Jameson’s office, a few of them now attempting to eavesdrop as the conversation became heated. “This is my story, J.” 

He sucked in a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d anticipated this reaction too. 

“No, y/l/n, it’s not!” Jameson’s own voice boomed, easily rivaling yours in volume. You didn’t so much as flinch. “Last time you chased a story with that Spider-fuck you nearly died! You’re staying away, got it?” 

You gritted your teeth, taking another step towards his desk, closing in on him. “You said it yourself J, we’re running out of time, right? You need someone that knows what they’re dealing with. Urich doesn’t have any connections to Spider-Man! I do!” 

Somehow you believed that preaching these facts to Jameson would change his mind, as if he didn’t already know about your past encounters with the hero, like he wasn’t the one that published the stories you had done on him. 

“I’m one of the last people to even see him alive, J!” You reminded him, finally letting your tone drop back to a normal volume as you continued, “Urich might be able to snoop around a crime scene, but I’m the only one with a chance of getting an actual statement from him.” 

Both of you knew that your claim was a bit far-fetched. If this were last year, getting a statement from Spider-Man would have been a piece of cake for you. But now? 

It was different. 

Either way, Jameson didn’t seem willing to budge. “A statement isn’t worth losing my best reporter.” 

If the circumstances were different you likely would’ve teased him for the comment, for making it so obvious that you were one of the only things to matter more to Jonah J. Jameson than a story. 

“Fine.” You snapped, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you challenged him. “Then I quit.” 

His face blanched. “You what?” 

“I’ll pursue the story on my own. Get a detailed fucking statement from Spider-Man—a few pictures, too.” You crossed your arms over your chest, entirely unwavering as you held his gaze. “Then I’ll sell it to the Globe.” 

Jameson’s face turned beet red, his eyes narrowing at your threat. “Don’t be stupid. You’d need an entire team to go after a story this big.” 

You mocked the lazy shrug he had offered just moments ago. “No, Urich needs a team. All I need is a few hours and some phone calls.”

Ben Urich would need access to several of the Bugle’s best reporters in order to conduct enough research to even know where to begin. Aside from that, you and Jameson both knew that one of the best potential sources for this story layed beyond the gates of Ravencroft—and Jameson would have a hell of a time trying to get authorization for an interview with any of their prisoners. 

But you? 

You could get in with a simple phone call. 

“This isn’t a game, y/l/n.” Jameson cautioned. “The night Spider-Man disappeared—when I got that call from the hospital—I thought you were gonna be dead, y/ln.” 

A pang of guilt shot through your chest and he reminded you of that night. When you arrived in the emergency room they had tried to call your emergency contacts—but you knew they wouldn’t answer, that they were the reason you were even there. Jameson was the only one that answered, the only one to show up. 

You knew how much guilt he still faced for pushing you to chase another Spider-Man story, for encouraging you to get closer to the vigilante, only for it to land you in a hospital bed with several broken bones and a grade three concussion. 

Sometimes you wished that you could tell him it wasn’t his fault. That you were already in too deep, long before you had started chasing another story, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. But you couldn’t. 

“If you take this story then you’re putting yourself at risk. Again. You’ll be destroying everything you’ve worked for.” 

Blood pooling, bones snapping, his screams echoing. 

You bit your cheek until you tasted crimson, shoving the hellish thoughts from your mind. “Are you gonna take Urich off the story or not?” 

Jameson’s shoulders immediately slouched, his disappointment evident as the corners of his mouth turned downwards. But he knew you—too well, which meant he knew that nothing would stop you from following this story. 

So, against his better judgment, he straightened his posture and tried to mask his own emotions, but you could still tell how much it had hurt him to mutter out the word—“Fine.” 

You didn’t plan on waiting around long enough to hear anything else he might have to say, already turning on your heel and aiming for the door, knowing that it was best to leave before he changed his mind altogether. Still, just before the door slammed closed behind you, you heard him speak. 

“Your funeral.” 

His snide comment left a bad taste in your mouth, pungent and unpalatable, but you did your best to ignore it. There wasn’t any time to comprehend the gravity of his statement, to consider just how close you had come to death last time. 

If Jameson was right about anything, it was that time was of the essence. The sooner Spider-Man could be proven innocent the better. 

So instead of dwelling on it and risking uprooting your past trauma, you shoved your way through the crammed newsroom, coming to a halt only when you could plant yourself at the edge of Urich’s desk. He looked up at you through his thickly-rimmed glasses, brows knitting together. 

“This your team?” You asked him, an idle finger pointing to the crew of unfamiliar faces that surrounded the desk. 

Urich gave a stiff nod. 

“Great.” The smile you gave was sickening, filled with misplaced animosity. You scanned over the group, your gaze ultimately settling on the figure directly to his left, a somewhat tall woman with neatly bobbed hair. Out of everyone, she was the only one armed with a pencil and notepad, having taken note of his every word. “What’s your name?” 

The women seemed stunned, her voice shaking the tiniest bit as she responded. “Betty. Betty Brant.” 

“Nice to meet you Ms. Brant.” Your tone was much milder when speaking to Brant, though it quickly turned harsh again as you shifted your attention back to Urich. “I’m taking over the story. Jameson already gave me clearance, so please, if you plan on whining about it, keep it between the two of you, mkay?” 

Urich’s usually squinty eyes suddenly widened behind his lenses, thin lines settling into his forehead. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth in protest before you had already cut him off. 

“Anyone who isn’t Brant can get out of my face. I don’t have a use for you.” A dismissive hand was waved at the small crowd, although none of them bothered to move more than a few feet away, too interested in eavesdropping to venture any further. 

“And, um, what is it that you’d like me to do?” Betty Brant was quite the apprehensive woman, her lack of confidence shining through in quite literally everything she did. She was new to this, that much was obvious, but you still found yourself with some sort of intuitive faith in the girl. 

“I need you to track down some information for me.” 

A pit suddenly grew in your stomach as it dawned on you that this would be the first time you had so much as uttered his name since that night. He had essentially become a ghost to you, capable of haunting every corner of your mind without ever reentering your life. It was easier that way, though. Avoiding him had been the best way to recover from him; even if that meant treating his name like a curse. 

You took a deep breath, garnering every ounce of strength you had left to ensure your voice wouldn’t crack. “I need a way to get into contact with Peter Parker. He used to work here, but the number we have on file isn’t in service anymore.” 

Once. 

In the nine months since it happened, you had only tried to call him once. With the phone pressed to your face you had already prepared yourself to hear the dial tone go on for ages, fully aware that he’d just let it go to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to you—he didn’t want to talk to anyone. But, instead, you were greeted by a prerecorded message saying the number had been disconnected. 

And that was the closest you ever got to a goodbye from Peter. 

“Parker?” Urich finally got a word out. “What’s he gotta do with this?” 

You didn’t have any intention of offering him a detailed explanation, your back already turned to him as you spoke over your shoulder. “He’s the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man. If everything goes as planned, I’m gonna need his skillset.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. Regardless, it was the best defense you had for needing a way to contact Peter; one that wouldn’t raise any suspicions. If anything, you would have preferred to start your hunt for information with Peter, because then you would’ve been able to avoid Ravencroft altogether. But, unfortunately, Peter was little more than a dead end right now. 

“Jameson has my number–get it from him and text me as soon as you have a lead!” 

It was the last order you barked before disappearing into the elevator, quick to rush off to the first destination on your list. You had to get moving, at least until you could find a way to talk to Peter, which meant you needed to start gathering the names of anyone who might’ve actually wanted Sytsevich dead. 

Unfortunately, that meant hailing a taxi to Westchester County and digging up another ghost from your past. 

You hastily pressed the button for the ground floor, your other hand already delving into your bag, grabbing your phone and dialing the number that had called you many times over the past months; a number you rarely answered. 

“Hi, this is y/n y/l/n calling,” a weight settled deep within your stomach, accompanied by a shiver running down your spine as you forced yourself to speak, “could I speak with Leonard Samson? I would like to take him up on his visitation offer. Please tell him that I want to speak with Harry Osborn as soon as possible.”

The Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane was not for the faint of heart. 

At first glance, most would consider it a fine establishment. The ornate iron gates lining the property seek to paint a picture of elegance, while the impenetrable stone walls offer those on the outside a sense of security—serving as a silent oath that those on the other side can’t get out. 

While technically labeled a prison, Ravencroft always insists that they place treatment above punishment for those incarcerated here. They pushed this motto, staff members regularly appearing on the local news to preach of mercy and remission; despite the fact that no one committed to the facility had ever made it out alive. 

Ravencroft’s prisoners weren’t always as willing to keep up the facility's pristine public image though, well known for spitting in the face of that ‘guise of elegance they’d worked to build. It was because of their sharp tongues that Ravencroft rarely let reporters past the front gates, petrified of what they might learn from those on the inside, worried that someone might get the chance to uncover their true nature; or worse, expose their unlawful ways of curing the prisoners. 

You were the only reporter to ever be invited onto the property, even if it was under special circumstances. 

“Truth be told, I was shocked to hear you called!” Director Samson confessed. His tone always rubbed you the wrong way, always coming off as far too exuberant for a man in charge of a psychiatric facility for criminals. “What’s it been, five months? Six, perhaps, since we last spoke?” 

“Seven.” You noted, sporting a rather sardonic smile. He didn’t seem to notice your ill-intent. 

“Well, either way, it had been far too long!” He chortled to himself, a chorus of keys clanking against his hip as he led you down another winding hallway. 

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the immaculate white linoleum beneath your feet. The smell of bleach was incredibly pungent, burning your nostrils with every breath you took. You did your best not to breathe at all. 

“You’ve been checking your email, yes?” Director Samson was a few long strides ahead of you, moving at a pace you couldn’t manage to keep up with. “When you stopped answering your cell, I decided to have my secretary begin forwarding you all of our notes from his treatment sessions. It’s pivotal that you’ve stayed up-to-date on his progress, especially if you finally plan on becoming an active role in his recovery!” 

You braced yourself for the tainted oxygen that would fill your lungs as you lied, “Of course. Even gave them a quick review on the ride over.” 

In the seven months that you had been dodging Samson’s calls, you had never once opened any of the emails from his secretary. You always saw them come through though, and you always found yourself staring at the subject line for just a moment too long. 

Patient #121394 - Progress Report 

It made you sick sometimes, the way he had been reduced to a number. Other times, you were thankful for it. It helped to create a divide in your head, allowing you to create some sort of separation between who he was and who he is. Harry Osborn was your friend. Patient #121394 stabbed you in the back. 

Regardless, you could never actually make yourself read them. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to delete them, stashing one-hundred and eighty-four daily progress reports from Ravencroft into a separate folder, out of sight but kept on hand, just in case you ever needed them. 

You weren’t sure why you ever would. 

“Good, good!” He chirped loudly, both of you now approaching a large armored door. It didn’t match the rest of the hallway, the rusted surface polluting the otherwise pure white space. 

Your attention was pulled away from it as Director Samson spun on his toe, index finger suddenly wagging in your face, your eyes growing wide as you tried to lean back a few inches. His nails were a touch overgrown, caked with a substance you didn’t recognize. Describing him as eccentric would be kind, although disconcerting fit him better. 

“You must promise me something before you speak with him!” He sputtered out. You did your best not to flinch as his saliva spewed onto your face. “I understand you may have felt a need to…” his head bobbed side to side, squinting as he considered his wording, “distance yourself from Mr Osborn. That is why I did my best to respect your need for space the past several months-” 

Ah yes–you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to laugh in his face–calling bi-weekly and sending daily emails is clearly a sign of respecting someone’s wish to be uninvolved. 

“But!” He shouted out, his rotten nails now close enough that you could smell whatever laid beneath them. “If you cross this threshold,” his hand moved to the large door behind him, offering you a chance to swallow back the bile building in your throat, “you cannot abandon him again, Ms. y/l/n. Progress is a volatile thing, especially for the damaged souls that call Ravencroft home. I need to know that you’re prepared to devote yourself to Mr. Osborn’s treatment.” 

Abandon him—the claim was enough to make your blood boil. You wanted to scream at him, remind him of what had happened that night, remind him that you were the one who had been abandoned. You wanted to turn around, to leave and never step foot in this cursed building ever again. 

If you did that, then maybe you could keep lying to yourself. Harry Osborn could remain your former friend, one of the few crumbs you had left of the life you so desperately wanted back. He could be innocent, and Patient #121394 could be the murderer. 

“Well Director Samson, I can assure you that I have absolutely no intentions to abandon him!” The mask you put on was sickly sweet, more than palatable enough to hide the animosity behind it. 

His bug-eyed stare remained locked onto you, unnerving and wild. “You must promise.” 

“Okay,” A sigh managed to slip out, quickly covered by your response, “I promise.” 

He instantly relaxed at the vow, easily returning to the childish ebullience he’d displayed previously. You wondered how he would react if he had noticed the hand behind your back, if he knew your fingers were crossed as you spoke. 

Abandonment was a much kinder fate than Harry Osborn deserved, so you were certain that if a higher power existed, they would forgive you for breaking your promise to Director Samson. 

Metal jingled about as he removed the keys from his belt loop, somehow knowing exactly which one to grab from the couple dozen crowded the thick ring they hung on. 

“Now, please, do your best to remember the rules!” He began unlocking the various deadbolts on the door. “All patients in the visitation area will be secured to his or her station, for your safety as well as theirs. Under no circumstances should you touch any of the patients. Should you notice a patient is acting out of sorts, please remain calm and notify the warden-” 

You already knew the do’s and don’ts of visiting prisoners, having interviewed several of the inhabitants at Ryker’s Island for the Bugle, and so you found yourself droning him out entirely, watching as he moved from one lock to another, until he finally reached the last one. 

“Most importantly, do not forget that this time is meant to inspire and encourage your loved ones to continue on their new path towards righteousness!” He displayed a toothy grin, cavity filled and displeasing. In return you offered a much less prominent smile. “And please, when you’re done with your chitter-chatter, come by my office. I would love to discuss next steps with you!” 

You gave a curt nod, aware that you would not be doing that. Interacting with Samson was enough to drain even the most extroverted people, which was one of the many reasons you’d stopped returning his calls only two months into Harry’s sentence. 

He viewed you as a valuable tool for curing Harry—mentally, at least. His actual disease was of little interest to Samson, his physical health naught in comparison to his damaged mind. Harry had no next of kin, which meant all of Samson’s hopes had been placed onto you. He believed in order to cure Harry’s mind, he needed the assistance of someone who was dear to him, someone to act as a tether to his sanity. 

Director Samson also believed that the venom Harry injected into his veins was the cause for his self-proclaimed insanity. This told you all you needed to know about the Director; he was clueless. 

You knew the truth. After all, you were the one that had fed his lawyers the story and loaded them up with all the evidence they’d need in order to paint a picture for the jury, illustrating Harry Osborn’s mental descent. It was you that had convinced them to make him swallow his pride and take the insanity plea—your final act of kindness towards Harry. 

The clunky metal door groaned profusely as Director Samson pushed it open, heavy enough that it required him to use both hands and the majority of his body weight. Once it was open, he bowed in a particularly odd manner, motioning you into the room with a dramatic flair that made you nauseous. More than anything in the world, you couldn’t wait to never see him again. 

The small space you walked into had distracted you from Samon’s bizarre attitude, immediately taking note of them in case you ever felt like breaching Samson’s trust and writing a story on Ravencroft. 

First–it didn’t share the same suffocating scent as the hallway, the smell of chemical cleaners having completely vanished. You took advantage of this, letting your chest expand with several deep breaths. Your nostrils no longer burned, however this came with a price, this room much grimier than the rest of the facility. It didn’t shock you. 

Second–there was nothing white in here, a stark contrast from the unsoiled appearance of the never ending hallway you took to get here. This room truly felt like a prison, despite Ravencroft’s insistence that they were far from that. Muted shades of chipped paint coated the walls, the floors nothing more than poured cement. 

And, finally, third–no one, and you truly meant absolutely no one, appeared as if they were on the road to recovery. 

To your left there was a red-headed girl chained to a metal bar fastened to the wall. A bit of drool dribbled down her chin, her eyelids drooping as if she had been drugged. On your right was a boy no older than nineteen, handcuffed to his chair and left with nothing to do except stare at the floor beneath his feet. 

They looked miserable, and you almost felt bad for sticking Harry in a place like this. 

Almost. 

Behind you the door shut with a crash, the symphony of locks clicking back into place. Your heart rate spiked as you realized you were now trapped in here with them, taking a glance at the warden. He was a burly man, yet the only weapon he had on him was a baton, lazily stuffed into his waistband. It only added to your growing apprehension. 

Anxiety, you reminded yourself through gritted teeth, is another thing reporters don’t have time for. 

Each second brought you closer to Sytsevich’s impending death, which meant you didn’t have time to waste on fear. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier, still feeling as if you were frozen in place, wishing that they hadn’t made you leave your bag in the main office. 

If Brant had managed to find a number for Peter then you could just skip this whole mess, go straight to the source and get hard proof that he was innocent… but it was too late to turn around now. 

You were already here. 

In the furthest corner of the room you saw a steel table, placed directly in front of the patient’s only source of natural light—an incredibly small window, armed with thick black bars. Your heart lurched as your gaze settled on the table's only occupant. Even with his back turned, you could still recognize him. 

Lifting just one foot had been the hardest part, terror pricking your bones as the single step caused one of the patients to whip their head around towards you. 

He was an enormous man, standing several inches over six feet with muscles that rivaled the Hulk. Fortunately, you didn’t hold his attention for long, hesitantly watching as he went back to staring at the old-style television set that had been stuffed in the corner. Static painted the screen, and every once in a while the large man would give a swift hit to its side, making the other patients flinch. The warden didn’t stop him. 

Each step after that was rushed, an attempt to get out of his line of sight. He was restrained, as were all of them, but he still filled you with a sense of unease. When you finally reached the table and quickly slipped into one of the metal chairs, eyes still darting about prudently, you heard the patient sitting across from you laugh. 

You had thought the terror seeping into your veins had been intolerable, but it was no match for the misplaced grief that fought to consume you at the sound of his voice. It simultaneously sent chills down your spine and relaxed every muscle in your body, a paradox of a reaction that only the living dead could possibly provide. 

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He drawled, leaving you hanging onto every syllable. “My new friends scare you?” 

A bit. 

“Hardly.” You snapped back a bit faster than intended. Beneath the table you clenched your fists, fingernails prodding into the soft flesh of your palms. 

Stay calm. Hide your weaknesses. 

You were disappointed with yourself, your inability to mask your discomfort, especially here. A penitentiary wasn’t the best place to rollover, and you knew that the moment you fucked up and showed your underbelly you’d be as good as dead. You needed to be better. You needed to be incomprehensible. 

“You look well.” You spoke again before he’d have the chance to beat you to it, determined to be the one holding the reins in this conversation. “I’m shocked.” 

It truly wasn’t meant as a slight though the scoff you received in response made it clear that he’d taken it as one. It was God’s honest truth though; you hadn’t expected him to look as good as he did. 

Last time you saw Harry Osborn was when the venom had already invaded his bloodstream, transforming him into something near unrecognizable. That was the Harry Osborn you had been expecting to see today. A nightmare, a killer, a monster. 

Instead, you found yourself looking directly into the cerulean gaze of a boy you had mourned for nearly a year. There were subtle differences; the natural dark pigment of his hair still hadn’t returned, leaving it a dusty shade of brown, and the disease that fought relentlessly to claim his life had spread, a scaly patch of skin taking over his cheek bone. 

But, for the most part, he looked like himself. He looked like Harry. 

And that simple fact was almost enough to break you. 

“Wow, less than a minute in and you’re already spitting out back-handed compliments.” Harry's mouth twitched into a smirk. “You sure know how to greet an old friend.” 

Was he antagonizing you on purpose? Or was he simply delusional? Either way, you only offered him a tight smile, “We’re not friends.” 

You had no way of knowing if your words actually had any effect on him. Having been raised in the limelight meant that Harry had years of practice in maintaining his composure, always working to maintain the Osborn image. You had never been good at reading Harry, and that’s how he liked it. Like most powerful men, he enjoyed keeping secrets. 

“Aren’t we though?” He countered, a swift tug at the reins, an effort to regain some semblance of control. 

Your jaw clenched. “Not anymore.” 

Harry leaned forward a touch, those menacing eyes glistening as his palms remained flat against the cold steel, secured there by thick cuffs. “You think I don’t know what you did? That I don’t know who fed my lawyers all that bullshit about childhood abuse and disease warping my mind?” 

That bullshit had saved his life. Forced the jury to see him as more than another twisted villain, coerced them into feeling some sort of sympathy for Harry. By no means was Ravencroft comparable the the fucking Four Seasons, but it was far better than the alternative. Without the insanity plea, Harry was on a quick path to Ryker’s Island—a place you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. 

“You’re right. I gave them everything they needed to build your case.” There was no use in denying it. The recounts of the trauma his father had inflicted on him were too detailed, too intimate, and Harry knew only three people in this world had access to that information. Himself, you, and Norman; and the latter was already dead. “But not because we’re friends.” 

He cocked a brow at you, once again leaning back into the uncomfortable metal chair. “Then why bother?” 

“Because I’m not like you.” 

And you wholeheartedly believed that. Caring about him had nothing to do with your choice to try and spare his life, your decision to aid Gwen’s murderer. 

“A rich boy like you wouldn’t last a single day in Ryker’s. Those guys would’ve eaten you alive.” You asserted, the only physical sign of the anger coursing through you being your flared pupils. You were in control. “I had an opportunity to save your life, so I took it. Not because of friendship,” the word tasted acidic, burning as it rolled off your tongue, “but because I’m a good person—better than you ever were.” 

It wasn’t until you were done talking that you realized how desperate you had been for the declaration to cut him. You only recognized it afterwards, irritation flooding you as he remained perfectly still, seeming entirely unphased. 

Then after a moment of nothing, he sighed. Not out of annoyance, not out of sadness. Instead, it seemed to be out of pure boredom, which only made your irritation towards him grow. 

“Guess that means you’re not here to help with my treatment, huh?” He said it like a joke, as if he too thought he was incapable of redemption and found this whole thing to be a waste of time. “Samson’s gonna be so disappointed when he finds out.” 

“You’re right, I’m not here to help you.” you confirmed, sucking in a deep breath and biting back at your pride, “But you’re gonna help me.” 

His brows snapped up—a reaction, subtle, but there nonetheless. “And why would I do that? I mean, you already made it clear that we’re not friends. So why should I do anything for you?” 

“I’ll keep coming here. Participating in whatever stupid shit Samson has planned, keep acting like I wanna help you get better.” You sneered, eyes rolling. People like Harry Osborn were incapable of better. “There’s gotta be something for you to gain in all of that, right? Some sort of reward for making progress. If you’re lucky then maybe they’ll give you more playtime with your little buddies or something.” 

Your gaze flicked over his shoulder, once again landing on the enormous man that had noticed you earlier. He was still beating against the side of the television, the thumping of his palm against thick plastic echoing through the room. No one seemed to mind the noise. 

“Besides,” you continued while shifting your focus back to Harry, “you owe me.” 

He did owe you—him and Peter both—but pulling that card made you sound desperate, like you had truly run out of options and were now using everything left in your arsenal to sway him. 

But that was the point. 

It was a calculated move, entirely deliberate, right down to the doe-eyed glance you shamelessly flashed at him, feigning a moment of vulnerability. You hadn’t rolled over, hadn’t exposed your weak points, but you wanted him to believe you did. 

There were certain benefits that came with knowing Harry—who he used to be. You knew about his insatiable desire to be needed by someone, to feel wanted. There had been a time in which you wouldn’t have dared to exploit the trauma that desire stemmed from, but things were different now. 

Even when armed with his stoic mask, you could tell that you had hit your mark perfectly. He remained silent, considering your words. A rational part of him was likely screaming to tell you no, to send you out of Ravencroft without so much as a second glance. Odds were that he knew this was an attempt to manipulate him, to play at the side of his that ached to be essential to another. 

But Harry Osborn wasn’t known for making rational decisions. He was rarely driven to act by his near-genius level IQ, instead always finding himself a victim to the gnawing pain in his chest; and you were banking on that. 

Then, it happened. 

For a moment—mere seconds, at most—the mask slipped. A single muscle twitched in his jaw, his nose wrinkling the slightest touch. The shift in his demeanor was so subtle, yet so apparent to you. Having once been so close to him, you’d all but trained yourself to detect the moments in which his arrogance would melt into something far more innocent. You used to crave those moments; live for them, even. It felt like an honor to witness the side of Harry in which he fought to keep locked away, a side he tried to ignore. 

Now, though, you felt almost nothing. 

Harry finally let out a gruff sound, his tongue darting along his chapped bottom lip. “You’re here about Peter, aren’t you?” 

You were careful not to outwardly react. “You’ve seen the news?” 

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Not everyday the city hails Spider-Man a murderer.” 

He said the vigilante’s name like a curse, as if it were the dirtiest word he’s ever spoken. It was laced with a bone-chilling sense of contempt, one that only deepened your resentment towards Harry. You didn’t like it—the way he spoke as if he had a right to hate Peter. After everything Harry had done, after everything he’d taken—your nails dug deeper into your palms as you fought to keep your eyes peeled. terrified that if you so much as blinked you’d catch a glimpse of Harry’s sins. That you’d catch a glimpse of her.

“Are you gonna help or not?” You struggled to stay composed, his brows raised in amusement at the snipped statement. 

An unfortunate oversight in your plan had been in failing to acknowledge that Harry knew you just as well as you’d known him. It didn’t matter if you rolled over, because you were already exposed. He knew that Peter was a soft spot for you, that he had always been a soft spot, and all he had to do in order to push you over the edge was jab a little harder at that unhealed wound.

Surprisingly, he chose to leave it alone. 

“You’ll come four times a week. Minimum.” 

You fought the urge to grin at his demands, aware that it meant the rational side of him had lost. 

“Twice a week.” You countered.

“Make it three.” He almost sounded pitiful, coming off more like he was begging than demanding. It caught you off guard to hear him sound so desperate, and for a moment you wondered if he had turned the tables; if he was now manipulating you, playing on your emotions and trying to make you feel bad for the loneliness Ravencroft had inflicted upon him. 

But there was something about the look in his eyes, how transparent they suddenly seemed, that made you feel like this hadn’t been done with nefarious intent. His desperation was genuine, and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Fine.” You agreed, aware that you didn’t have time to negotiate with him all day. You had a story to write, and in order to create a solid defense for Spider-Man—for Peter, you’d need help. You’d need a culprit, someone that had a motive to kill Sytsevich. “Deal?” 

Harry grinned, that same arrogant and flashy sort of grin you’d seen him give heiresses and models. You always wanted to be on the receiving end of that smile, to be the one he was trying to win over, but now it only made your stomach sink. “How can I be of service?” 

“Do you know anyone who might want Sytsevich dead?” You decided to be blunt with the question, keeping your voice low. 

“Uh, yeah. Try the entire Soviet Union. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like he made a real fucking mess of things when he left Russia.” Harry noted. 

“O-kay,” you drawled, “what about locally? People talk in prison, yeah? If somebody was planning something you would’ve heard about it.” 

His nose scrunched up. “What do you think happens in prison? That we all just get together like it’s a slumber party and swap hit lists?” 

You didn’t bother responding, not verbally, at least. Instead, you opted for shooting him a sharp glare. It didn’t phase him. 

“Look,” he glanced towards the warden, scooting forwards a touch once he noticed the negligent guard had become distracted by his phone, “a guy like Sytsevich doesn’t go down without a good fight, alright? I saw the blueprints for that armor he wears, right before the board locked me out of Oscorp’s systems. I know what it’s capable of. Most people wouldn’t even have a chance to get a hit in, let alone send him to the hospital.” 

“Perfect,” you snapped, his eyes widening slightly, “if you know what his armor is capable of then you should know who would be strong enough to take him on.”

Harry scoffed at the simplicity of your deduction, “Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea, actually.” 

You gritted your teeth, aware of where he was heading. “It wasn’t Peter.” 

“How’re you so sure?” He asked you, a thin crease settling between his brows as he glowered at you. “I know you like to fixate on my fuck-ups in favor of avoiding his but you were there that night, y/n!” 

The banging sound of the prisoner’s palm colliding against the side of the thick television kept the guard from hearing Harry’s raised voice. 

“He wouldn’t kill Sytsevich.” You held firm in your beliefs, even as your gaze faltered and fell away from Harry’s, settling on the surface of the table. 

Bang. 

“He almost killed me!” His voice was consumed with bitterness, with pain. 

“And you killed her.” 

Was that truly a good defense? Had Harry’s sins somehow absolved Peter’s? A life for a life—the logic behind the sentiment was skewed and you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to venture into the memories you’d fought so hard to block out. Your stomach suddenly became taut, unwilling to face the question you didn’t want answered. 

“You know what he’s capable of.” He pressed further, still leaned in close, as if trying to close the gap between you both, the shackles securing him to the table preventing him from doing just that. “Sytsevich was restrained with webs, y/n. Don’t be dense-”

Bang. 

“Peter isn’t a murderer, Har!” You hissed through your teeth—too overstimulated to notice the pet name slip from your mouth and too livid to care. 

He went to argue the statement when another bang sounded out against the side of the television, this one finally powerful enough to knock some life back into the formerly deceased device. Your eyes darted in it’s direction, Harry’s neck snapping around to do the same as you both listened to the hum of the static clear, a female voice breaking through. 

“-just moments ago we received word from the NYPD that former Russian mafia member Aleksei “the Rhino” Sytsevich passed away less than an hour ago. Sources from North General hospital confirmed that Sytsevich’s condition began to rapidly worsen, until he eventually gave in to the fatal wounds sustained in last night's mysterious assault.” 

The tautness in your stomach grew stronger, a wave of nausea settling over you as the organ began to tie itself in knots. 

“Chief Davis with the NYPD will be holding a press conference this afternoon, however officials have already confirmed that there is now an active warrant out calling for Spider-Man’s arrest. Individuals with any information on New York’s fallen hero are being asked to call the number displayed on the bottom of the screen, and police advise citizens to avoid their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man at all costs-”

Harry twisted back around to face you, cautious and uncertain as he met your stare. He almost appeared concerned—not about the news, not about Peter, but about you. The corner of his mouth twitched downward, forced to watch as your face blanched, mind reeling. 

It’s not too late. There’s still a chance. He can still be proven innocent. A warrant doesn’t mean jackshit. 

The metal legs of your chair screeched against the ground as you pushed yourself back from the table, “I need to go.” 

Harry’s wrists pulled against the shackles that held him in place, instinctively reaching towards you, as if he’d nearly forgotten they were even there. “Wait!” 

Against your better judgment, you listened to him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. You needed to go. You need to contact the Bugle, needed to see if Brant had found a number for Peter. As much as you hated to admit it, Ravencroft had wound up being a deadend, and you needed to keep moving—but you just didn’t. You stayed, staring back at a boy you once knew, waiting for him. 

You always waited for them—Harry and Peter both. 

“You’re not-...” he hesitated, blinking and shaking his head as he debated whether or not he should even continue, if it would even make a difference. “You’re not going to see him, are you?” 

“Of course I am!” You ignored the groan that escaped his parted lips. “You’ve been fucking useless, so Peter is all I’ve got left. He didn’t kill Sytsevich, alright? But he was at the scene. He’s gotta have some idea as to who did this.” 

It was obvious that the offhand insult had stung, evident by the way he winced as you launched it at him. You nearly found yourself apologizing for it, but decided against it as you watched him quickly stiffen back up, always refusing to wear his pain so blatantly. Norman had trained him well, drilling into his head that weakness wasn’t a part of the Osborn way. 

“Don’t get involved.” 

Your stare narrowed. What he offered hadn’t been a recommendation, rather a demand. “They’ll hunt him down, Harry! If the police convince the entire city that Spider-Man’s a murderer? The city will turn into a fucking disaster. I’m not gonna let him go through that alone.” 

“You could get yourself killed!” Harry barked back, clearly indifferent to whether or not Peter suffered alone. You found yourself laughing in response, finding humor in his attempt to show concern for your life. 

“It’s Peter.” You stated plainly, devoid of any emotion as you rose to your feet. Harry’s head tilted upwards, following you with his eyes. “He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” 

“Remind me again who saved you that night.” His jaw clenched, his tone turning callous as he decided to prod at the old wounds. “Cause it sure as hell wasn’t Spider-Man.” 

Your fists balled up tighter, blood beginning to seep from your palms and pooling beneath your nails. You zoned in on the stinging sensation, digging deeper into your flesh, using the pain as a tether to keep you from slipping too deep into your own subconscious. You didn’t have time to think about that night. You didn’t have fucking time. 

So you bottled up the thousands of thoughts running rampant in your head, biting your tongue instead of allowing yourself to spit anymore insults at him. He’s not worth it–you tried to tell yourself, starting towards the warden–it won’t change anything. 

“y/n!” He growled as you moved past him, electing to ignore him entirely. He thrust his arms against the shackles again, rattling the thick metal and grunting as they tightened around his wrists. You were just a little over a foot away when he spoke again, “Don’t fucking tell him you know!” 

You paused, suddenly feeling as if your feet had been cemented to the floor. You cursed yourself as you responded, refusing to look back at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“Have you talked to him since that night?” He asked. 

“No.” You chewed on your bottom lip, ignoring the abrupt pang in your chest. “I haven’t.” 

“Okay. Great. Then he doesn’t know for sure what you saw that night. That you saw him without the mask, that you know he’s Spider-Man.” He was talking uncharacteristically fast, as if he was worried you’d leave before he’d get the words out quick enough. “So don’t tell him.” 

You frowned, shifting to the side, now looking at him through your peripheral. “Why?” 

“Because.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fending off the growing headache that this situation had brought on. “As far as he knows, I’m his only loose end. The only one that knows who he really is.” 

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. Since walking into Ravencroft, you’d concerned yourself so heavily with keeping your guard up, with guarding your weakest points—only for Harry to be the one to rollover. He was exposing his hand, and you found it unsettling, especially when you realized that there was no selfish intent behind his words. 

Harry had nothing to lose in this situation. 

Except for you—his friend. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not a murderer. But if he did kill Sytsevich? Anyone who knows about Spider-Man’s secret identity is gonna have a huge fucking target on their back.” His eyes remained closed, drawing in a shaky breath before he continued, “So please,” his voice shook, desperation lacing each syllable, “just–don’t tell him, okay?” 

Goosebumps arose on your forearms, unable to hide from the fear that radiated off of him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find an ulterior motive for the statement. There was no clear sign of manipulation, no indication that he wanted to do anything other than protect you; and that made you feel sick. 

You had long since buried Harry Osborn, having told yourself countless times that two of your friends died that night. For two-hundred-and-seven days you had mourned both of them. 

With every fiber of your being you had believed that the arrogant boy that had weaseled his way into your life was gone, having been replaced with a malevolent monster. 

But now you could feel him.

It no longer felt as if you had just been staring at his corpse, but rather as if someone had actually breathed life back into him, offering you a glimpse of what still remained. 

It caused the tiniest spark of hope to ignite within you, a spark that you would do your damndest to extinguish. 

Harry Osborn was better off dead. 

“Our deal’s off.” You asserted, cold and uncaring. His eyes shot open again, a desolate expression washing over him. He didn’t try to conceal it, didn’t bother to adjust the mask he always wore. “You gave me absolutely nothing, so I’m not obligated to hold up my end.” 

Harry’s lips parted as if he were going to protest, as if he were going to do something—but nothing came out, and you hadn’t expected him to find the words, anyways. Try as you might, the three of you had never been capable of such candor; never willing to shine a light on the darkest corners of your minds, too scared of the risks that came with exposing what laid beneath the surface. 

You couldn’t help but think there was something poetic about it; the melancholy cord that bound you to Harry and Peter. How you were all fated to don matching wounds, but always be too afraid to admit to one another that you were bleeding. 

Sometimes you wanted to show them the stains on your hands, the red that you could never scrub off. You wondered if it would have made a difference, if maybe then the three of you could have bore the weight of it all together, rather than crumbling beneath the pressure. 

But none of that mattered anymore. 

None of you were the same anymore. 

And so you gritted your teeth and held your head high, letting the blood continue to collect under your nails, hiding it from his view. You took a heavy breath, your chest heaving beneath all of the pain you chose to carry. 

“Coming here was a mistake.” 

It was the only thing left to say, the only other admission you’d let slip past your lips. It hung in the air between the two of you, resonating with each of you in an entirely different manner, knowing that you’d never share your own interpretation with the other. 

Harry didn’t respond, choosing to drown in his silence, having grown used to watching people walk away from him. And you forced yourself to leave, choking on the remnants of your own grief; having grown used to abandoning what you once loved. 

a/n - ah, so it's definitely not june BUT i did post it finally! i've put a lot of time and effort into this fic cause i do just genuinely love the idea of it and it brings me a lot of joy lol. with that being said, it takes a ton of effort for me to write it because i'm putting in a lot of little details, so updates on this won't be the quickest, especially while i'm taking summer classes!! but i'll be doing my best! please feel free to leave comments, opinions, etc. and look forward to getting loads of peter content in the next part! also feel free to check out THIS if you want to see an edit of the newspaper headline!

Independent Claws

Summary: You are lost in a cycle of avoidance caused by a painful past. Peter shepherds you towards a happier future.

Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader; written as mostly Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Alcoholism (mention), Hurt/Comfort, Language, Mature situations, etc, etc Minors DNI

*Reblogs, reblogs, reblogs, and likes are great. Please do not post, copy or transfer to other sites on social media or use with AI.*

Chapter One: Tense

Your skin appears orange under the glow of the street lamps as you chain the rusty bicycle to the fence railing and tread softly down the street. A mental image of black gloves, left sitting on a desk back home, taunts the only part of you uncovered. "Idiot," you mutter to yourself, looking down at your hands, balling them into fists. It isn't the weather for which the gloves are necessary, although your breath frosts in the night air. You need stealth. But at least the navy blue hoodie, t-shirt, and pants are dark so you keep on walking, head down, going over your plan in your mind. Going over it and over it as you had done ever since this afternoon when the devil of opportunity presented himself and then your stupid angel conscience sent by your late mother decided to make an appearance to even the score.

--------------------

You had been watching and crushing on Peter Parker since forever, and he often wore sweaters and hoodies back in high school, but over the last few years he seemed to grow warm so quickly and shed them as if he radiated thermal energy beyond what was normal. On the first day when he made eye contact, you'd given him a shy nod of recognition in the college class you shared, surprised he had even remembered the green-eyed classmate from long ago who hugged the walls and lockers always looking for a place to hide, to avoid interaction.

As the semester continued, you tried desperately to remain inconspicuous, unapproachable, but still watching him, wide eyed like a cat in the darkness under a bed. Peering up through your fingers while taking notes in class as he pulled a sweater over his head, watching his thick brown hair go awry and stand up as if he was touching a Van de Graaf Generator at the science museum. Yeah, it shocked you too because sometimes his t-shirt would ride up higher and made your own neck hairs stand up as straight as his hair. But the hoodies, Peter wore those hoodies the most often. They looked so soft, so touchable and when you heard the faint but crisp ziiiiip as he ran his hand down the front and shook his arms out of the sleeves it always made your head turn. Not too fast though. You had learned to be careful. Once, hearing the familiar sound you flicked your eyes up when he removed his navy blue hoodie, which happened to be your personal favorite hoodie, and caught his brown eyes staring straight at you. That was when you dropped your pen just so you could duck to the tile floor, missing his smirk and lifted eyebrow as he shrugged the hoodie over the back of his chair.

The disrobing, as you mentally termed it, became a regular habit and made worse by the quieter nature of the calculus course compared to the mayhem of high school. No class clowns making noise, no troublemakers. Just students watching the professor while taking notes, and you, despite the mental scolding you gave yourself, watching Peter. Any notes you took on him were seared to the back of your eyelids. You rarely spotted him outside of class, even though you had grown up not too far away from his street and you tried very hard not to see him outside of class anyway. What point was there to extend your martyrdom outside of the hour you spent within four walls? You were more than a little ashamed of yourself already. The devil on your shoulder often smiled and said just a little more time when you gazed at Peter's left ear and the brown hair that curled temptingly around it; but the angel on your right gave you that sad somber look that made it clear Peter Parker wasn't for the likes of you. Not when he had been in love with Gwen, who was an angel on earth and now an angel in heaven, and not now, with your feral attitude and your heart hardened against anyone who might try and lure you to comfort and safety. That was what that hoodie symbolized if you'd bothered to analyze it. Maybe you were aware of that in some remote way, but it was like the craft store heart-shaped cardboard box you had painted for your mother when you were a child. You kept those thoughts hidden away in a part of you that hurt too much to look at. Just like that paper scrap and photo filled box, the only thing you’d kept of your mom after she passed away. You couldn't touch either where you'd hidden them; you couldn't look at them, it kept everything remote and cold and manageable.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it was your mother sending an angel friend that placed the opportunity before you, although you scarcely believed in heaven, not anymore. Or maybe there was some cosmic electric charge that rearranged and short circuited Peter's brain so that he left the hoodie, the navy blue one, resting on the back of his chair when the class ended. You didn't notice at first, you were staring at the back of his head as he walked toward the door along with everyone else, while you were busy memorizing the muscles that ran across his shoulders. Shoulders and biceps that you just then realized you could see as his short t-shirt sleeves pulled tight across them. But most likely it was that wild devil that forced your eyes to cut to Peter's vacated chair and there was the hoodie, forgotten. A quick glance to the door of the classroom revealed he had disappeared.

Without a word, you snatched the hoodie to your chest and left quickly, searching around the building exit for Peter but with no sign of him, the choice was made with no regret. You scurried silently down the hallway and went straight into the restroom where you stuffed the hoodie into your backpack. Five minutes later you were on your bicycle pedaling home with a hoodie, a backpack, and a devil of a grin on your face.

--------------------

Home is where you should be right now, not in the shadows creeping down an alley by Peter Parker's house in an attempt to do the right thing. After sitting in your upstairs room while your dad was somewhere out drinking himself into a bitter and vengeful stupor, you had lost the battle with your conscience. Your dad's worldview had always been finders keep, losers weep. Even if he was never around any more now than he was when your mom got sick, somehow he hadn't been quite able to make his the world owes you something kid type of logic stick with you either, another disappointment that he never failed to point out.

No matter how you tried to justify it, no matter how much you wanted just some thing to hold, to wrap around you, never mind some one, you could not keep what was never yours. Stupid old hoodie you told yourself as you put your arms on your knees and breathed in the essence of Peter in the soft fabric. That scent almost broke you... almost. It felt like what home could be when there were warm hearts and hands that comfort each other. When tired eyes were allowed to close because there was no need for a wild-eyed wakefulness that danger downstairs had crossed the threshold drunk and delirious. That thought, the thought of a different disappointment, that the example of how to do the right thing had been forgotten was why you were tiptoeing past a run down garage to reach an old beat up car so that you could return Peter's hoodie. It may have been a stupid plan by someone who couldn't seem to muster the courage just to hand it to Peter the next time class met, but then again it was academic not emotional intelligence that was supposed to be your asset anyway. Your intelligence being the academic asset that was to get you a degree and take you far away from the warm memories and cold reality. Far away from watching what the one you could never have. At least that is what you told yourself as you stopped at Aunt May's car. You had only met her a few times, crossing paths at the store, picking up medicine for your mother. May had asked after her and your look of surprise at her knowledge didn't go unnoticed but her eyes were soft and kind, not unlike Peter's.

The lights were on in their house; maybe in the kitchen and an upstairs bedroom. You were confident from years of climbing up and down stairs silently in your own home that none of the neighbors had heard you in the alley, and perhaps that made you careless. The plan was to leave the hoodie in Aunt May's car, a place where anyone might forget a hoodie. Since the car was an older model it probably didn't have an alarm, at least you hoped it didn't. You also hoped it wasn't locked, but that hadn't occurred to you until just now. Too late. You stood there for a minute, just a minute; the brief thrill of having the coveted hoodie and its symbolic aura now fading as you pulled back the hood and tugged the zipper down, not thinking about the ziiiiip.

One last soothing stroke of the soft fabric and the hoodie was in your hand, ready to toss in the front seat. One tug on the driver's side handle and whew, it wasn't locked when...

"In the future, if you're going to steal cars, you really shouldn't dress like a car thief."

Out of the shadows stepped Spider-Man.

Shit. You are in trouble.

To be continued...

A/N: Please let me know if I left off any warnings you think would better serve readers.

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The saying goes "keep your friends close and your enemies closer," but what are you to do when the closer you get to your enemy, the more you realize the enemy was doing likewise? Now you're stuck with Peter Parker and couldn't get away if you tried because you both share a common foe: Ellis Beaumont and all his suspicious maneuverings. Even if Peter does nothing but irritate you to no end, affairs of the heart are never simple, and would spending an evening with Peter Parker dressed in a suit be that bad? Read the fic and find out! Fanfic rec for Friday: Rose Thorn Blues by @helloheyhihowdyheya, another one of the authors whose writings I enjoy!

Rose Thorn Blues (multiple parts, the link is for Part 1)

*Here's a reminder to reblog the fics you read. Remember reblogs? The little arrows right next to the heart? Yes! Reblogging is a great way to share what you enjoy and enables others to enjoy them too! I've been introduced to many great stories and authors that way...so please reblog the art that writers and artists create on Tumblr!

Oh my word. This is so...I am at a loss for words. Just every bit of it perfectly a world of Peter Parker and the family he wanted...longed for...a pie-in-the-sky dream...realized.

And adorable Claire with her own stamp on what it means to be Spider-man...of course there is a red tutu, as if a princess cannot suspend from a ceiling at will. How can one even question that? Next question, doubters?!!

Benjy and being Aunt May's knight at arms. I suspect Benjy would be her most loyal and devoted caretaker. Especially because I can easily picture her slipping him chocolate chip cookies whenever he visits. Benjy and Aunt May vanquishing the haters one piece of chocolate at a time. Who can stand against that? Who would want to? Not me!

But my favorite part of your story is with Peter and Reader. The trust. The love. The 'we are in this together' mindset. That is the gold, the long lasting web of devotion that sways with the winds of change but never ever breaks. You have done it again, author, and my heart thanks you for it.

Trick-Or-Treat (part two) || TASM

Summary: Another Halloween, another year gone by, and more Claire and Benjy to keep Peter entertained. There's never a dull moment in the Parker household. It's a very short read and simple and cute. (read last years Halloween fic here)

A/N: It's been a while since I've written anything. I'll dip my toes in and see how it feels by starting with the cute twins in Peter's life. Special thanks to @tarzinnia for bringing back last years Halloween fic and inspiring me to attempt writing again. Happy Halloween, bitches!

Spider-Man. 

That’s what Claire insisted on being for Halloween. Peter couldn’t help but be proud of her choices. 

“I don’t think there’s a better costume out there,” he boasted to you late one evening. He was sitting at the kitchen table, happily sewing a handmade Spider suit for his daughter. 

“Don’t tell that to Benjy,” you replied. “He’ll be heartbroken to hear you think his Buzz Lightyear costume is subpar.” 

Peter huffed, “Store bought will always be subpar. He wouldn’t even let me hand make it for him.” 

“You didn’t see him when we walked by it at the store. He fell in love. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes and I couldn’t say no to that face. He adores that costume. You’re just playing favorites because Claire chose Spider-Man.” 

Peter smirked, “The kid has great taste, what can I say?” 

You ruffled your husband's mop of messy hair and chuckled, “Just wait until she starts telling people she’s dressed as her dad for Halloween. That smile will be wiped right off your smug face. There’s no faster way to lose your secret identity than to have children. They can’t keep anything secret.” You passed him a red tutu to sew around the waist of the costume. Claire might want to dress like her father’s alternate identity but she still wanted to have the princess vibes she loved. “I think you should add a tutu to your suit. You’d look fabulous.” 

Peter laughed, “I really would, wouldn’t I?” 

“I’ve got to go to bed. The twins drained all my energy today. Please don’t stay up too late working on the costume. You still have plenty of time to get it done.” 

He lifted up his head for a kiss, “I’ll follow you shortly. Just a few more finishing touches…”

Claire’s eyes lit up when she saw her costume. Peter had successfully added the skirt and bedazzled the entire thing to create a sparkling, princess version of Spider-Man. 

“It’s perfect!” She shouted with excitement. “I’m going to look just like you daddy!” 

“Is this what I look like in your eyes? Full of sparkles and absolutely spooktacular?” He held the costume up to her small frame to admire his work. 

“Let’s get you kids dressed! It’s almost time to leave,” you shouted as you bustled into the living room holding Benjy’s costume and a pile of clothes. “Put some warm clothes on Claire under her suit, please, Peter.” You tossed him her thermal sweater and pants. “It’s going to drop down to the 40’s tonight and I don’t want them to catch a cold.” 

You quickly got Benjy into his warm clothes and tugged on his Buzz Lightyear suit while Peter dressed Claire. 

“Are we going to see Auntie May tonight?” Benjy asked. It was no surprise. He asked this just about every single night in the hopes that he’d get to see his favorite person. Tonight was his lucky night. 

You gave him a wink, “She texted me a moment ago and told me she was on her way over.” 

Benjy jumped excitedly around the room before running straight to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her walking up to the apartment building, so he could alert the entire family of her arrival. 

You turned around to get a good look at Claire as Peter finished carefully zipping her in. He stood up to marvel at his creation. Tears of love and joy brimmed in his eyes which he quickly tried to wipe away before anyone noticed but you caught them. His love for his children often brought him to tears. You wrapped an arm around his waist and snuggled into his side. 

“You did good,” you whispered to him. “She looks great.” 

“I know everyone says they have the cutest kids but they’re all wrong. Ours win. It’s a good thing they inherited mostly your genes so they could end up this adorable. If they got mine, they might end up looking like haggard monsters,” he joked. 

“Oh, shut up. Benjy is the spitting image of you and he’s the most precious, perfect boy I’ve ever seen.” 

Peter turned to wrap you against his chest. He placed a warm kiss against the top of your head, “We make cute kids. Maybe we should make some more some time soon.”  You quietly gasped under your breath, “Peter Parker. Are you implying what I think you are?”

A sneaky smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Maybe. The twins are going to start kindergarten next year. They’ll be full time at school. It sounds like a perfect time to bring a new little bug into our lives.” 

“I-” you weren’t sure what to say. “We’d need a bigger place. Three kids in one apartment is not going to work for us. We have been saving up for a house, though…I mean, if we move to the suburbs, you’d have to commute with Spider-Man…my job is done remotely so that won’t matter but you’d have to go back and forth into the city. I was looking into some nice school districts. We’d have to adjust our budget a bit. It could be doable…” 

“Is that a yes?” He asked, cutting through your attempts to mentally plan your entire future. 

You smiled, “It’s a yes.” 

Peter scooped you up into his arms and spun around with a joyful laugh, “We’re going to have another baby!” 

“Alright, alright, put me down! Nothing is set in stone, yet. Let’s try to get through Halloween first.” You took a step away from your husband and glanced around the room. 

Benjy was still patiently waiting at the window for any glimpse of May. Claire was nowhere to be found. 

“Claire?” You called out. “Where’d you run off too? Auntie May will be here soon. We’re going to leave in a minute to Trick or Treat.” 

You walked down the hall and peeked into the bathroom. Nothing. You poked your head into the twins shared bedroom. Nothing. 

“Claire?” You called out again. 

“In here!” She shouted from inside your bedroom. 

You pushed open the door and your jaw dropped at the sight occurring before your horrified eyes. 

“Look, momma!” Claire sang. “I’m daddy!”

Your daughter, in her sparkling Spider suit, was stuck halfway up the wall. She crawled up to the ceiling with nothing but her finger tips and the toes of her red converse. 

“Peter!” You shouted, not able to take your eyes off her. As she reached the ceiling, she smoothly made the upside down transition until she was crawling directly over your head. 

Peter showed up at your side. It took him a second to find the source of your stunned silence. When his eyes slowly looked up, his mouth fell open to mimic your own. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. 

“That’s a bad word, daddy!” Claire chastised him from above his head. “Catch me!” 

Without a word, Peter snatched her from the air as she gracefully unstuck herself from the ceiling. She giggled at the action as if crawling up walls and leaping into her father’s arms from above was an everyday occurrence for her. 

“I’m Spider-Man just like you,” she hummed happily, not old enough to fully grasp the weight of what she was saying or what she’d just done. 

You and Peter exchanged terrified looks with each other. A shocked silence had stolen any attempts at forming words from your mouths as you both desperately tried to comprehend what you’d just witnessed.

“Uh huh…yeah, sweetie…just like me…” Peter managed to squeak out. 

“Auntie May’s here!” Benjy squealed from the other room. 

Claire squirmed out of her father’s protectful grasp to run towards her brother, both brimming with excitement to let May into their home. 

Neither you nor Peter could move. 

“Did that just…” your question trailed off. 

Peter nodded, “Yeah. Yes, it did.” 

You took a long, shuddered breath, “Okay. That’s okay. That’s fine. Everything is fine. We just…have…a daughter with abilities…no big deal…not a problem at all…everything is great…” 

Peter tugged you to his side, sensing you were about to start spiraling if he didn’t put a stop to it, “It is fine. I’ve been through this before. I can handle this again. She seems like she’s handling this better than I was at 16. She’s a natural at it! It’s totally, 100% fine and not at all terrifying.” Peter was always a terrible liar. “It appears she may have inherited more of my genes than I initially thought and that is okay. She’s really embodying the spirit of that Halloween costume isn’t she?” He gave a breathless chuckle. 

You shot him a stern look at his poor attempt at a joke, “Seriously?” 

He shrugged with a guilty expression etched onto his face, “They don’t write a parents handbook for this kind of thing.” 

“Our preschooler can crawl up walls! Her teachers are going to hate us, oh god. What are we going to do?” 

The buzzer rang, alerting everyone of May’s presence at the door. 

Peter glanced towards the sound, “Right now, we are going to let May in and then we are going to take the kids out Trick or Treating. We are going to have a fun night watching them run around and collect candy. They are going to be kids and enjoy their Halloween. Then we will come home, let them go crazy with sugar, then attempt to get them to bed. Afterwards, you and I will start on our endeavor to make baby number three. And then…tomorrow, we can figure this out more. But, tonight, tonight is for us.” 

You gave a slow nod, allowing his words to comfort you, repeating his mantra, “Tonight is for us. Tomorrow is for worrying.” 

Peter gave you a warm smile and a quick kiss, “Worry tomorrow, have fun tonight. This a problem for future us. Present us needs to only worry about how much candy we can fit into those kids’ pumpkin buckets.”

A smile grew over your face as some of the fear dissipated. Not all of it. You were always going to fear for the future of your children but Peter was always going to be there to help smooth out those worries. 

“If it’s Trick or Treat, Claire definitely chose ‘trick’ this year.” 

Peter laughed, “And Benjy will always choose ‘treat’. That will be one thing that never changes. The boy loves chocolate! Let’s go let May in before the kids break down the door. Come on, my son needs sugar and my daughter needs an exorcism. A perfect Halloween combination!”

The End :)

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.  

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.  

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”  

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”  

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.  

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.  

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.  

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.  

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”  

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.  

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.  

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…  

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.  

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”  

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this… 

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.  

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.  

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?  

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”  

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…  

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.  

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her. 

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.  

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”  

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.  

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.  

And it still made you angry.  

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.  

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”  

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.  

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”  

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.  

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”  

Understand.  

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.  

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.  

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.  

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”  

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”  

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”  

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.  

You weren’t used to this.  

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.  

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”  

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.  

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.  

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.  

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.  

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.  

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.  

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…  

This was different, somehow.  

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.  

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.  

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.  

But Peter wasn’t like other people.  

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.  

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.  

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.  

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.  

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.  

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.  

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”  

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”  

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.  

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?  

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.  

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.  

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”  

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”  

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.  

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”  

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.  

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.  

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.  

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.  

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”  

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”  

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.  

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”  

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.  

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.  

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”  

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”  

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”  

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”  

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”  

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.  

You knew better than to think he meant it.  

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.  

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.  

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.  

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.  

You were good at expressing anger, though.  

You were very good at expressing anger.  

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.  

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.  

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.  

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.  

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.  

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.  

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.  

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.  

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.  

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.  

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.  

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.  

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”  

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”  

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.  

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”  

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”  

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.  

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.  

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”  

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.  

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.  

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.  

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.  

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.  

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”  

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.  

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.  

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.  

“I will,” you promised.  

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”  

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.  

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.  

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”  

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”  

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”  

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”  

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”  

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.  

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”  

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.  

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”  

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.  

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”  

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.  

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”  

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.  

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.  

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”  

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”  

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.  

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”  

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.  

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”  

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.  

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.  

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”  

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.  

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”  

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.  

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.  

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.  

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”  

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”  

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.  

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”  

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.  

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.  

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”  

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.  

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.  

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.  

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.  

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”  

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.  

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker // tobey!peter = pete

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before. 

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter. 

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd. 

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!” 

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film. 

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-” 

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?” 

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,” 

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!” 

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror. 

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!” 

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!” 

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him. 

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!” 

“It’s not abuse-” 

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.” 

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is. 

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!” 

The expression on his face is downright laughable. 

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk. 

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory. 

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you. 

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you. 

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.” 

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas. 

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.” 

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!” 

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile. 

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect. 

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort. 

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.” 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong. 

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?” 

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too? 

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter. 

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating. 

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?” 

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.” 

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?” 

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-” 

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel. 

“If you need anything, call 911.” 

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment. 

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest. 

You could definitely get used to having him around. 

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. 

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room. 

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier. 

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame. 

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance. 

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps. 

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now. 

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night. 

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence. 

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind. 

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it. 

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent. 

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest. 

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction. 

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar! 

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment… 

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil. 

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space. 

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver. 

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night. 

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear. 

The room was messy, but empty. 

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread. 

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries… 

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch. 

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress. 

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket. 

You think of how you should follow that advice. 

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you. 

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force. 

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep. 

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat. 

So this must be Peter 2. 

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume. 

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask. 

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off. 

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger. 

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him. 

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you. 

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach. 

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs. 

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him. 

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer. 

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-” 

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice. 

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.” 

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too. 

But not him. 

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.” 

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.” 

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.” 

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!” 

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.” 

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?” 

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.” 

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.” 

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man. 

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building… 

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.” 

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home. 

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,” 

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.” 

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds. 

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence. 

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught. 

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.” 

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?” 

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses. 

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,” 

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat. 

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.” 

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it. 

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist. 

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.” 

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.” 

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips. 

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt. 

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care. 

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!” 

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.” 

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?! 

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?” 

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech. 

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!” 

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.” 

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot. 

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems. 

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes. 

His eyes. 

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters. 

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?” 

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe! 

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.” 

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood. 

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?” 

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

you have another hit in your hands

🫶🫶🫶

Take A Hint

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: no matter how many times Peter tried to ask you out, you never get the hint

Authors note: can you guess what non marvel character this was originally written for

Masterlist

“Hold the door!”

Peter stuck his hand between the elevator doors of the tower when he heard an unfamiliar voice. The doors opened back up and you stepped inside.

“Thanks for holding the door. It’s nice to meet you. It’s my first day.” You said as you held your hand out to him.

“It’s nice to meet you too. And I hope you don’t think it’s rude if I don’t shake your hand. I just have a thing with germs. The number of pathogens passes during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss.”

“Hm. I’ll have to take you up on that.” You replied with a coy smile, sending a blush to Peters face.

“I hope you do.” He mumbled shyly, getting a laugh out of you.

“I’m Y/n, by the way. Mr. Stark just recruited me to be on the team.”

“I’m Peter. And I didn’t know we were getting anyone else on the team. I’m barely on the team myself.“

“Same with me. I think I’m just doing a trial run to see if I fit in well.” You told him. “Is there anything I need to know before I meet the team? Any insider tips you can give me?”

“Well, you’re a pretty girl, so Sam is definitely going to hit on you.” Peter rolled his eyes a little. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, he’ll back off. He’s a flirt but he’s not an asshole. Well, he is an asshole, but he won’t be towards you. He is towards me though, but that’s a different story. Tony talks with an inflection in his voice that makes it really hard to tell if he’s kidding or not so never take anything he says seriously. And you should know Bucky and Steve are not dating. Neither are Bruce and Natasha. I don’t really know what’s going on between them but at this point I’m too scared to ask.”

“Is it important that I know they’re not dating?”

“Yes. You’re inevitably going to wonder about it so I’m telling you right now that they’re not.”

“Good to know.” You chuckled.

“Yeah. You’ll figure everyone else out pretty quickly. They’re all good people.” Peter assured you.

“What about you? Is there anything I need to know about you?” You asked, making Peter blush again.

“That depends on what you want to know.”

“Well I’ll have you know that I like to know everything. I hate when shit is unbeknownst to me.” You replied, making Peter laugh.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. I swear.” Peter answered, earning a smile out of you just as you reached your floor.

“I’m happy to hear that. I have to meet with Mr. Stark before I meet the team. It was nice meeting you, Peter.” You waved to him as you walked off the elevator.

“You too.” Peter called after you. He watched your disappear down the hall with a smile on his face and did a little happy dance before going to the meeting room.

It wasn’t long before Tony came into the room with you by his side. You looked around nervously at all the Avengers until your eyes landed on Peter. He gave you a double thumbs up and you visibly relaxed.

“Hello all. As you may have heard from my weekly newsletter I send out on Snapchat, we have a new recruit joining the team.“

“Snapchat newsletter?” Nat whispered to Sam.

“I don’t know. I blocked him after the first one he sent.” Sam sighed.

“Is Snapchat the one where you swipe right if you find a person attractive?” Steve leaned in to whisper.

“Yes.” Natasha lied.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I gave you the impression that I wanted to be spoken over when I’m talking.” Tony shouted over them, making you stifle a laugh.

“Sorry.” They mumbled.

“Thank you. Now, please give a warm and fuzzy welcome to Y/n.” Tony stepped to the side and proudly presented you.

“Hello.” You smiled shyly and waved. Everyone stared blankly at you and you wanted to disappear into the floor. You could feel your face burning up in embarrassment until someone stood up and walked over to you.

“Well I’ll be the first to play with the shiny new toy. Hi, gorgeous. I’m Sam.” Sam smiled suavely and shook your hand. You heard the name and made eye contact with Peter over Sam’s shoulder. Peter rolled his eyes again and you giggled.

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” You greeted him. Natasha and Steve were the next ones to get up to shake your hand.

“I’m Steve and that’s Natasha.” Steve told you as he firmly shook your hand.

“You can call me Nat.” Natasha smiled warmly at you when you greeted her.

“Hi Nat. Hi Steve.” You smiled timidly.

“This is Bucky.” Steve said and laughed Bucky forward. You held out your hand to shake his but when you saw his metal arm, you retracted it.

“Hi.” You said quickly.

“Sup.” He smirked.

“That’s Rhodey over there. And this is Peter.” Tony said and nudged Peter towards you. You reached out a hand and everyone assumed you were trying to shake Peters hand.

“Oh, Peter doesn’t-“ Tony began to warn you when your hand met Peters shoulder and you pulled him closer to kiss his cheek.

“Good to see you again.” You smiled at him.

“You too.” Peter blushed and patted your arm. Your hand slipped off his shoulder and you looked around to see the rest of the team staring at you.

“Wow. Okay, so, I’m gonna need an explanation for that at some point.” Tony nodded his head.

“I do too.” Sam chimed it.

“Give her some space.” Peter told them. “Here, you can sit next to me.”

You sat in the chair Peter had pulled out for you and gave him a grateful smile.

“Anywho, let’s jump right into the mission. We’re flying out to Socovia today folks for a little world saving. Then maybe some Mexican food after? Yeah? No one’s agreeing but it’s gonna happen anyway. Wheels up in 30.”

The team shuffled out of the room to grab their to go bags as you awkwardly hung back. You waited until you saw Peter and followed him out to the plane.

“Peter?” You whispered and tugged on his sleeve.

“Yeah?”

“Is there assigned seating on the plane?”

“No.” He shrugged. “We can sit wherever we want.”

“But do people typically sit in the same seats? I don’t want to overstep.”

“How about you sit next to me? Then you don’t have to worry.” Peter offered.

“Okay. Thanks.” You smiled and wrapped your arm around his so you could walk onto the plane together.

“So what’s in Socovia?” Natasha asked once everyone was seated.

“People keep getting murdered in the same gruesome way and the same symbol has been left on the wall each time.” Tony explained.

“What symbol?” Peter wondered. Tony took out an Manila folder and slid a photo towards you and Peter. In the picture was a graffiti drawing of the Avengers symbol inside a giant red circle with line going through it. Everyone leaned in to see the picture and understood why this was an Avengers level threat.

“Damn. They put the Ghostbusters thing over it and everything.” You mumbled.

“How gruesome are we talking by the way? Because I just ate.” Sam asked.

“All the victims were chained to the back of a car and dragged until they were decapitated.”

“Oh. Lovely.” Sam smiled sarcastically.

“Murders just keep coming up with new ways to murder, don’t they?” Steve said.

“Actually, dragging is steeped in English history. Back in the 11th century, drawing and quartering was a common form of punishment, and in fact-“

“Peter.” Tony cut him off and shook his head.

“Sorry.” Peter mumbled and slumped in his seat in embarrassment.

“He does that a lot. You’ll get used to it.” Sam told you, making Peter grow more embarrassed.

“Wait. I wanted to hear the rest.” You ignored Sam and turned to Peter.

“You did?” Everyone asked skeptically.

“You did?” Peter smiled in surprise.

“Yeah. What were you saying, Peter?” You asked and gave him your full attention.

“I was just saying that they would also disembowel and behead the victims when they were done with them. That’s all.” Peter continued.

“You just knew that off the top of your head?” Your eyes widened in amazement.

“He knows everything off the top of his head. He’s like a human encyclopedia.” Tony informed you.

“Wow. That’s really cool.” You smiled at Peter. Peter tried to say something in return but found himself too flustered to speak.

“You’ll have to forgive him. You might be the first person to refer to him as “cool”.” Sam snorted.

“Well I think you’re cool.” You said as you continued to ignore Sam.

“Thanks. You’re cool too.” Peter smiled shyly. Sam looked between the two of you before scooting closer to you.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind giving you a tour of the tower once we get back. I’d be more than happy to show you the ropes.” Sam said with a debonair smile.

“That’s okay. Mr. Stark already gave me a tour of the building when he interviewed me to be on the team.” You politely declined.

“A tour before you even joined? Is that so?” Sam raised his eyebrows at Tony.

“She was by far the best candidate.” Tony shrugged. “She had the job before she left my office.”

“Wow. So you’re not just a pretty face?” Sam teased you with a flirtatious wink.

“No. I’m not.” You said flatly.

“I don’t think anyone gets asked to join the Avengers for having a pretty face. I’m pretty sure she was hired because she’s qualified.” Peter chimed in, making you smile.

“That’s awfully charming of you to come to your lady’s defense, spider boy king of thieves, but I’ll have to respectfully disagree. Thor was 100% hired for being pretty.” Tony admitted.

“Oh.” Peter said and sat back in his seat.

“Why’d he call me your lady?” You asked Peter.

“Um, I have no idea.” He lied quickly. Peter turned bright red and looked at Tony, who was looking at the two of you with a knowing expression.

“You know why.” Tony mouthed. He then pointed between the two of you before making his hands kiss each other. Peter motioned for him to stop but you were oblivious to the whole thing.

Once you landed, you got off the plane and waited for further instruction. Tony started to pair everyone off and Peter got excited when your name still hadn’t been called.

“Blues Clues and New Girl, you should head to where the first victim was found. See if you can find anything.” Tony told you and Peter.

“Okay. On it.” Peter saluted him before slipping his mask over his face.

“And hey. No kissing, okay? This is a serious mission.” Tony called after the two of you. Peter was thankful he had his mask on so you couldn’t see the shade of red he turned.

“No kissing? Does he always say that?” You laughed in confusion.

“Uh huh. Let’s not think about it. Let’s go.” Peter said quickly and treaded into the forrest ahead of you.

“Okay.” You laughed skeptically and followed after him. When you caught up to him, you gentle elbowed him in the side.

“Thanks for having my back on the plane, by the way. Sam is just like you said.”

“No problem. And don’t mind Sam. He can only speak to women if he’s flirting.”

“What about you? Do you do a lot of flirting?” You smiled coyly at him, making Peter choke on his saliva.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how.” He admitted.

“Sure you do. Pretend I’m a girl you want to date and give me your best pick up line.”

“Pretend you’re a girl I want to date? What? I mean, I’ll try.” Peter laughed nervously. “But I don’t know any pick up lines.”

“Come on. If you saw me in a bar and you were trying to pick me up, what would you say?”

“I wouldn’t be in a bar.” Peter laughed sheepishly.

“Just humor me.”

“Fine. I would say that I think you’re really beautiful and I would like to take you on a date.” Peter said sincerely as he stopped to look at you. You stopped as well and smiled softly at him when you heard the fondness in his voice.

“Where would you take me?” You asked him.

“A museum.”

“A museum? You had that answer ready.” You chuckled in surprise and took a step closer to him.

“Well I noticed you have a picture of The Kiss as your phone background. I’m a fan of Klimt as well.”

“I love The Kiss. It’s just so romantic.” You sighed. “Even though it looks incredibly uncomfortable.”

“It does. Her neck must really hurt.”

“Do you know any facts about The Kiss?” You asked him. “I only ask since you knew all that stuff back on the plane.”

“Are you being polite or do you actually want to know?” Peter asked skeptically.

“I want to know.” You assured him.

“Well, Klimt’s career was actually on a downfall when he painting it. Before creating the piece, he had received a scathing review in the first decade of the 20th century for his three-part University of Vienna Ceiling Paintings. Because of all the nudity, his works were described as "pornography" and "perverted excess”. It almost ruined his reputation, actually. He later wrote in a letter, "Either I am too old, or too nervous, or too stupid—there must be something wrong." in regards to his paintings. That was all right before he got popular with The Kiss.” Peter told you. He smiled under his mask when he finished speaking and realized it had been a long time since someone had let him talk about something without being interrupted or told to stop.

“You’re so smart.” You sighed. “I wish I was smart.”

“Come on. I’m sure you’re smart.” Peter assured you.

“I’m not. I’m really dumb actually.” You admitted and gave him a sad smile.

“What? I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s true. I’m book smart, sure. But when it comes to talking to people, most things go right over my head.”

“That’s okay. You have a lot of other great qualities to you. I’ve only known you a few hours and I can see that already.” Peter told you.

“Aw. Thanks, Pete.” You smiled at him as your shoulder brushed up against each others. Peter smiled shyly in return and felt his face heat up.

“So do you like museums?” Peter asked you.

“Love them.” You gushed. “I like going in and pretending like I’m in that scene from Pride and Prejudice where she stares at Mr. Darcy’s stature and realizes she’s in love with him.”

“I haven’t seen it.” Peter admitted, wishing he had so he wouldn’t disappoint you.

“What? You have to watch it.” You insisted.

“Maybe you could show it to me sometime.” Peter suggested, hoping you’d take the hint that he liked you.

“Yeah! I totally could. And we could check out a museum afterwards so you can feel like that scene!” You smiled in excitement and tugged on his arm.

“It’s a date.” Peter replied, liking how excited you were to spend time together.

“You’re so funny. A date, he says.” You laughed and kept walking into the forest. Peters smile fell when he realized you had in fact not gotten the hint that he liked you.

The longer you lived in the tower, the closer you and Peter became. You spent most of your time together and as much as he loved being your friend, he couldn’t help but pine for you. You often made it seem like you felt the same, but he found that every time he tried to tell you that he wanted to me more than friends, it went right over your head.

“I’ll go easy on you, okay?” Peter said as he held up his boxing glove covered hands during sparing one day.

“I’m gonna knock you out where you stand.” You exclaimed and swung at him. Peter ducked and punched you in the stomach before tackling you onto the mat.

“I’m sorry. But this is the end of the line for you.” Peter smirked as he hovered over you.

“Not if I make it a curve.” You declared before flipping Peter over and pinning him by his wrists.

“Wow. You pinned me.” Peter said with pleasant surprise.

“Please. You totally let me win.” You rolled your eyes and got off of him.

“What? I would never.” Peter said sarcastically.

“You would. And you did. Cheater.” You teased before tugging the strap of your boxing glove off with your teeth. Peter gulped and watched you as you did the same to the other one instead of using your newly freed hand.

“But I cheated for you. That’s a good kind of cheating.” Peter said as he helped you off the ground.

“So you justify cheating? Wow, P. Is this what it would be like to date you? Constantly getting cheated on?” You pretended to gasp as you went to get water bottles out of the refrigerator for the two of you.

“Are you kidding me? I’d be an excellent boyfriend.” Peter insisted and took the bottle you handed him.

“Really? Says who? Where are the user reviews?” You teased and took a sip.

“So far, they haven’t been any users. But if I ever became a boyfriend, I’d be the best boyfriend to ever boyfriend.”

“You know what? I believe you.” You shrugged. “You do have all the best boyfriend qualities. You’re sweet and smart and funny. Not to mention, slightly above average on the handsome scale. You’re kinda a total catch. Oh my god. How come I’m not dating you?”

“You could. If you wanted to.” Peter stammered as his entire face turned red.

“You are so funny. Seriously, why don’t you have a girlfriend?” You laughed as Peters advances went right over your head. Peter frowned a little and decided that if he was going to get through to you, he had to try harder.

A few days later, you came into Peters room while he was doing some homework to show him your outfit.

“Woah. You going out?” He asked you when he saw the little black dress guy had on.

“Yeah. Does this outfit make me look slutty but in a fun way?”

“Honestly, yes. That’s exactly how I would describe it. Who are you going out with?” Peter wondered.

“A boy.”

“What? What boy? Who him? I mean, who is he? What?” Peter fumbled over his words as jealously manifested in his tummy.

“Oh my God. I’m just kidding. I’m going out with some girl friends.” You laughed when you saw how flustered he got.

“Oh. Okay.” Peter sighed in relief.

“You weren’t jealous, were you?” You smiled in surprise.

“I…I was actually.” Peter admitted, knowing there was no point in denying what you already knew.

“Oh. I get it.” You nodded and smiled sympathetically at him.

“Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while-“

“You were jealous that I had a date and you didn’t, weren’t you?” You cut him off. That wasn’t at all what Peter was jealous about and you had once again missed what he was trying to say.

“Yeah. That’s it.” Peter lied.

“P, if you want a date, you just have to ask a girl out. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” You said simply.

“You think so? Any girl?”

“Totally. If a guy like you asked me out, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.“ You assured him.

“You’d say yes if I asked you out?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely. And I’d lock you down too. You’d never get away from me.” You told him. A smile tugged at Peters lips as your words gave him the confidence to finally ask you out.

“Y/n, I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world and I would love to take you on a date.” Peter said and held his breath in anticipation of your response.

“That was perfect, P! That’s exactly how you should ask a girl out.” You smiled in excitement, making his smile fall.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He grumbled.

“Good luck. See you later!” You patted his back before leaving the room.

The next day, you went into the home theater and found a couple members of the team watching something on the big tv. Peter turned his head when he heard you come in and waved you over.

“Hey. Mind if I share your blanket?” You asked him.

“Yeah. Go ahead.” Peter blushed and lifted up his blanket so you could slide under it. You smiled at him before sitting down and snuggling into his side.

“You’re so warm. Can you start sleeping in my bed? It’s freezing in my room.” You mumbled as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I could definitely spoon you at nights for $5 an hour.” Peter teased as he wrapped an arm on you.

“I’d pay $20 an hour just to have these arms around me. Holy shit. They feel like a snake swallowed a baby.” You said as you squeezed his bicep.

“Thank you?” Peter chuckled.

“No. Thank you. Never let me go.” You sighed happily and snuggled back into his chest. Peter felt his face heat up and rested his cheek against the top of your head. You could feel his heart beating against your cheek and nuzzled into his chest further. You stayed in comfortable silence for a minute as your breathing synced up.

“This is nice.” Peter said in a quiet voice.

“It is. You should hold me more often.”

“I would love to do that.” He laughed softly.

“Really?” You asked and tilted your chin up to look at him. He looked down at you and nodded his head. You smiled and snuggled into his chest, restoring his confident once again.

“Do you ever think about being more than friends?” He asked softly.

“Oh my god. Are you finally asking me?” You smiled and sat up a little.

“Yeah. I finally am.” Peter nodded and sat up as well.

“You want to be roommates?” You asked excitedly and squeezed his hands.

“Wait, what?” Peters smile dropped.

“We can get bunk beds and everything! I thought you’d never ask.” You gushed and threw your arms around him to hug him. Peter squeezed his eyes shut in disappointment that you hadn’t understood what he was trying to say but decided that this was better than nothing.

“Me either.” He mumbled.

A week later, you had fully moved into Peters room. He laid awake one night and stared up at the bottom of your top bunk. He thought back to the day you built the bunk bed together and while showering him with compliments for his strength all day, he still had no idea how you really felt about him. You always made it seem like you liked him back but as he stared up at the bottom of your bed, he couldn’t help but think of all the times he tried to ask you out and you didn’t even realize. He was so deep in thought that he hadn’t even noticed you had climbed down from your top bunk and stood beside his bed.

“Holy shit.” He jumped when he saw you.

“I had a bad dream.” You said in a quiet voice.

“Oh no. Come here.” Peter sat up and patted his bed. You quickly climbed down and got into bed with Peter.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” You asked and you laid down together.

“Of course. Always.” Peter nodded and wrapped his arm around your waist. You rested your head on his pillow and looked into his eyes.

“You seemed kinda restless up there. Is everything okay?” Peter asked you.

“Not really. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the matter?”

“I raised my hand in class today and got it wrong. Like, way wrong. A few people laughed because I think they thought I was trying to be funny. But I wasn’t trying to be funny. I really thought my answer was right.”

“At least you tried.” Peter said reassuringly.

“I shouldn’t have tried. I tried to redeem myself later in class by answering another question but I got that one wrong too. And then the teacher asked a question that I definitely knew but when I raised my hand, he laughed and said “maybe you should stop trying”. I felt like such an idiot. I had that right answer. He just didn’t let me say it.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re not an idiot.” Peter said as he rubbed circles on your back.

“Yes I am. Everyone says so.” You sighed. “I’ll never be smart like you. You know everything about everything.”

“Just because I memorize a bunch of facts doesn’t make me smart. You’re smart in your own way.” Peter told you.

“That’s a nice way of saying I’m dumb.” You chuckled softly.

“I would never call you dumb. I don’t think you’re dumb at all.” Peter shook his head and looked into your eyes

“Aw, P.” You smiled softly and cupped his chin.”

“In fact, I think you’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met. You’re courageous and hardworking and strong and so insanely beautiful sometimes it’s annoying, actually. And when I think of all the adjectives that can be used to describe you, dumb does not make the cut.”

“Why are you so good to me? It’s like you came straight from heaven into my life.” You smiled and scooted closer to him.

“I did. I’m a ghost.” He whispered, making you laugh.

“I’m so glad you were the one I met in the elevator on my first day. Can you imagine if I asked someone like Sam to hold the door for me?”

“You’d be in his bed right now and not mine.” Peter snorted.

“Please. I’d never be in his bed. And I like to think that no matter who held the elevator for me that day, you and I still would’ve formed this bond.” You said without looking into his eyes.

“You think so?” Peter smiled a little.

“I’m positive. I’ve never connected like this with anyone. I never believed in soulmates until I met you.”

“You think we’re soulmates?” Peters smile grew as he pulled you closer.

“Why not?” You shrugged. “Why not suspend your beliefs in science for a moment and believe that you and I were cut from the same cloth? I know it sounds silly, but I think it’s possible. And it makes me happy to believe it. You’re my twin flame.”

Peters heart was pounding in his chest as you said everything he always wanted to hear. Peter brushed some hair off of your face and left his hand on your cheek.

“What are we?” He asked you in a quiet voice.

“I just said we’re twin flames?” You frowned in confusion.

“Not that. I meant our relationship. What do you think of us as?”

“Peter.” You laughed softly and moved closer to him. He nodded his head and eagerly waited for your response.

“Twin flames. I literally just said that. Can you not hear me?” You asked genuinely and spoke a little louder. Peter groaned and rolled onto his back so you wouldn’t see his frustration.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“You promised you’d hold me.” You whined a little.

“Fine. Roll over.”

“Can’t we lay like this?” You asked and tugged his shirt so he’d roll back over to face you.

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” Peters disappointed faded away as he was reminded that just being your friend was a privilege.

“Goodnight, P.” You said through a yawn and wrapped both arms around him to rest your head on his chest.

“Goodnight, honey.”

The next morning, Peter walked into the kitchen and the conversation that had been happening immediately went quiet. Peter looked around in confusion as everyone snickered and hid behind their coffee cups.

“So. Rumor has it you two slept together last night.” Tony said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“What? Who started that rumor?” Peter frowned as he turned bright red.

“I did. After I went into your room this morning and saw you two tangled together in Peters bed.” Tony smirked and pointed over to you. You were sitting in the living room by yourself with your headphones in so you couldn’t hear the conversation going on.

“Ew. Aren’t you guys like 10?” Sam scrunched his nose.

“No. We’re adults. And it wasn’t like that. She had a bad dream so she slept in my bed.” Peter defended.

“Aw. Look at you comforting your girlfriend when she had a bad dream. How cute.” Sam teased.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter mumbled and felt that of his face got any hotter, he’d explode.

“Wait, she’s not?” Sam asked.

“No. We’re just friends.”

“Well then what the hell am I waiting for? I’m about to get myself Mrs. Falcon.” Sam laughed and got out of his seat. Peter watched him as he went into the living room where you were.

“What’s he doing?” Peter asked Tony.

“Asking Y/n out. Duh.” Tony replied.

“What?! He can’t do that? He’s so big and strong and handsome. What if she says yes?” Peter began to panic and craned his neck to watch you and Sam.

“What’s your damage? I thought you guys were just friends.” Tony snorted.

“We are. I don’t even care actually.” Peter lied and sat back in his seat as his leg bounced. He looked over at you and Sam again and saw you nodding your head at something Sam was saying.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked when he saw the look on Peters face.

“I’m gonna fucking throw up.”

“Plug it up. He’s coming back.” Tony warned him. Sam walked back to Tony and Peter with a look on his face that peter couldn’t read.

“Well? Is she the next Mrs. Sam Wilson?” Tony asked.

“She turned me down.” Sam answered, seeming like he still didn’t believe it.

“What? What did she say?” Peter couldn’t contain his smile as he asked.

“She said she’s flattered but not interested in me.”

“Wait, how did you ask her?” Peter wondered.

“I don’t want to rehash it.” Sam waved his hand. “I asked her to go on a date, she said no, that’s pretty much it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Peter whispered as he sat back in his chair.

“That’s what I said.” Sam scoffed. “Wait, why are you upset? I’m the one who got turned down.”

“Because I’ve been trying to ask her out for months but she either pretends she doesn’t understand or it genuinely goes right over her head. How come she understood when you did it?”

“Because I was direct. I didn’t beat around the bush like a boy who’s scared to ask his best friend on a date.” Sam told him.

“I’m not scared.” Peter scoffed. “I’m fact, I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Good luck.” Sam called after him as Peter went over to you.

“Hey.” Peter waved nervously.

“Hey, P. What’s going on?” You smiled and took your earbuds out.

“Not much. I hear Sam asked you out.” Peter said as he sat down beside you.

“Oh. Yeah.” You scrunched your nose a little and laughed uncomfortably.

“You said no?”

“Yeah. I felt bad but he’s not my type.”

“I get that. What is your type, by the way?” Peter asked casually.

“I guess I don’t really know. I just like people that I like. But it helps when they’re kind and can make me laugh. I just want someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to put on a performance. I want someone who makes me feel like I can be the person I am when I’m alone.” You explained. You thought about it for a second and then laughed a little.

“Hey, look at that. I just described you.” You chuckled. Peters heart beat in his chest and he knew if there was ever a time to tell you how he felt, it was now.

“Well I’m glad you feel that way. Because I have feelings for you. I have for a really long time.”

“Oh. You do?” You frowned and looked concerned. Peter saw your face and sighed, knowing that meant his feelings were likely unrequited.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well what are the feelings? Oh no! Is the feeling anger? Are you mad at me?” You gasped and put your hand on top of his. Peter stared at you for a long time as he realized his efforts had once again gone directly over your head.

“No. Actually, yeah. I am mad.” Peter realized.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Peter sighed. “I’m just confused.”

“About what? Can I help?”

“I have been trying to ask you on a date for months and you haven’t taken the hint yet. Do you just not like me or am I just not being clear enough?”

“You want to take me on a date?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Yes. I do.” Peter answered, excited that you had finally understood.

“As friends?”

“No!” Peter groaned.

“As roommates? Oh, I get it. You want to go on a shopping date to IKEA to decorate our room now that we’re roommates.”

“What?! No. How does your mind even jump to that?” Peter whined and buried his face in his hands.

“I’m confused. Are we going to IKEA or not?”

“I WANT TO BE YOUR BOYFRIEND.” Peter picked his head up to exclaim.

“You want to be my boyfriend?” Your eyes widened.

“Yes. Finally.”

“But as friends, right?” You continued, making Peter slam his head down on the table.

“What do I have to do to get through to you? Get on my knees?” He asked you.

“It wouldn’t hurt.” You shrugged. And so, Peter got down on one knee and took your hand in his.

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world and let me take you on a date?” Peter asked as he looked into your eyes.

“A date? I thought you were proposing.” You replied, just messing with him now.

“Oh My God. This is impossible. I give up.” Peter got up and held up his hands in defense.

“Aw, what? You’re giving up right at the good part?” You smiled coyly as you stood up as well.

“Good part? What good-“

You cut Peter off by cupping his face to pull him into a kiss. Once he got over his initial shock, his eyes fluttered shut and he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer. The team mates in the other room caught sight of this and had a misted reaction of smirks and eye rolls.

“How does tonight at 7 sound?” You asked once you pulled away.

“That sounds perfect.” Peter smiled as his face turned a shade of pink.

“Awesome. It’s a date.” You kissed his cheek before walking out of the room.

A few days later, the entire team piled onto the quintet to set out on another mission. Tony passed around the file to get everyone up to speed on the mission while you and Peter whispered things in each others ears and laughed quietly.

“Wow. This must be some kind of satanic ritual. All victims killed so far have been virgins.” Steve noted as he read through the file.

“Uh oh. Peter better stay home.” Sam snorted.

“Peters not a Virgin.” You laughed, making everyone fall silent. Peter shrunk down in his seat and turned bright red as you realized why everyone was staring at you in disgust.

“I’m guessing.” You quickly added.

“So I take it she finally got the hint, huh?” Sam asked Peter with an unamused expression.

“Yeah.” Peter smiled proudly. “She got it.”

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Yasss, we love nerds!!

peters nerdy side>>>> can we get more hot nerdy peter pretty pleaseeeee

nerdy peter makes me feral.

Peter Parker was finally rewarded for all the shit he deals with. 

A teen, who was a silent walker in school, but a near lethal hero at night, one that has to deal with more stress and traumas than any other kid at seventeen. Night after night, his spirit being broken down a little more each bad guy he’s put away. 

Queens see a hero that keeps the streets clean. 

Sometimes, all Peter could see was someone’s dad, or husband, or son he was putting away. 

All that bullshit he’s been dealt, the bullshit about power and responsibility, was washed away when he finally got something good, something he really thought he deserved. 

He got you, and that’s why he’ll stop at nothing to keep you. 

“You got yourself a good one, parker. Don’t fuck it all up with your nerdy shit, pretty girls hate that.”

Was it dumb to listen to Flash of all people? Maybe. 

Does he know more about girls and has a better track record at keeping them? Yes. 

But of course, just like how you were the one to approach him, ask him out, kiss him first and ask for him to be your boyfriend, he should’ve trusted you. Could you really blame him though, not totally trusting he can have a purely good thing with no consequences? 

He couldn’t, that’s why it shocked him when you made it clear you only wanted him. 

You wanted Peter Parker, however he came. Science facts, nerdy hobbies, tirades and all. 

—---------------------

Have you ever built up an idea of who someone was in your head, and when you date the other shoe drops and they’re nothing like you thought? 

That was you with Peter Parker. 

He was adorably perfect, noticing him when sharing a history class. Peter sat three seats up from you on the left, perfect position for you to watch his habits. The shake in his leg, tapping pencils on his desk, blowing a breath every time someone answered incorrectly, sitting up and leaning over his desk when something catches his attention, chewing his bottom lip while going over notes, poking his tongue out when he takes a test. 

Peter Parker was the constant subject on your mind, starting in history and causing you to look for him in other classes, you only shared one more, typing class. He was three rows behind you, there wasn’t a good way to look at him, instead having to rely on his quiet murmurs when the teacher stands behind his computer. 

After two weeks of pining you couldn’t stand it, stomping over to his table at lunch you sit down right next to him. His friends paused at your sudden and aggressive entrance. 

“Hi. We haven’t really talked but we share typing and history. For two weeks straight I’ve been watching you and I can’t get you out of my head, and I would really, really like to go on a date with you.” 

You can see it on his face, how he goes from shock to excitement, then as he looks you over his face falls. He thinks you’re fucking with him, you don’t know how to make him believe it’s real. 

“Here,” you pull at your backpack and rip the front pocket open, you pull a sharpie out and with a slight tremble you grab his arm, pushing his sleeve up you uncap the marker with your teeth. Scribbling your number onto his skin, “think about it, let me know.” 

Before you lose your steam you scramble to stand and grab your bag, “okay, that’s all. Um,” you nod at his friends, silence deafening as everyone at the table takes in the scenario. “Thank you, and… enjoy lunch?” Cringing, you turn to leave, whispering an ‘oh my god,’ to yourself while pressing a hand to your cheek. 

Peter is sure in that moment you were a hundred percent serious and you just mortified yourself, spilling your guts and being met with nothing.

 Six steps away he calls out, “yes!” 

You pause, then turn, “what?” 

“Yes! I’ll go on a date with you.” 

Oh, that’s a new feeling. It felt like your heart had wings, your stomach felt like you were on a rollercoaster, flutters everywhere. You couldn’t even try to play it cool, the guy you’ve been crazy about just as interested and curious as you were. A toothy smile overtook your face, eyes lit up. 

Taking a few steps closer, you felt giddy. 

“Really? You will?” 

Peter’s smile matched yours, he laughed through his answer, he can’t believe you actually like him that much. “Yeah.” Biting your bottom lip you pull it together, “cool, text me and we’ll plan something?” 

“You got it.” 

Nodding you walk off, Peter’s riding on a high like never has. He’s never had such a pretty girl like you like him, want him, notice him. He felt like he’s been rewarded, that he does deserve a good thing. 

Flash scoffs when you sit back at your table, immediately talking and watching faces gasp and squeal. 

“You got yourself a good one, parker. Don’t fuck it all up with your nerdy shit, pretty girls hate that.”

The last thing he wants to do, before he even gets you, is send you off. So, he listens and promises to be someone that should be with a girl like you, someone that isn’t really him. 

—---------------------

You figured it was first date nerves. 

That or just the fact you’ve never been alone with each other, especially under the guise of a date. It wasn’t like he was weird, but he was off. The person you watched in class was goofy, using his body to express himself, confident when speaking because he could back every word up. 

This Peter was quiet, guarded and almost… boring. 

You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, he just had some jitters. Maybe if you kissed him it would settle him, you could prove that you liked him and he had nothing to be nervous about. Trying to look past his awkwardness you took the night as it was, wishing he was making you laugh like he had in class, or wishing he would ramble on in a story like you’ve watched him do with his friends at lunch or at his locker. 

It may have been different than you thought but he’d come around after a date or two surly, you’d kiss him and after another few dates he’ll open up and be his true self. It was hope, but you were riding on it. 

Peter ended the night by walking you home, conversation slowly dwindling as you approached closer, falling flat when you were  in front of the building. Waiting for a moment you looked at his mouth, he made no reaction, you hadn’t expected him to sweep you off your feet but to not offer anything made you feel unsure. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

It was obvious from the look on his face that he wasn’t expecting anything in the slightest, but he licked his bottom lip and nodded softly, “yeah,” leaning in you wait for a moment, he makes no move, he has to be extremely nervous, no other option. You kissed him, you pressed into him and grabbed his face, his hands gently hovered and you pulled away. 

Maybe he just pitied you, just agreed because you put him on the spot. 

“Um, you know if you didn’t want-” 

“Can we do this again, please?” 

And just because he asked, and because it seemed like he realized he acted off and he wanted another chance, and because you really do believe in first date jitters, you say yes. 

—--------------

The first time you went over to his house his room was oddly clean, empty spaces on his bookshelf and shelves, almost like he’d put things away. Eyeing a bin by his closet you walked closer, “you collect comics?” Hoping you wouldn’t find, but still opening the top and starting to look through the ones on top. 

Peter took a deep breath, “as a kid, kinda stupid now, don’t you think?” 

You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head, looking back down at the comic in your hand. You thought when you started dating he’d open up more, instead he got more closed off. 

Clearing your throat you place the comics back in, in the exact same order and putting the lid back on. “No, I don’t think they’re stupid. I was hoping you had some new ones I could catch up on, but if you think they’re stupid now I guess I’ll have to get ‘em myself.” 

If he had known you like comics he would’ve never said that. It’s his fault for leaving them out, he should’ve put them away like everything else that screamed ‘nerd alert’. 

“I didn’t mean they’re stupid, just you know… collecting them as an adult… is.. weird?” 

The lamest excuse you’ve ever heard, but you keep your patience. It hasn't even been two weeks, he’ll come around. You know it. 

—------

Surprising Peter with a hug he budged against your weight before supporting you, talking to a friend while he wrapped his arms around your back. Picking up on pieces of the conversation you nudge your head up, interested in his words. 

The Peter you like, the one that’s animated and rambling, moving his hands across your back as he talks. You place a kiss at the bottom of his neck, “whatcha talking about?”  It sounded like a new program that was going to change the future of computer engineering, when you questioned he blew you off. “Nothing important.” 

You had tried, you tried to be kind and patient and understanding but he just wasn’t who you wanted. You wanted that person, the person that’s excited about new technology and collected comic books. 

Peter closed off when you asked, guarded back up, you wished it could’ve been different. Maybe one day he’d open up more, you didn’t want anything but his true self. 

You gave it a month before you had to accept that Peter Parker wasn’t the person you thought he was, today, you had to accept that you were breaking up with Peter Parker. Pulling away you grab his arm, silently telling him to look at you. 

“Can I come over later?” 

“Yeah, of course. Wanna come with me after school?” 

“Sure,” you wondered if he could see through your smile. It doesn’t seem like it, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, you pull away and back away through the halls. 

He has no idea what’s coming. 

—------------

Gently pushing Peter’s shoulders down to coax him into sitting on the edge of his bed, you grin politely when he follows instruction. Dragging his desk chair to sit in front of him you pause to think about what you were going to say, clearing your throat you begin. 

“So, I like you a lot, and I’ve enjoyed having you as my boyfriend for the past month-” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, he holds his hand up, “enjoyed? Are you breaking up with me?” 

You bite your lip and nod solemnly, “I’m sorry, Peter.” 

The silence is unsettling, you look away from him, his figures deflated and his mind races. 

“Why?” 

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out you shrug, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Peter. But, uh, you’re just… not what I thought you’d be like.” 

How could you not like him? He’s done everything right. He was the perfect suitor, he acted like the typical non nerd male. The kind of all american guy every girl wanted. 

“I don’t… what does that mean?” 

You laugh, “I have a type, and you’re not it. I like nerds, like, straight up goofy, funny guys that know something about everything and collect comic books and get excited at new, humanity altering technology. I thought you were that guy, but I guess not.” 

Oh my god. 

He’s fucked it all up, he was dumb enough to believe you wanted something else. 

He can show you he’s a nerd, he’s been one his entire goddamn life, he’s about to nerd olympics the hell out of you. 

Peter jumps from his seat so quickly it startles you, his hands come down on the armrests of your chair, the seat tilting backwards as he pushes his weight towards you. 

“I’m the biggest nerd you’ll ever meet.” 

Your seat jostles when he lets go and opens his closet, pulling out a box he sets it on his bed. 

“This is everything I put away when we started dating,” he turns with three rubik’s cubes, each one in various sizes. “,these are my rubik’s cubes, I can finish the standard in forty three seconds, the six by six took me about thirty minutes and this baby?” he bounced the biggest one in his hold, “, this is a twenty one by twenty one, it took me about three hours.” 

Peter dropped them to the bed and continued, “and this is my national championship trophy for chess club,” he shoves it in your face before he keeps digging, a small picture frames come next, “this is when I won the states most innovative science fair project,” frantic digging, “, this is a figurine of my favorite video game,” two large disc sets next, “lord of the rings and star wars,” 

He spins around, flying past your body where he picks up his comic book container, “remember when I was late to our date last week? I was getting these,” three new additions of an old comic you had just started to pick up, “, and currently?” Peter moved to his desk, tapping on his keyboard until his screen woke up, code covered the screen, he pointed between the monitor and a notebook, “I’m learning to read binary code.” 

You felt like the grinch because your heart grew the times the size, adoration blossomed, you could feel your chest crack and glow. The Peter you wanted, the person you thought he was from the start, was real and in front of you. 

This was who he was, so why was he hiding it? 

“Why did you hide that from me? Peter, that’s like, the entire reason I wanted to date you. I liked who you were, then you turned into someone else.” 

Peter rested against his desk and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I figured a pretty girl like you wouldn’t want some nerdy guy, it might be cute at first but when I’m stoked about something I read on wikipedia and make it my thing for a day and talk your ear off about it, you’re gonna wish you had a boyfriend that just watches sport clips for fun.”

That’s the point you were trying to make, “that’s what I want! I was literally dumping you because you weren’t that.” 

“Well, I am that. So there’s no point in breaking up, right?” 

You hum and spin in his chair, “I dunno… you dragged me along for a month, hiding yourself from me, making me question everything. I mean, you have a lot to make up for, parker.” 

“C’mere,” you’re not given an option, he reaches forward and pulls the chair towards him and pulls you from the seat, flopping himself down and tugging you into his lap. Your stomach clenches, this was the confident Peter you wanted, it was confidence in himself. 

His pointer finger taps on the monitor, “you read binary from right to left, and you separate them into groups of eight. Now the key is knowing that each one and zero mean-” 

Your mouth on his, cutting his words off with a kiss, you held his face tightly, never wanting him to separate from you. Caught off guard he froze for a moment, then wrapped his hands around your middle. Pressing into him, separating for air but giving small pecks. 

“Baby,” kiss, “, I’m sorry,” kiss, “, I shut,” kiss, “, you out,” kiss, “I didn’t,” kiss, “, know it meant,” kiss, “, so much,” kiss, “, to you,” kiss. 

“You’re so much smarter than me,” a chaste kiss, “it’s so hot,” you look into his eyes, he’s flushed out and breathing harshly. “You’re so hot,” another kiss, Peter feels like the room is spinning, he’s never felt so wanted, so needed, the way you can’t stop kissing him, how tight you’re holding him to you, how blown your pupils are, the way you’re gulping him like water. 

“I mean if you,” he grunts when you kiss down his neck, biting into his collarbone. “, if you want, I could show you how quick I can solve my rubik’s cube.” Your hands drag up his hair, gripping and tilting his head away, better access to nibble and lick the skin. “Or, recite the first seventy nine numbers of pi.” 

Attention caught, “you know the first seventy nine numbers of pi?” 

“Mm hmm, I could also tell you” a whimper,  “, all the elements. Want me to start rattling them off?” 

Kissing the middle of his throat you hum, “I’d rather you take your pants off.” 

For the first time in Peter Parker’s life, memorizing the periodic table got him laid. 

Another classic from waitimcomingtoo 🤩

A Film By Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter gets back into making little videos once the two of you start hanging out

warning: extreme 2017 homecoming era nostalgia

Masterlist

Of course he went for Liz.

Liz was the ingénue. She was perfect in every possible way. Perfect grades, perfect face, and the perfect boy pining after her. You’d been crushing on Peter since the third grade but with Liz around, he never noticed you.

But Liz was gone now. She had moved to Oregon following her dad’s arrest and taken Peter’s feelings for her with her. Now that she was gone, you decided it was time to stop pining after Peter from afar and start pining from up close. And so, when you walked into the cafeteria that day, you didn’t sit at the end of the table like you usually did.

“Oh, hey.” Peter smiled in surprise when you sat down next to him. Smiling was good. Smiling meant he wasn’t creeped out by you sitting so close. You gulped before giving him best smile back.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” Ned asked, making Peter give him a look. You immediately regretted your decision and wished you’d just stayed in your usual spot.

“What do you mean? She always sits with us.” Peter pointed out.

“No, she always sits down there. She’s never actually sat with us before.” Ned replied and gestured to the end of the lunch table.

“Yes, but I’m sitting here today because I needed Peters help with the chemistry homework.” You said and put your chemistry notebook on the table. You knew you couldn’t just randomly sit with them without a reason, so you came prepared.

“Oh, for Mr. Eddie’s class? It’s easy. I’ll show you my notes.” Peter’s offered with a smile. You returned the smile as he pulled out his own notebook. It was a win/win for you since you actually needed help with the homework and it would start a conversation with Peter. While he was explaining the problem to you, you never once looked down at the notebook. You were too focused on the curve of Peter’s suspiciously long eyelashes, the longest you’d ever seen on a boy. Ned noticed the way you were staring his his best friend and frowned a little.

“Does that make sense?” Peter’s asked when he was done explaining.

“Yeah, it does. Wow, thanks Peter. It sounds so easy the way you explain it. I wish this stuff came as naturally to me as it does for you. You’re so smart.” You said as if you had listened to a single word he had said.

“That’s nice of you to say but I’m really not that smart. I just like chemistry.” He replied as he blushed from the compliment.

“Oh, come on. You’re the smartest guy I know. You’re the only one that answers questions in that class. And you always get them right. When Mr. Eddie asks if anyone has any questions, I don’t raise my hand because I don’t even know what I’m confused about yet.”

“That’s I feel in English. I can barely make it through the first line in a poem and you’re already going back and forth with Ms. Teague about Pindaric odes or whatever they’re called.”

“You listen to when I talk in English?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Of course I do.” Peter shrugged. “I always find the reading boring until you raise your hand and talk about how you interpreted it. You make it interesting.”

“I liked that book we read when the kids ate the other kids.” Ned said and interrupted the moment. Your smile dropped as you and Peter looked at him with disgust.

“The one with the flies-“

“We know.” Peter cut him off.

“Anyways, thank you for helping me with the homework. I’ve been stuck on it all week.” You said to Peter.

“Ugh. That’s been me with my paper for Mrs. Teagues class. And it’s due tomorrow.” Peter groaned.

“Oh, the analysis essay? I could help you with that.” You offered.

“Really? You’d help me?” Peter smiled in surprise.

“Yeah. I already wrote mine. It would be no problem.”

Ned was watching this back and forth conversation for a while until it clicked it in head. He gasped and slapped the table, making you and Peter look at him.

“Oh my God.” Ned said. “That’s why you’re sitting here. You have a-“

“Can I talk to you for a second, Ned?” You quickly cut him off when you realized where that sentence was going. Before Ned could even answer, you grabbed his arm and pulled him outside the cafeteria to talk in private.

“You like Peter!” Ned whispered harshly. You clamped your hand over his mouth and pushed him up against the wall.

“You need to keep your mouth shut.” You hissed. “Yes, I like Peter, okay? I’ve had a crush on Peter since middle school. He never noticed me when Liz was around but now that she’s in Oregon, I might finally have my chance. I don’t want to scare him off so just keep your mouth shut and let me handle this.”

You took your hand off Ned’s mouth and he started to gasp for air.

“Oh, please. Your nose wasn’t covered. You could breathe just fine.” You said with a roll of your eyes. Ned stopped pretended and straightened up.

“So you actually like Peter? For his personality?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Ned admitted.

“I like everything about him. And I’m gonna tell him that. Just please, don’t say anything before I do. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”

“Are you going to cast a love spell on him using a lock of his hair?” Ned whispered to you.

“What? No. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because you’re a witch.” Ned said like it was obvious.

“I’m not a witch.” You groaned. “I just accidentally cackled that one time but it was only because I had phlegm in my throat.”

“Then about that time on the bus?”

“We’ve been over this. It was just a coincidence that that biker fell off his bike after I gestured with my hand. I didn’t move him with my mind.”

“And that one time in physics?” Ned narrowed his eyes.

“I still don’t know how that guys shirt caught on fire.” You shrugged. “It’s a mystery to me.”

“It caught on fire after he made fun of you for being a witch.” Ned pointed out.

“Maybe he was just standing too close to the flame.” You shrugged.

“He was standing in the doorway. There was no flame.” Ned reminded you.

“The magic of science.” You shrugged again.

“But what about that time-“

“Don’t bring up the nosebleed.” You whined.

“I am gonna bring up the nosebleed.” Ned hissed. “In sixth grade, our Spanish teacher got a nosebleed right after he told you to stop staring out the window and made everyone laugh at you. How do you explain that?”

“You’ve made your point, okay? Now are you gonna tell Peter or not?”

“Look, I’m not gonna expose your gross secret feelings, as gross and secret as they may be.” Ned sighed. “But Peter is still my best friend so I have to look out for him. I don’t want any spells cast on him.”

“That’s fine. There will not be any spells.” You held your your hands in defense. Just then, Flash walked by and laughed when he saw the two of you talking.

“Woah. What is this, the friendless loser convention?” Flash snorted.

“Shut up.” You snapped. Flash immediately tripped over his feet and fell to the ground, making Ned look at you with wide eyes.

“Witch!” He whispered harshly as he pointed a finger at you.

“Shut up. Let’s go back inside.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Ned back into the cafeteria.

Later that day, you met up with Peter in the library to go over your assignments. You started with his English essay and finished that within an hour before moving on to your chemistry homework.

“You can plug the numbers into your formula now using the method I taught you. And then you just solve for x.” Peter explained as you worked out a problem together.

“Hm. You make it sound so simple.” You sighed and leaned on your hand. Peter saw the way you were staring at him in his peripheral vision and felt his face heat up.

“It’s, uh, it’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I never liked the way Mr. Eddie taught it. I figured this out myself and it’s worked much better for me.”

“Thanks for helping me. You’re a good teacher.” You said and put your hand on his arm. Peter laughed shyly at the contact and cleared his throat.

“Thanks. And so are you. That was the best essay I’ve ever produced. I honestly worry she won’t believe I wrote it.”

“Well if she says anything, I can vouch for you. You put in good work on this essay. You deserve the credit.” You assured him, making Peter blush all over again. It occurred to Peter that he never realized how pretty you were. You’d been classmates since 3rd grade so he always looked at you as just another girl in his class. Now that you had his full attention, he didn’t feel like looking away.

“Thanks. I appreciate you helping me write it. I know it can be frustrating to work with me because of my dyslexia.”

“It’s no problem. And it wasn’t frustrating at all.” You shrugged. Peter smiled at felt better about how long it took him to write the essay.

“Thanks.” He said. You had successfully gotten him to spend time with you one on one but now you needed to commence the next phase in your plan which was to hang out in a non school related setting.

“Would you ever want to hang out socially?” You blurted.

“Like, and not do homework?” He asked. You nodded your head and he smiled before nodding as well.

“Yeah. Sure. I’d love to.”

“Cool. Me too.” You smiled. You hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that but it worked nonetheless.

“Does this weekend work?” He asked you.

“Yeah. What do you want to do?”

Hard cut to that weekend. You were on the subway with Peter and he had his phone out to record himself.

“Firts social hang out with a girl. A film by Peter Parker.” He said in a low voice before flipping the camera to face you.

“Staring me.” You smiled and waved to the camera.

“Are you sure you’re cool with me filming this?” Peter asked as he flipped the camera back to himself.

“Yeah, of course. The other ones you showed me were so cute. But why did it seem like there were so many missing parts? You were always talking about something cool that I didn’t get to see.”

“Uhhh, no reason.” Peter said and looked to the side. He had skillfully edited out any incriminating superhero activity that you were not ready to see yet.

“Well I like it. I feel like I’m on Modern Family.” You said and posed for the camera.

“Which family member would you be?” Peter laughed and zoomed in on you. With his phone blocking his face, he could shamelessly admire your face on his screen.

“Duh. Lily.”

“I can so see that.” He chuckled. The subway lurched suddenly and you both grabbed onto the pole, coincidentally putting your hands in top of each others.

“Oh, sorry. Our hands touched.” You laughed shyly.

“Oh my God. So romantic.” Peter joked, making you blush and look into his camera.

“Stop it.” You laughed and covered his phone with your hand. He laughed as well and put his phone away.

After learn you had never been, Peter decided to the Lego Store. He’d been hyping it up to you all week over text and now that it was finally happening, he hoped it impressed you. You walked in together and Peter heard you gasp.

“Big Lego Aladdin.” You gasped and ran to stand under the giant magic carpet and Aladdin made of Legos.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that string of words come out of someone’s mouth.” Peter laughed and went to stand under it with you. You looked over at him and were surprised to see he was already looking at you.

“This is even better than you described it. You need to show me everything.” You said and excitedly shook his arm.

“I can do that.” He blushed and nodded his head towards some of the sets.

Peter took out his phone to film you as you looked at everything in the store. The way you were looking around like a little kid brought a smile to Peter’s face. He zoomed in on you and caught himself staring at you fondly through the camera.

“Come on. I haven’t even showed you the coolest part yet.” Peter said and brought you over to the build your figure own station. He laughed when you gasped again and started to excitedly rummage through all the pieces. Peter didn’t bring his phone out again until you had built each other.

“Show me what you made.” He laughed from the other side of the phone.

“Looks! It’s a little Peter. He has a backpack and a beaker.” You said as you proudly showed the camera the little Peter figure you had made.

“This is Y/n. I can’t believe I found the shoes you always wear.” He said as he filmed the figure he had made of you.

“You notice my shoes?” You asked with a smile. Peter didn’t catch it because he was too busy fitting the hands of your Lego figures together.

“Look. They’re holding hands.” Peter gasped.

“Aw.” You laughed. “Us on the subway.”

“We should give them some privacy. They might not want us to hard launch their relationship.” Peter said and put his phone away.

“You’re so cute.” You laughed without thinking about it. Peter looked up at you with rosy cheeks and you gulped when you realized what you said.

“I mean-“

“Come on. I wanna take you somewhere else.” He cut you off before you could explain. He brought you to Delmar’s and ordered his usual for you to split. You sat together inside and you tried your best to remain calm. You always wondered what Peter got up to when he wasn’t at school and now you were in one of his favorite places and eating with him.

“Okay, this is Y/n’s first time eating at Delmars since he reopened. Let’s get her reaction.” Peter said as he filmed you unwrapping the sandwich.

“Wait, why is it so flat?” You laughed and held the sandwich up.

“Oh, sorry.” He chuckled. “I forgot to warn you that he always squishes it for me. But you’ll like it. Trust me. It’s much better when it’s squished down real flat.”

“Well I’m glad I now know you like your sandwiches to be squished. I would not have expected that about you.” You said and took a bite of your half before giving him a thumbs up.

“Yeah? You like it?” He asked hopefully.

“I do. Your squishy sandwich was surprisingly good.” You admitted.

“Well, I’m very pleased to hear that.” Peter smiled and phone away. “So to make it even, you have to show me one of your favorite places next time we hang out.”

“Oh.” You smiled coyly. “I didn’t realize there would be a next time.”

“There better be. I had a lot of fun with you today. How come we’ve never hung out before?”

“I don’t know. I always wanted to but you were busy running around with Ned or staring at…” You trailed off and chose not to mention Liz in case he was still hung up on her.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad we’re friends now.” You said instead.

“Me too. I’ve never had a girl friend.”

“What was that?” You said and started choking on your saliva.

“All my friends in my life were guys. It’ll be nice to have a female influence in my life.”

“Oh. Girl friend.” You smiled tightly.

You hung out another hour before taking the subway back to your respective apartments. Peter walked to you the front doors of you building and you had an awkward moment where you didn’t know if you should hug or not.

“We uh, we should probably get an ending for your film.” You said with a timid smile.

“Oh, right. Thats a great idea.” Peter smiled and pulled out his phone. He pressed record and you waved to the camera with both hands.

“So, can you give our first time hanging out a rating?” He asked you.

“9/10.” You grinned and held up two thumbs.

“What? Why’d I only get a 9?” Peter scoffed and pretended to be offended.

“I had a 10/10 time but I have to deduct a point because we saw that guy cutting his hair on the subway and I was scared he was gonna throw the scissors at us.”

“Well I would’ve just protected you with my lightning fast reflexes.” Peter said simply. You smiled at him through the phone and he smiled back. He put the camera down and looked at you with a content smile on his face.

“Seriously, though. When’s the next time we’re hanging out?”

It ended up being just a few days later. And then again a few days after that.

“Peter’s first time!” You cheered as you filmed him during one of your hang outs.

“Trying boba.” He clarified. “I don’t understand this drink. Do I eat the balls?”

“Yes. Sip it slowly so they don’t all go down your throat.” You instructed. Peter took a big sip and immediately started choking.

“Peter! I said slowly!” You said as you slapped his back until he stopped choking. You quickly put the camera down to help him recover.

Your hangouts started getting more and more frequent and Peter soon considered you a best friend. Your weekends became each others and school days were often spent together in the library or at one of your apartments. You were quickly moving up the ranks in Peter’s life, just as you hoped. And the closer you got, the more Peter could not believe he had never noticed you before.

Little did you know, Peter often found himself watching the footage he had taken of you during your hang outs with a big smile on his face. He’d rewatch the videos he had taken and realize that they were slowly becoming less of a documentary and more of a highlight reel for you. He never imagined a girl as cool as you would for him so when he realized he was starting to fall for you, he quickly repressed his feelings. Little did he know, the feelings were mutual.

“Did you always make these little videos?” You asked Peter one day as he filmed you trying to balance on the curb of the sidewalk.

“I used too make them all the time but I hadn’t for awhile. I only started them again when we started hanging out.”

“Really? Why?” You wondered and stumbled off the curb.

“I don’t know. You remind me of the time before my life got crazy. It made me want to do these again.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help but smile at that information and turned around to look at him.

“So I could be the star?” You asked and posed for the camera.

“Exactly. You’re my muse.” He played along, making you laughed shyly. When he watched the video back later that night, he knew he had meant every word of that.

Peter sat in his bedroom one day and filmed himself wearing your glasses while you did homework at his desk. He looked over you every now and then just to admire the back of your head.

“Don’t break those.” You called without looking up. All you needed to hear was the sound of your glasses case opening to know what he was doing.

“I’m not even wearing your glasses.” He lied and admired himself in the camera.

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not. But yes, I am.”

“Knew it.” You snorted.

“Hey, how come girls always smell so good?” Peter wondered. “Your hair hit me in the face when you turned too fast before it smelled like a baby in a damn meadow.”

“It’s just my womanly essence. Now can you stop looking at yourself long enough to help me with my chemistry homework?”

“It’ll be hard but I can try.” Peter dramatically sighed and set his phone down. You got yo from the desk and went over to the bed with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Incoming.” You announced and patted your elbow twice like a wrestler.

“No, don’t.” He pleaded. You ignored his pleas and jumped on top of him. He groaned and pushed you off, leaving you laying in the bed beside him.

“Ow. My ribs.”

“You’ll heal.” You rolled your eyes. “Now can you help me with number 7?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem. Can you check this email before I send it?” He asked and handed over his laptop. You handed him your worksheet before reading over his email draft.

“Oh, honey.” You grimaced just a few words into the email.

“Is it bad?”

“Good evening, Mrs. Howard. I hope this email finds you well. I’m so sorry for bothering you. I was just wondering if I could possibly have an extension on my midterm paper? No worries at all if an extension is not possible. I apologize for any inconvenience this email may have caused. Thank you for reading, Peter Parker.” You read out loud.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“After your name, you included the name of the class, the time you have it, and a description of yourself. She knows who you are!” You laughed and turned the laptop around to show him his mistakes.

“She may have forgotten.” He pointed out. “I can’t take any chances.”

“Peter, this email is way too submissive. You sound like such a bottom.”

“Well excuse me, genius.” He said sarcastically. “How would you write it?”

“Here.” You said and handed the laptop back after retyping his email.

“Oh, wow. That’s actually really good.” He said once he read your updated version.

“This is why we are such good friends. You have all the math and science knowledge in this little, beautiful head of yours-“

“Little?” He interrupted.

“You’re right. Sorry, I was just being nice. What I meant to say is that your head is huge.” You corrected. “Anyways, you have the math brain and I have the literary brain. It’s like you’re Einstein and I’m Victor Hugo.”

“Who the hell is that?” He laughed as he peaked at your mirror to see if his head was actually huge.

“The guy who wrote Les Mis.” You said like it was obvious.

“Never heard of it.”

“What? You’ve never seen Les Misérables?” You asked in a thick French accent.

“Huh?”

“We have to watch it. It’s so good.” You said and snatched his laptop back. You pulled up the movie and handed it back to him.

“Oh my God. It’s two hours and 38 minutes long? And a musical? Hell no.” Peter shook his head and pushed the laptop away.

“But it’s so good.” You urged. “We can just leave it on in the background while we work. It’s super light and easy to watch.”

“Really? What’s it about?”

“Oh, you know. Just war torn France.” You mumbled.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“But you’ll like it! There’s prostitution and con men and um…oh! And orphans! You can watch it and feel represented.” You said and shook his arm.

“I hate you.” He laughed but nearly gave in to your request just to see you happy.

“Fine.” You huffed. “I finished editing your midterm paper, by the way. You don’t actually have to send that email.”

“And here is your completed chemistry homework.” Peter smiled and handed your worksheet back.

“Aw.” You gushed. “Look at us. I love cheating with you.”

“So do I. We make a great pairing.” He chuckled as he looked over at you. You looked back at him and gulped. You hadn’t realized how close you were with your arms and legs pressed against each other as you sat together in your bed. Peter knew his sheets would smell like your perfume that night and smiled at the thought.

“Now that we’re all done with our work, you know what we should do?” He asked as he moved in closer.

“W-what should we do?” You stuttered now that he was right there.

“You know what I’ve been dying to do with you for a long, long time?” He asked.

“No. I mean, I don’t know. What?” You laughed nervously. Peter moved in even closer and right when you thought he was gonna kiss you, he reached over and grabbed his laptop back.

“I wanted to show you a real musical. Not this French miserable bull crap. Have you ever seen a little movie called Hair-“

“No. I’m not watching Hairspray with you again. You scream-sang every lyric last time and I couldn’t even hear it.” You cut him off and reached over home to take the laptop back. He pulled it away at the last second and you ended up on top of him. You looked into each others eyes and both froze in the positions you were in. Your faces were almost touching but neither of you tried to pull away. Your eyes were going back and forth between his lips and eyes and he was doing the same. Like magnets, you two started to lean towards each other but before your lips could connect, May opened the door.

“What did you guys want- oh! Sorry! I didn’t realize I would be interrupting something. My bad.” May smiled sheepishly and pretended to cover her eyes. Peter burned bright red as you quickly climbed off of him.

“May.” He said warningly.

“Sorry. But maybe lock the door next time. And use protection.”She whispered the last part before shutting the door.

“May!” He groaned and threw a pillow at the door. There was a long, awkward silence before you were even able to look at each other. When you finally did, you smiled awkwardly and kept your distance.

“That was so weird. What did she think we were doing?” You laughed nervously to break the silence.

“Psh. I know.” Peter scoffed. “She said she was interrupting but we weren’t even doing anything.”

“Yeah. What did she think? That we were gonna kiss or something?” You asked and laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing you could ever suggest.

“Us? Kissing? How silly. Imagine that.” Peter forced a laugh as well and looked to the side. The awkward silence returned and you struggled to look at each other.

“Do you think she made dinner?” Peter asked after a beat of silence.

“Let’s check.” You said and quickly got off the bed.

You didn’t discuss the almost kiss and went home shortly after. You couldn’t sleep that night because you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your mind. No matter how much you wanted him to like you back, if Peter reciprocated your feelings, he would have kissed you.

Your pity party didn’t last long because on the subway the next day, you felt Peter put his earbud in your ear. You heard the Les Mis soundtrack playing in your ear and looked up in surprise. Peter was already filming you with a huge smile on his face.

“This guy 24601 should stop stealing bread and stick to singing. He has serious pipes.” Peter said.

“You listened to it?” You melted into a smile and held your hand over your heart.

“Yep. I stayed up all night watching lyric videos because I couldn’t understand what they were saying with their accents. It’s actually really good. I love Eponine. I just wish Marious wasn’t such an idiot. How does he not see that his best friend is clearly in love with him?” Peter asked with exasperation. You looked directly at the camera and hoped it picked up the irony before looking at Peter again.

“He’s not an idiot. He’s a romantic.” You sighed. “He doesn’t notice Eponine because he’s in love with Cosette. And course he is. She’s prettier and richer and has perfect hair. He doesn’t even see Eponine.”

“Good hair isn’t everything. Eponine is way better than Cosette.” Peter scoffed. “I’m team Eponine all the way.”

“Are you really?” You asked hopefully.

“Oh, for sure. I see why you like this stuff. These songs are awesome.” Peter said and put the other earbud in his ear. He then flipped the camera around to film the two of you sharing earbuds. As Heart Full Of Love played in your ears, you couldn’t help but longingly staring at Peter. The fact that he had stayed up late just to listen to something you suggested made you overcome with fondness for him. If he had done something like that, maybe he actually did feel the same.

“I forgot how good this album is. I haven’t listened in a while. I used to listen to it all the time back when you…” You stopped short when you realized you were about to say too much.

“When I what?” Peter wondered. You looked him in the eyes and decided that it was time to be honest. The song ended and a new, much louder one began to play in your ears.

“Back when you liked Liz. She was Cosette. I was Eponine. I was the one pining after a guy who never noticed me because he was in love with another girl. You were never mine to lose.” You admitted. Peter stared at you for a minute before pulling his earbud out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear a word you just said. Master of the House is such a banger. What did you say?” He asked you.

“Never mind.” You smiled. “It wasn’t important.”

He smiled back before getting a text on his phone. You looked at his phone when you heard it buzz and realized he was still recording. In other words, he had just recorded you saying you liked him. Your eyes went wide but you only had a second to panic when you read the text he had gotten.

“Did Liz just text you?” You asked in a quiet voice. You felt like you were about to throw up. Years of crushing on a boy who liked another girl turned into months of pinning for your best friend and now turned into a rock in your stomach. Peter stopped recording the two of you to answer her text, which felt a little like a slap in the face.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been talking lately.” He absentmindedly replied to you as he laughed at whatever she had written.

“You have?” You asked with a dry mouth.

“Yeah. She says Oregon is pretty cool. But she wants to come back and visit this summer to see everyone.” He told you.

“And see you?” You asked with a sad smile.

“I guess so.” He shrugged. “It would be nice to see her.”

“Yeah. Totally.” You said weakly. “So how long have you guys been talking?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks? She texted me a little while ago and we’ve been catching up.”

“That’s awesome.” You lied.

“I know. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from her again after she moved.”

“Neither did I.” You said through a forced smile. You needed to get off the subway and away from Peter before you started crying. So as soon as the subway doors opened, you bolted out.

“I gotta go. See you later.” You called to him before running through the subway station. You wiped tears as you went up the stairs and didn’t stop moving until you were in a bathroom stall at school. You gave yourself five minutes to be upset before drying your face and leaving the bathroom. It sucked, but it could have been worse. Now, Peter never had to know how you felt about it.

Peter was beyond confused by your exit on the subway but he wasn’t about to get any answers from you. You dodged his texts throughout the day and didn’t dare go into the lunchroom where you knew he and Ned would be.

“Y/n isn’t here yet?” Peter’s huffed as he sat down at your usual lunch table.

“Not yet. Actually, I haven’t seen your girlfriend all day.” Ned realized.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Peter blushed. “And I’m pretty sure she’s avoiding me. She’s been so weird ever since this morning. Everything was fine on the subway until we got to school.”

“Well did anything happen on the subway that would weird her out? Oh no. Did you graze her boob with your hand again?”

“No. That was one time. And it was her boobs fault, not mine.” Peter whispered harshly. “We were just listening to music together and I was filming her like normal. But she could not get away from me faster once the doors opened. It was so weird.”

“Did you say anything weird to her? Girls don’t like it when you say weird things to them.”

“I know that. I didn’t say anything weird.” Peter replied as he pulled out his phone. He watched the video he had taken on the subway with no sound to see where he had gone wrong. All he saw was you looking at him with heart eyes which made his face heat up. But still, no evidence of where he messed up.

“I knew it. We were having a normal conversation about Les Mis and then I got a text from and then she ran. It makes no sense.”

“What was the text? Was it May saying something weird?”

“No. And stop saying weird. It doesn’t sound like a real word anymore.” Peter ordered. “And the text was just from Liz.”

“Oh shit.” Ned said when he heard this.

“What?” Peter wondered.

“Oh, Peter.” Ned sighed. “Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“What?” He asked again, annoyed now.

“Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.”

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or just keep saying my name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’m sworn to secrecy. And I don’t want Y/n to put a hex on my family.” Ned said and held up his hands.

“Y/n swore you to secrecy? About what?”

“Can’t say.” Ned shrugged and zipped his lips.

“Does she not like Liz? And doesn’t want me to know?”

“Dude. Dude, dude, dude, dude. You are so close but so far.”

“So she does like Liz? Oh my God. Does she a crush on Liz? And she’s jealous that Liz texted me and not her?” Peter whispered with wide eyes.

“You’re getting colder.” Ned waved his hand. “I don’t even know how you got there.”

“That was all my guesses. Just tell me.” Peter whined.

“Hell no. I don’t want Y/n to curse my crops and make not grow for all of eternity.”

“You don’t have crops.” Peter pointed out.

“I could develop some.” Ned snapped.

“I just don’t understand what she would tell you something but not tell me. We’re best friends. She usually tells me everything.” Peter said right as his thumb accidentally hit the volume button on the video. Your confession to Peter on the subway was heard loud and clear by the two boys. Both of their jaws dropped as the video ended with you asked if Liz had just texted Peter.

“Well I wouldn’t have beaten around the bush like that if I knew you had video evidence of her saying she liked you right in your hands.” Ned sighed dramatically.

“I need to find her.” Peter said and ran out of the lunchroom. He looked around the school until he found you under the bleachers in the gym. You were sitting with your back against the wall and your knees drawn to your chest with your earbuds in your ears. When you saw Peter coming up to you, you quickly pulled them out.

“Hey.” He said and waved cautiously.

“Hey.” You smiled sadly as he sat beside you. You sat in silence for a minute as neither of you knew what to say.

“What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you all day.” He started off. You looked at your hands to avoid making eye contact and sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been talking to Liz?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t hiding it. I just didn’t think it would interest you.”

“Well you have no idea how interesting I found it.” You laughed dryly. “What do you guys talk about anyway?”

“Well, she originally texted me to ask me to confirm I had an internship at Stark Industries because her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she knew a guy who worked there. Apparently he’s been trying to get an internship there for years and he wanted to know how I landed mine. Then we just started catching up. I only talk to her here and there, though. And it’s only ever about school or work.”

“Oh. I thought you guys were talking talking.” You couldn’t help but smile a little when you heard the word “boyfriend.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just regular talking. When you saw her text on my phone, she was telling me about her cat getting spaded. And I didn’t know what that meant so she had to tell me. I should’ve just googled it.”

You laughed softly at that and he did too. The tension was let out of the conversation and you could finally breathe again. When you stopped laughing, you finally looked in his eyes.

“Do you still have feelings for her?” You asked quietly.

“For her? No.” He laughed. “Those are long gone. I have feelings for someone else now.”

“Oh God. Don’t even tell me. I don’t want to know.” You groaned and buried your face in your hands. Peter looked at you for a minute until an idea came to him.

“Actually, uh, I came looking for you because I was just making another video. Wanna be in it?” Peter asked and took out his phone. You looked at him like he was crazy and could not believe he had just asked that during that moment.

“I’m not really in the mood right now, P.”

“Come on. I can’t make it without my muse.” He said and nudged you slightly. You couldn’t help but to smile at that and reluctantly nodded. He propped up his phone against the bleachers and pressed record.

“In a world where two best friends have no idea how to communicate despite spending way too much time together.” Peter said in a fake deep, gravely voice.

“Okay. Shade. That’s fine.”

“What will it take for them to admit they have feelings for each other?” He kept the voice as he looked at you.

“Wait, what?” You asked and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. Peter smiled softly at you and shrugged a little.

“What’s it gonna take?” He asked again in his normal voice.

“I don’t understand.” You laughed nervously.

“I watched the video from before. From the subway. I heard what you said.” He admitted.

“Oh shit. You watched it?” You grimaced.

“Uh huh. So if you’re Eponine, I guess that makes me the idiot who didn’t realize his best friend was in love with him?”

“I guess so.” You said with a tight smile and still didn’t understand why he wanted to film this incredibly awkward conversation.

“You know, if I didn’t have a video of it, I never would have believed that you liked me.” Peter told you.

“You wouldn’t? Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t seem possible that the coolest girl I’ve ever met liked me.” He replied.

“You think I’m cool?” You asked skeptically.

“I think you’re the coolest. And you know, I watch the videos I take of you all the time. And half of them are just clips of you existing. So I do notice you. It just took me a second to catch up.” He told you. A smile tugged at your lips as you stared into his big brown eyes.

“You’re my best friend.” You told him. “I’m sorry I want more.”

“I’m not sorry.” He shrugged.

“You’re not?”

“I’m just sorry it took me so long to wake up and find that what I’ve been looking for has been here the whole time.” He said as he hooked his pinky under your chin and brought your face close to his.

“Wait, why does that sound so familiar?” You wondered.

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Peter whispered right before your lips touched. You kissed for the first time under the bleachers but it could have been in a palace for all you knew. The world disappeared around you as Peter slipped a hand behind your head to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, you rested your foreheads together and laughed nervously together. It was a good nervous, a happy feeling of anticipation.

“Was that Taylor Swift?” You realized when you finally placed where you knew that like from.

“Shh. No.” He shook his head. “But yes, it was. You’re not the only one with good music taste.”

Tag List 🏷️

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

Meet Me Behind The Mall

Pairing: shy!Peter Parker x popular!Reader

Synopsis: after getting ditched by your friends, you spend a day with Peter in the mall, who’s secret you recently figured out

Masterlist

In his peripheral vision, Peter could see a tiny piece of paper being pushed onto his side of the lab table. He curiously looked at it, then up at you. You nodded your head towards the note so Peter unfolded it.

“What’s the answer to number 7?” The note read. Peter glanced up at the professor before scribbling down the answer and passing the note back to you. You read his response and circled the correct answer. A few seconds passed when another note was passed across the table. Peter picked it up and opened it to reveal three hearts drawn around the words “thank u!”. Peter felt his face flush and looked over at you again. You gave him a thumbs up before going up to hand in your test.

After class, you caught up with Peter in the hallway and put your hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Thank you so much for helping me in there. I counted up all the answers I was confident I got right and it wasn’t enough to get a pass. I just don’t get this unit.”

“You’re welcome.” Was all Peter could say. He thought about offering to tutor you or telling you he also struggled with the topic, but he felt too shy to get anything more out than a cordial response.

“I bet you did really well. You always do. God, I wish I was as good at science as you are. It’s just never come naturally to me. How do you always know the answer?” You asked him as you continued to walk together.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged and immediately scrunched his face in embarrassment. He wished he could be better at conversing with you, especially since you were always so nice to him. He saw a pack of your friends coming down the hallway and they waved you over, putting your conversation out of it’s misery.

“Bye, Peter. I’ll see you next class. Have a good weekend.” You waved to him as you ran to catch up with your large group of friends. He knew he should return the sentiment but instead stayed silent and gave you a pathetic wave back.

That night, the cheap alcohol of the frat party didn’t sit well with you so you headed home early. You were a pretty far walk from your dorm but felt too nauseas to get into a car. Instead, you started walking home and let the cold New York air calm you down.

“Where are you going, gorgeous?”

You felt panic drop in your stomach at the sound of a man’s voice somewhere in the darkness but kept walking to your dorm. The sound of footsteps behind you picked up behind you so you quickened your pace. You could still hear music coming from the party you had left so you knew people were nearby if worst came to worst.

“Hey. I’m talking to you. Where are you going?”The man asked as he caught up to you and walked beside you. You ignored him and tugged your jacket tighter around your body. He suddenly took you by the elbow and you froze in fear.

“Come on. Don’t be rude. Just give me a smile and I’ll leave you alone.” The man said with a sickening smile as he tried to get you to look at him.

“Please. I’ll give you whatever you want from my bag. Just leave me alone.” You pleaded and moved away from him. He snatched your purse from your hands and started to rummage through it.

“What the hell is this? This is just full of receipts.” He grimaced in disgust and pulled out a handful of crumbled receipts.

“I don’t want to throw them out in case I need to return something one day.” You said meekly.

“Do you even have a wallet? All I’m finding is lip gloss.” The man said as he picked up five different lip products from the bottom of your bag.

“Oh, I’m sorry you didn’t find a better person to rob.” You scoffed sarcastically. The man looked up at you with a primal look in his eyes.

“Oh, you think you’re funny? I don’t like girls who think they’re funny.” He said and gripped your elbow again. You tried to pull away but he was too strong. Before you could tell him to let to, Spiderman dropped down next to you. You cracked a smile at the sight of him and let out a sigh of relief.

“Sir, I hate to be the one to tell you this but that purse does not to with that outfit.” Peter sassed and moved his hands in dramatic exasperation.

“Huh?” The guy said and let go of you.

“Now, you better not have left a bruise on this lovely lady’s elbows or you and I are gonna have a serious problem.” Peter warned as he shot a web at the guys pants. He yanked them down and the man’s jeans fell to his ankles.

“Hm. I did not peg you for a boxers guy. Your whole vibe screams “Fruit of the Loom” tighty whities. Yet now I stand corrected.” Peter said as he tilted his head to the side. You covered your mouth and let out a laugh, making the man grow angry. He went to lunge at Peter but tripped over his dropped pants.

“Uh oh. Someone’s angry. Maybe your whities are a little too tighty.” Peter commented as he pinched his fingers together. You laughed again as Peter shot a web at your purse.

“I’ll take that.” He quipped and yanked the purse out of the man’s hands.

“Thank you!” Peter said politely as he caught your purse.

“Hey!” The man shouted.

“Hey?” Peter laughed. “You’re yelling at me like it’s yours.”

The man tried to lunge at Peter again and ended up falling flat on his face. Peter took that as his cue to wrap an arm around you and pick you up to swing you to safety. He landed a few blocks away and carefully put you down. You stared at him through the mask as he put you down, your faces just inches apart. Peter gulped and felt his entire face go red beneath the mask.

“Thank you, Spiderman.” You smiled softly at him as you slowly withdrew your arm from around his neck.

“You’re very welcome, miss. I believe this belongs to you.” He said as he put your purse back into your hands. Your eyebrows knit together suddenly in confusion and you let out a short laugh.

“Wait, Peter?” You asked, making Peter’s heart drop.

“Uh, what?” He gulped. “Who’s that? I’m your friendly neighbor Spiderman.”

“Right. Sorry. You sound just like this guy in my chemistry class.” You laughed and shook your head. Peter felt his blush spread all the way to his ears over you recognizing the sound of his voice. You ran in different circles at school, you being apart of the popular group of girls and him belonging to a small group of local nerds. That being said, your ever present kindness towards him left him to develop a small crush on you.

“Oh. Well, that’s not me. But he sounds really handsome.” Peter replied, making you laugh again.

“He is.” You nodded without an ounce of sarcasm in your voice. This piked his curiosity and he leaned in a little.

“He is?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” You nodded. “In a hot nerd kind of way. Like Spencer Reid. But kinda short. Which I’m not sure why I’m telling you now that I hear myself.”

“It’s okay. I like that show too.” He chuckled shyly. “He sounds really cool.”

“He is really cool. At least, I think he is. But I’m not really sure. Everytime I try to talk to him, he looks away.” You sighed like you were disappointed. Peter realized you were a little drunk and probably didn’t know what you were saying. Even if that was the case, it was still nice to hear.

“Maybe he’s just shy. And doesn’t know how to look pretty girls in the eye.” Peter said as he kicked a rock around with his foot.

“That’s a shame.” You smiled sadly. “Because I think he and I could be friends if he ever learned to look at me.”

Peter stopped messing with the rock and looked up at you. There was a smallness to you tonight that shone through your party dress and heavy makeup. Your typically bright hand bubbly demeanor was cloudy by something you weren’t telling him.

“Maybe he’ll start.” He told you.

“I hope so.“ You answered honestly. “He seems nice. I could use a friend like him.”

Standing under that streetlight, Peter noticed a sadness to you for the first time. You were usually in a circle of friends all wearing smiles but right now, you seemed completely alone down to your bones.

“So how was your night?” He asked in a quiet voice. You stared off into the distance as your eyes brimmed with tears suddenly.

“Do you ever feel completely alone despite being in a room full of people you know?” You asked him.

“I do, actually. All the time.” He answered. You looked at him and smiled sadly.

“Do really, Spiderman?” You asked with hope in your voice. It wasn’t that you wanted him to feel alone. You just wanted to know you weren’t the only one who felt that way.

“I do. Is that how you felt tonight?”

“I don’t know. I guess. Sometimes I make jokes and my friends all look at each other. And they all make this face as if they’re thinking the same thing. And what they’re thinking is that I’m a freakish alien who they’re embarrassed to know. That’s how I felt tonight.”

“Well that’s no fun. And you’re not a freakish alien. You’re very funny.”

“And you know that because you’re the cute guy in my chemistry class?” You asked with a hopeful smile.

“I’m not him. I’m just guessing that you’re funny. So maybe you are an alien. I don’t know. This is our first time meeting.”

“Right.” You rolled your eyes. “So how do you think you did on the last test? I actually feel pretty confident.”

“I don’t know because I didn’t take any test because I’m not the guy in your chemistry class. Now can I walk you home? It’s freezing out here and I have no jacket to offer you.”

“Sure, thanks. I’m this way.” You said and pointed in the direction of your dorm. Peter placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you towards your dorm.

“You should get a friend to walk with you next time you leave a party. It’s not safe to be out here by yourself. Especially with guys like that going around snatching purses.”

“I know. I asked my friends but they weren’t ready to leave yet.” You shrugged.

“And they let you walk home alone? Drunk? Sounds like you need some new friends.” Peter joked but you nodded in agreement.

“I know. But you know how friends can be. They still wanted to party. Why should I be their problem?” You shrugged again, making Peter frown.

“It’s not a problem to look out for you.” He said simply.

“That’s easy for you to say. You look out for everyone. It’s your job.” You reminded him.

“I’m not just saying that because of my job. It wouldn’t be a burden to take care of you no matter who I was.” Peter replied, making you stop walking. He looked at you and you looked that you had been waiting your whole life to hear what he had just said.

“Thank you.” You said with a fond smile.

“You’re very welcome.” Peter replied in an equally soft voice. You kept walking in comfortable silence until you reached the girls dorm.

“This is my dorm.” You told him. Thanks again for walking me home. And getting my purse back for me.”

“Anytime.”He nodded. “I just hope it doesn’t happen again. But if it did, you know.”

“You’d be here.” You finished his sentence.

“Exactly.” He smiled. “You can count on it.”

You couldn’t see the smile under his mask but you knew it was there. You held up your purse to show him that you had it before walking up a few of your dorm steps.

“See you at school?” You asked him.

“Don’t think so.” Peter chuckled. You squinted your eyes as if you didn’t believe him but eventually shrugged.

“That’s too bad. Good night.” You waved to him and walked the rest of the way up the stairs.

“Good night.” He called after you.

Once Monday came, you were determined to talk to Peter. You didn’t have chemistry that day so you’d have to find him elsewhere on campus. You knew he usually hung out in the library so you went there to check. Sure enough, he was at a table with his friends Ned and Miles.

“Hey, Peter.” You greeted as you walked up to him.

“H-hi.” He stammered. “What are you? I mean, how are you up? I mean, how are you? What’s up?”

“There we go.” Ned nodded. “I knew he’d get there eventually.”

“I’m good.” You replied. “How are you doing?”

“Ooo. Is this your girlfriend from chemistry class?” Miles asked as his raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Is that what you told them?” You smiled in surprise as you looked at Peter.

“No. I didn’t. I swear.“ He assured you as his entire face went red.

“He did show us the note you gave him.” Ned told you.

“Oh yeah. Three hearts. I didn’t realize you guys were so serious.” Miles teased Peter as he gave his friends a look that begged them to stop.

“I never said she was my girlfriend.” Peter whispered harshly to them. You could tell he was getting embarrassed so you played along to save him. You frowned and ran your fingers through his hair before letting your hand rest on his cheek.

“What? You didn’t tell them about us, baby?” You asked and titled your head to the side. Miles and Ned’s made surprised faces as Peters entire face went red.

“W-what?” Peter sputtered out.

“I’m messing with you.” You smiled. “But I do need to talk to you.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Sure.” Peter said and moved his bag so you could sit down. You looked at Miles and Ned and smiled timidly.

“Privately.” You clarified. Miles and Ned “oooo”ed as you walked away from their table and went into the hall.

“Dude, follow her.” Ned told him and pushed Peter up from the table. Peter nervously fixed his hair and got up to follow you.

“What’s up?” He asked once you were alone. You looked around to see who was watching before stepping closer to him.

“I just wanted to thank for getting my purse back for me. It’s my favorite bag. And my favorite lip combo was in there. You really saved me.” You said and squeezed his arm in appreciation.

“Oh, you’re welcome. Anytime.” Peter said waved his hand like it was no big deal. Your lips curved into a wicked smile and Peter realized his mistake.

“Shit.” He whispered as you jumped up and down and clapped your hands.

“I knew it!” You whispered. “I knew that was your voice!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said quickly.

“Yes you do.” You grinned and poked him in the chest.

“I really don’t.” He shrugged but he knew he was caught.

“Then why are you so flustered right now?” You folded your arms to ask him. Peter touched his burning cheek and debated telling you his face always did that around you.

“I’m not.” He lied.

“Your face is hot.” You pointed out as you touched a cold hand to his cheek.

“Psht. Your face is hot.” He scoffed and pushed your hand away.

“Thank you.” You said pointedly. “But you and I both know that I figured out your little secret. There’s no point in denying it now.”

“I don’t have any secrets. So you don’t know anything.”

“Come on, Peter.” You whined. “I’ve been waiting all weekend to tell you that I know. I wanted to text you but I don’t have your number and I couldn’t find you on Instagram. You have one, don’t you?”

“I’m not on social media.” He told you.

“Okay. That’s serial killer behavior but I’m willing to look past it if you confirm my suspicions.” You said and excitedly drummed your fingers on your chin.

“I’m not Spiderman. So I cannot confirm your suspicions.” He whispered for only you to hear. You smirked a little before shrugging.

“I guess you can’t.” You sighed. “It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s weird?” He wondered.

“That I never said you were Spiderman. I just thanked you for getting my purse.” You said with a coy smile. Peter hung his head in shame as he confirmed to you for the second time that he was in fact Spiderman.

“I knew it! I knew it was you. I even recognized the way you walk.” You said proudly.

“What do you know about the way I walk?” He asked with a shy smile.

“You walk really stiff like you’re holding two invisible briefcases.” You explained and demonstrated for him with a near perfect imitation of how he walked.

“What? No I don’t. Oh wait. Yeah, I kinda do.” He realized as he watched you.

“You definitely do. Now can you please just tell me I’m right? I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. I need to hear you tell me I was right.” You begged him as you put your hands on his shoulders. Peter playfully rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and sighed.

“You right.” He mumbled.

“Yes! I knew I was right!” You cheered. “Everything makes sense now. That’s why you’re always disappearing or yawning or bruised. You’re probably up every night getting girls purses, aren’t you?”

“Not always purses.” He instead. “Sometimes it’s bikes. And one time, a mean chihuahua.”

“Wow.” You said with genuine amazement. “So how long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was 15.”

“15? Damn. I was exhausted from working 4 hours a week at Kohl’s at 15. How do you do it? You must be so tired.” You frowned and rubbed his arm kindly.

“It’s tiring but someone has to do it.” He shrugged. “Just like someone has to hand out Kohl’s cash.”

“Thats true.” You chuckled. “And that’s a very selfless way to look at it.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He smiled shyly. “But please, you can’t tell anyone about this. Nobody else knows.”

“Duh.” You replied. “This is our secret.”

“Yeah. Ours.” He smiled and felt his face heat up at the mention of something belonging to only the two of you. Your moment was cut short by one of your friends coming up to you and completely disregarding Peter.

“Hey, girl. I need your notes from class today.” She said to you.

“Oh, sure. How come you weren’t there?” You asked her.

“Liz and I went got coffee instead.” She replied. Peter could tell you were hurt they didn’t ask you to come get coffee but you just smiled and nodded.

“I’ll text them to you.” You told her.

“Thanks. Let’s go to the library. I need you to look at my English paper and tell me if it’s good.” She said and nodded towards the library. You looked at Peter and gave him an apologetic smile.

“Bye, Peter. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” You told him before leaving with your friend.

“Why were you talking to that lesbian?” Your friend asked you as you walked away.

“That wasn’t a lesbian. That was my friend Peter.” He heard you tell her before going into the library. He watched you disappear and let out a little sigh. He knew he was going to over analyze that entire conversation for probably the rest of his life, or at least until the next time you spoke.

That weekend, Peter headed to the mall a few blocks from campus to do some wandering by himself since Ned was busying. He did a little shopping before taking a seat on the mall fountain to check his texts. He was so engrossed in his phone that he didn’t notice you walk up to him.

“Well, well, well.” You chuckled, making him look up at you and blush.

“It’s a fountain, actually.” Peter deadpanned, making you crack a smile.

“You’re stupid. Move over.” You laughed and sat beside him. Your knees were touching which made Peters face warm up the way it always seemed to around you.

“Should I be worried? I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.” He teased you.

“Excuse me? I was just walking around and saw you. You’re the one who keeps ending up placed I’m already in.”

“Sounds like something a stalker would say.” He said out of the corner of his mouth.

“You wish I was your stalker. Now come on, give me the haul. What did you buy?” You asked him and nodded towards his bag.

“Socks and boxers.” He smiled proudly and held up his items.

“Oh shit. You did not come to play.”

“I really didn’t.” He played along, making you laugh again. You stared at him for a minute with a fond smile and he stared back with a matching one.

“What?” He wondered.

“You’re talking to me.”

“So?” He laughed shyly. “You’re talking to me.”

“No, I mean, like. Full eye contact. And full sentences. Who is this man? I’ve been waiting to meet him forever.” You teased him and he playfully rolled his eyes.

“I guess it’s easier to talk to you now that you know my secret. You’re not as scary anymore.”

“I was scary before?” You gasped and pretended to be offended.

“Yes. Girls like you are very terrifying to me.”

“Girls like me?” You smiled coyly.

“Pretty girls who are nice to me. I really wish you were a giant snake or the multi-bear from Gravity Falls or something. That’s way less scary.” He insisted.

“You’d rather talk to the multi-bear than me?”You scoffed. “I have half a mind to forget about you and go stalk some other guy.”

“No, please. Stay. I forgot how awkward it is to shop alone and I still need to get a belt.” He pretended to beg and put a hand on your leg to get you to stay. You looked at the hand on your leg and cracked a smile at the unexpected contact from him.

“Well I would never abandon a man on a belt quest.” You replied, making him laugh.

“Thank you. What about you? What are you looking for?”

He could have said “shopping for” but that’s not what he meant. He wanted to know what you were looking for. You cracked a smile as if you understood what he was asking.

“Better friends, actually. Have you seen any?” You asked with a playful but sad smile.

“I just saw your friends in H&M.” He told you and pointed to the store. You shrugged a little and shook your head.

“Yeah. I saw them too. After they all told me they were busy today and couldn’t hang out.” You admitted without looking at him. Peter frowned and moved closer to you.

“They came here without you?”

“I asked them to hang out. They all said they couldn’t. But now I’m getting a sneaking suspicion there’s a second group chat that I’m not in.” You laughed but he knew it was fake.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

“I came here to cheer myself up and ended up feeling 200 times worse when I saw them all hanging out without me. I didn’t even say anything to them because I didn’t want them to feel bad for not inviting me. Not that they ever care when they make me feel bad.” You laughed again but it ended up in a sigh. You stared at your shoes for a second and Peter stayed silent.

“Girls suck.” You said after a beat. “Not always, of course, but when they suck, they really suck. They know how painful it can be to be the only one left out. But they still did it to me. I don’t understand why.”

“Neither do I. I thought those girls were your friends?”

“I don’t know. I kinda saw this coming.” You admitted. “I started to notice that I was always the one texting first. And always the one trying to make plans. And when they did text me, they were asking me for something. It was never just to check in on me.”

“That’s really hurtful. I’m sorry. I’ve been there too. It sucks when you realize that if you stopped reaching out to someone, you’d probably never speak again.” Peter replied, making you smile sadly at him.

“Exactly. Or when you wonder how long it would take them to notice if you stopped reaching out. And worse, wonder if they’d notice at all.”

“No one deserves to feel that way. Especially not someone as kind and considerate as you. You really do need new friends.” He nodded in agreement, making you genuinely laugh this time.

“We’re friends, right? Because I know your secret.”

“We can be friends.” Peter nodded, bringing a smile out of you.

“Thanks.” You told him and gave his shoulder a rub. Peter felt a sudden burst of confidence and decided to keep the momentum he had built.

“You’re probably gonna say no to this, but Ned and I were gonna get sandwiches and then build legos together tomorrow. You can come, if you’d like.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to give me a pity invite to your sandwich and Lego party.” You told him.

“It’s not a pity invite. I want you to be there. It would make me happy to have you around.” Peter answered, making you smile once again. It was the simple change from “you can come” to “I wanted you to be there” that made all the difference.

“Do you want to hang out with me today?” You asked him.

“Yeah. I do.” He said immediately. You stood up and held out your hand for him to take.

“Come on. Let’s go look at the home decor.”

Peter took your hand and let you pull him towards the home decor store in the mall. He awkwardly ran ahead of you so that he could open the door for you but it was worth it when he saw you smiling.

“Thank you.” You said curtly and walked inside. He followed you around the store like a puppy dog and listened to your commentary on the various throw pillows and wall art as if it was words from a prophet.

“This would be perfect for you.” You gasped and held up an old Halloween pillow that had a sequenced spiderweb on it along with a spider made up of mostly fallen off beads.

“Is my job a joke to you?” He laughed and flicked the pillow.

“I mean, I did see some funny videos of you online. How often do you miss your webs and fall into bushes?”

“Bushes are rare, actually. It’s usually car hoods and hot dog stands.” He admitted.

“Ouch.” You grimaced. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“No. Hot dog stands are really soft.” He said seriously. You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store.

“I love that I’m the only one that knows this about you.” You told him.

“You really do, don’t you?” He realized with an amused smile.

“Well, yeah. I always knew there was something about you and learning this vindicated me so hard.”

“Something about me? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You’re so allusive.” You shrugged. “Always disappearing and reappearing from places. Not on any sports teams but will never miss when throwing something into the trash from across the room. Knows all the answers in chemistry but never raises his hand. Ripped but hides it under Catholic school boy sweaters. I always wondered about you. Now I know.”

“Wow. You pick up on a lot of details. Nobody’s ever really noticed me like that.” Peter said as he looked at the ground so you wouldn’t see how flustered that made him.

“That you know of.” You corrected. “Because I noticed you a long time ago and you had no idea until now.”

“I notice you too.” He said as he looked into your eyes. You smiled at the eye contact and stayed looking at him.

“So, uh, were you just messing with me when you told Spiderman that you thought I was, you know.”

“A hot nerd?”

“Yeah. That.” He laughed shyly.

“I wasn’t messing with you.” You shrugged. “Or him. Either of you. I meant what I said.”

“So did I. I really don’t know how to talk to pretty girls.”

“We’re just regular people. Aside from our razor sharp teeth and detachable feet.”

“Why would you need to detach your feet?” He laughed.

“I don’t know but I used to have these dolls when I was younger where you’d yank their whole foot off to change their shoes. And they’d just have a little nub until you put new feet on them. God forbid you lose one of their shoes. Then they have no feet and had to walk around my dollhouse with nubs”.

“To be a woman is to perform.” He nodded along.

“Shut up.” You laughed and kept walking down the aisles of the store. You ended up buy some statue of an animal that you mentioned your mom liked to collect and Peter carried your bag for you into the next store.

“So who else knows about this secret? Besides us two.” You asked as you flipped through a clothing rack.

“My best friend. But that’s because he accidentally walked in on me in my suit. And my aunt. Who found out in the exact same way.”

“Sounds like you need to invest in a giant trench coat to cover yourself with when entering and exiting your room.” You told him.

“That’s a really good idea, actually. Do you think they sell those here?” He asked, making you laugh.

“So I was the first to figure it out?”

“You were. And now I’m really hoping it’s not obvious.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s obvious. I’m just very observant.”

“Of everything or just me?” He asked you.

“Just you.” You teased, making him blush again.

“What else have you observed about me?” He wondered.

“A few things, actually. You keep flexing your hand and I’m starting to think you’re working up the nerve to hold mine. That or you’re fighting the urge to punch me so I’m hoping it’s the former. I also observed that you haven’t checked your phone once since I found you and you’re letting me pick all the stores we go into.”

“Wow. And what do your observations tell you?”

“That you like me.” You said simply and continued looking at the clothes.

“What?” Peter sputtered. “No I don’t.”

“Says the boy who got my purse back from a burglar. Classic crush culture right there.” You clicked your tongue and shook your head.

“What?” He laughed. “That is not what I do when I have a crush on a girl. That’s just my job.”

“All right then. So what do you do when you have a crush?”

“Avoid eye contact and hope she likes shy tendencies. And open doors for her, obviously.” Peter said as he opened the door for you into the next store.

“Good to know.” You said and gave him a pleased smile as you passed him. He continued to follow you down the aisles of the store while holding your collection of clothes you wanted to try on.

“So why spiders? I’ve always wondered why you named yourself after arguably the worst bug of all time. Why not something more palatable like Lady Bug Man? Or Moth Man and then you could live under a bridge and spook people?” You asked as you handed him another dress for you to try on.

“It was a spider bite that gave me the abilities, actually. That’s where I got the name.” He explained as you disappeared behind a changing room curtain. You opened it up after a few seconds in one of the dresses you had taken off the rack.

“Really? I never would’ve guessed that. I’m learning so much right now.” You said as you turned around and moved your hair away from your neck. Peter blushed and picked up what you were implying and zipped the dress for you. You turned back around and gave him a grateful smile.

“What else do you want to know?” He asked with a shy smile. He usually categorized himself as shy and never wanting to be the center of attention, but right now he was hoping you had more questions to ask him. He liked being the center of attention when it was your attention he was getting.

“Why red and blue?” You wondered.

“Red for my mom’s red hair and blue for the car my dad drove.” Peter said out loud for the first time.

“Aw, Peter.” You pouted. “That’s really beautiful. I love that.”

“Thank you. I never told anybody that before.” He admitted.

“Hm. Something else just between us, then.” You winked at him before shutting the dressing room curtain again.

When you left that store, Peter opened the door for you on the way out with his free hand and held your bags with his other hand. As you walked through the mall, yours hands kept bumping against each others. It happened so many times in a row that Peter was starting to think he was doing it on purpose.

“You can, you know. If you want to.” You said without looking at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter lied as your hands bumped once again.

“Okay. Never mind, then.” You replied and kept walking. Peter decided to do something for once and took your hand. You didn’t say anything but smirked and gave his hand a squeeze. You stayed holding hands as you went to a few more stores and ended up back by the fountain. Through the streams of water, you suddenly spotted the very group of friends that had left you out.

“Oh God. It’s them.” You gasped and stopped short. Peter thought you were going to drop his hand but you didn’t.

“What are you gonna do?” He asked. “I can stick to the wall if that at all helps.”

“Well I’m definitely gonna need to see that at some point but not right now. I need to hide.” You decided and looked around for the nearest exit. During your search, you heard the sound of your friends laughing and it made your stomach drop. You didn’t want to run away anymore and pretend that the things they did didn’t hurt you. They did. And it was time they knew that.

“Actually, no.” You decided. “Why should I hide to make them more comfortable? They did something mean to me. I shouldn’t run away just so they don’t have to face what they did. I should go talk to them.”

“Let’s do it.” Peter agreed and you smiled. You blew out a nervous breath before walking up to the group of girls.

“Hey guys! So glad your schedules freed up.” You greeted them with a friendly smile. They all froze and either looked down at the ground or at you with stunned expressions. You took your time looking at every one of their guilty faces with an unamused expression.

“We were gonna text you.” Liz said quickly.

“Don’t even worry about it.” You told her. “In fact, don’t text me ever again. I deserve friends who include me. Not people who keep me around just in case they need something from me.”

“So what? You’re gonna ditch us to hang out with losers?” Liz scoffed and looked at Peter. You felt bad that Peter had caught a stray but he wasn’t phased.

“You’re the ones who just lost a good friend. And missed out on a fun day at the mall with the coolest girl in New York. So I’m pretty sure that makes you guys the losers.” Peter stated. Everyone, including you, was shocked to hear those words out of the notoriously shy Peter’s mouth. You looked at him and gave him a grateful smile.

“Yeah.” You agreed. “You guys are losers. You all say bad things about each other behind each other’s back and I’m sure you did the same to me so I can’t say I’m gonna miss this friend group. But I do have to thank you for ditching me or else I wouldn’t have found a real friend.”

“Who? This lesbian?” One of the other girls scoffed and gestured to Peter.

“Yeah.” Peter snapped. “This lesbian.“

“Now if you’ll excuse us, Peter needs to find a belt.” You said and walked away with Peter following right behind you. You didn’t drop his hand as you did a half walk half run through the mall as adrenaline rushed through you. Once you were far enough away from them, you stopped running.

“That felt good.” You said through an out of breath laugh.

“For me too.” Peter agreed. “And I was almost entirely uninvolved in that situation.”

“Come on. I wanna do the Photo Booth and immortalize this day.” You said and excitedly pulled him into the Photo Booth. Peter shut the curtain while you picked the boarder for the pictures, purposefully choosing one that had red hearts all over it.

“Okay. We only have five seconds between pictures so you have to pick your poses quickly.” You told him as the countdown began.

“But I’m so awkward. I don’t know how to pose.” Peter said as the countdown dwindled down.

“Just smile and look like you like me.” You said and pressed your cheek against his to smile for the camera. The camera flashed and you slung your arm around him for the next photo. The camera flashed again and Peter gulped.

“I do like you.” He said in a soft voice as he turned to look at you.

You looked at him and leaned in just as the camera flashed. You were still kissing when the fourth and final flash went off but you didn’t care. You pulled Peter closer by his shirt while his hands snaked around your waist. You pushed him away suddenly with a suspicious look on your face.

“Wait, do the webs, like, come out of your butt ever?”

“What? No.” He laughed. “They don’t come out of me at all. I built devices and developed a web fluid to shoot out of them. I don’t actually produce webs.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nodded and pulled him back into a kiss. He kissed you back for a moment before pulling away.

“Wait, would that have been a deal breaker if I did? Produce webs, I mean.” He asked you.

“I mean, I’d still like you but I don’t know if I could date a guy who could physically produce webs in his body. I just think that would really gross me out. Producing webs is I think where I’d have to draw the line.”

“So does that mean you’d date a guy who doesn’t produce webs?” He asked with a hopeful smile.

“Isn’t that every guy?” You pointed out.

“Oh. Yeah. I guess it kinda is.” He realized. “Well, would you date a guy who is far more likely to shoot webs from his butt than the average man? Given his spider themed career path?”

“Well, I don’t know. I never thought about that before.” You pursed your lips and pretended to give it genuine though. Peter playfully rolled his eyes at you and cupped your face to kiss you again.

“What do you think now?” He asked with your face still in his hands.

“I think I would.” You smiled and tugged his shirt to bring him back into a kiss.

Tag List

@thebookwormlife @imanativeofswlondondahling

@tom-hollands-wifey

@whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings

@imyourliquor-youremypoison @andreasworlsboring101

@peterparkoure

@justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr

@emmamarshmellow @unbelievableholland

@sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever @undiadeestos @eridanuswave​ ​

@solarxmoonchild @canyouevencauseicant

@quaksonhehe @lovelessdagger

@thesuitelifeofafangirl @marshxx @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie

@maybemona

@alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom

@pandaxnienke

 @officialsimppage @peterbenjiparker @itsemohours

@freakofmusic25 @tomholland85

@olixerwxxd @leilanixx

@whereismytelephone @so-very-asleep @white-wolf1940

@spideyspeaches @hihiweezing

@mathletemadison  

@dhtomholland @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @prancerrparkerr

@hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @blackwidowisthebest @imawhoreforu

@ciarahollands

@nellabellaa @pinklxmonade @boogywoogywoogy

Everything I read from you is greatness 🤩🤩

The Way That You Were

Pairing: fratboy!Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: you and Peter reunite at a college party and discover he is no longer the sweet nerd you knew in high school

Masterlist

“I’m gonna pee.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Your friend asked you over the sound of the music of the party.

“I’ll be fine. But hold my drink, please.” You kindly requested and handed her your red solo cup.

“Have fun.” She called after you as you left for the bathroom. You adjusted your dress and leaned against the wall as you waited on the bathroom line. You looked around the frat house you were in and decided the walls were not actually something you wanted to lean against.

“God damn. If your ass blew me away I cannot wait to see your face.” A voice suddenly came from behind you. You scrunched your face in disgust and turned around to see who the voice belonged to. Your eyes met a boy in a backwards hat with curls spilling out of it on either side. But what made you lose your breath was the fact that you recognized the eyes staring back at you. The smug grin on the boys face instantly dropped when he recognized you as well.

“Peter? Peter Parker?” You asked and felt your heart ache just a little. You both slowly processed what he had just said and he turned a bright red.

“Y/n?” He asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“My friend invited me. What were you saying about my face?” You asked and folded your arms.

“Nothing. Something stupid.” He said quickly before breaking into a smile. He suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. You blinked in surprise and hesitantly patted his back.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He said into your ear.

“Neither can I.” You laughed dryly as you pulled out of the hug. You stepped back and took a moment to take him in. His arms were much bigger than you remembered from back in high school and you had a full view of them in his white cut off tank top. Everything about his outfit was different from his typical style, down to the shoes he was wearing. You would’ve thought he was wearing a costume if he didn’t look so natural.

“God, look at you.” He sighed as he looked you up and down. A dopey smile remained on his face and he shook his head as if he trying to shake a thought out of his mind.

“Me? Look at you. You look so different. What are you doing at a party like this?” You wondered.

“Oh, this is my frat house. We throw parties like this every weekend.” He replied and you laughed. He didn’t laugh with you and you realized he wasn’t joking.

“You live here?“ You asked as your eyes darted to the poster of a girl in a bikini riding a beer can barely covering a hole in the wall.

“That’s not mine.” Peter said quickly.

“The hole or the poster?”

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked to change the subject.

“I’m kinda waiting for something.” You laughed awkwardly and nodded towards the bathroom door.

“After? I’ll wait.” He offered. He seemed very eager to talk to you and you couldn’t deny that you had been desperate to talk to him ever since you graduated high school.

“Okay.” You agreed. “Sure.”

“Wait, don’t use that bathroom. It’s probably disgusting. It’s actually most definitely disgusting. I have a bathroom in my room. It’s much cleaner. Come on.” He said and nodded towards the stairs.

“Oh. Okay.” You looked around at who was watching before following him up the stairs. You stayed close behind him until the two of you reached his bedroom. You would never normally follow a guy up to his bedroom at a party without telling anyone where you were going but you grew up with Peter so you trusted him. You entered his bedroom and you discreetly took a look around. You’d been to his apartment in high school and were saddened to see his posters of the periodic table and Star Wars were replaced with patched up holes in the wall and a poster of Goodfellas next to a tapestry that said “Saturdays are for boys” over an American flag.

“I’ll guard the door.” Peter told you as he showed you where the bathroom was.

“Thank you.” You shot him a smile before going inside. Peter’s bathroom was much more akin to the Peter you once knew. You smiled at the miscellaneous artifacts on his bathroom counter and did what you came to do before leaving.

“Hey.” You smiled awkwardly at him when you left the bathroom.

“Hey.” He smiled back. “I kinda can’t believe you just used my bathroom.”

“I kinda can’t believe you have pink hand towels and Darth Vader shampoo.”

“Hey, hey, hey. That’s not Darth Vader. It’s the Mandelorian.” He corrected. “And they’re only pink because I washed them with my Chiefs jersey.”

“You own a jersey?” You raised at eyebrow at him.

“I do now that Taylor Swift said it’s okay to watch football.”

“You still listen to Taylor?” You smiled in surprise.

“Obviously. I was listening to Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus while I pregamed for this party.”

“Jesus.” You chuckled. “Who hurt you?”

“I just like the line about wondering.” He laughed as well but didn’t meet your eyes.

“So do I.” You admitted and he finally looked at you. You shared a moment of lingering eye contact accompanied by a comfortable silence. He looked different, and not just because of his outfit. He looked older. His baby face had hardened and he looked more like a man now and not the boy you once knew. But as different as he was, his eyes were the same. So was his laugh. And despite the years that had gone by without you seeing each other, you slipped right back into your friendship.

“Can I make you that drink now?” Peter asked after a beat.

“Okay.” You smiled and he slung his arm around your shoulders.

“Stay close to me. The people that come to these parties haven’t had all their vaccines.” He whispered in your ear as he led you back downstairs.

“I will.” You laughed and felt relieved his sense of humor was still in tact. A few people from Peter’s school turned to look at the two of you as you made your way to the kitchen but Peter didn’t seem to notice.

“This is the kitchen. All the healthy cereals are mine.” Peter said proudly and pointed to a box of Mini Wheats on top of the refrigerator.

“By healthy do you mean the frosted strawberry Mini Wheats?”

“Those really hit after a nightmare.” He insisted. “Plus, strawberry is a fruit and wheat is good for you. God, what do they teach girls in school?”

“Not the important stuff, apparently.” You laughed and he smiled as he caught your eyes. He pulled out a fresh red solo cup and got some ice.

“Do you still like Shirley temples?” He asked you.

“Yeah. You remember that?”

“Of course I do. I remember making makeshift ones out of sprite and strawberry syrup at Ned’s Halloween party Junior year because you told me they were your favorite.”

“Those were not bad.” You recalled. “Or maybe they just tasted better because I was 17 and drunk for the first time.”

“That was my first time drinking too. White Claw does not taste as good on the way out as it does the way in.” Peter grimaced and grabbed a beer from the ice bucket on the counter. You watched him crack it open with ease and felt an ache of nostalgia for those few nights of getting drunk as teenagers off alcohol from 7/11 that someone’s older brother bought.

“But I see you’ve outgrown White Claw.”

“Yeah. My friends and I pretty much only drink beer.” Peter nodded and took a swig of it.

“Don’t you worry about getting a…” You trailed off when Peter lifted his shirt to wipe his mouth with, giving you a full view of his abdomen. Peter’s sweaters and nerdy t shirts never let on that he was carved by the gods underneath his clothing.

“Beer gut.” You barely got the words out and blinked a few times to get back into reality.

“I seriously can’t believe you’re here. I always wondered what happened to you after high school.” Peter admitted as he made your drink for you.

“I know. I dropped my phone on the subway tracks a few years back and got a new number. But I always wondered about you too.” You told him.

“You did?” He smiled in relief.

“Of course I did. I tried to find you on social media but I couldn’t find anything.

“Yeah. I never really got the hang of it. I did try to find you in a phone book once. But the librarian called me a nerd and told me to go back to the 90s.” Peter replied, making you laugh.

“Well that wasn’t very nice of them.” You said.

“No it was not. So I am very pleased that I find you in my house tonight. That’s why I made you the most delicious Shirley Temple in the world.” Peter said and proudly held out the red solo cup.

“Oh, my. Thank you.” You giggled and accepted the cup from him. You took a sip and felt your eyes water.

“Jesus Christ. Is there any Sprite in here or just vodka?” You said through a cough.

“Sorry. That was out of habit. My boys and I are heavy pourers.” Peter sound genuinely apologized and added more Sprite to your cup to make it less strong.

“It’s all right.” You shrugged. “So I have to ask you, how come you’re no longer at MIT?”

Peter looked a little frightened when you mentioned MIT and quickly looked over his shoulder. He stepped closer to you and looked around again.

“I wasn’t happy there so I transferred last semester.” He said in a quiet voice.

“Why are we whispering?” You whispered back through a light laugh.

“People here don’t really know that I was like that.” He admitted and looked a little disappointed to even be saying it.

“Like what? Smart?” You asked at full volume. He looked around again and waved his hand in dismissal.

“I’m still smart. I just don’t let my boys know that.” He told you, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Your boys?” You laughed dryly.

“You know. My frat brothers.” He explained and gestured to the party.

“Right, right. I think I met a few tonight when I walked in on their farting contest and they asked me to join. Do you still talk to Ned?”

“Oh, no.” Peter shook his head. “We kept in touch for a while after high school but we kinda fell off somewhere after I transferred here.”

“Wow, really? You guys were so close. I thought you’d be friends forever.”

“Yeah. I guess I did too.” Peter realized and stared down the barrel of his beer bottle.

“Are you still studying biochemistry?” You asked him. “It was biochemistry, right?”

“It was. But now I’m undeclared. I’m not really sure what I want to do anymore.”

“Really? But you’re so smart. You were the smartest guy I ever met. You still are.”

“I’m not that smart.” He laughed and shyly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes you are.” You insisted. “You always knew the answer to every question before I even processed what was being asked.”

“You’re smart too. In an original way that I still think about.” He replied, catching you by surprise. You took a sip to your cup for a little bravery and looked into his eyes.

“You still think about me?” You asked him with a coy smile.

“I do. All the time.” He answered without breaking eye contact. You sucked in a sharp breath and he smirked before moving same hair off your forehead. His hand stayed on your face and you felt your heart rate start to pick up. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him, it was that you had always wanted to kiss him. Now that he was standing in front of you and it might actually happen, you felt too nervous.

“Where are your glasses?” You blurted and ruined the moment. Before Peter could respond, me of his frat brothers walked in and clapped Peter’s on the back.

“Glasses? What’s this bird talking about, Parker?” He asked as he slung an arm around Peter and roughed him up a little.

“Shut up, Flash. She’s not a bird. She’s my friend from high school.” Peter defended you angrily and pushed the boy off.

“Oh shit. This isn’t the chick you were in love with, is it?” Flash gasped and looked at you.

“Who were you in love with?” You immediately asked Peter and felt a little jealous bubble up inside you.

“No, dumb ass. That was a different girl. This is Y/n. Don’t call her a chick either. Thats just another kind of bird.” Peter grumbled. Flash gave you an unapologetic once over before smirking.

“Nice to meet you, sweetie. I’m Flash. I hope you’re enjoying the party. But I do have to ask that you keep it down later because my room is right next to his and I have an 8 am class tomorrow.”

“Don’t, man.” Peter warned.

“Keep what down?” You wondered.

“Well, you know. Parker has girls in there so often I had to start charging them rent. Especially because they drink all the orange juice in the morning. And they tend to keep me up all night due to all the bed squeaking, so I ask that you’re considerate of the class I have tomorrow.” Flash said to you. You gulped and looked to Peter for an explanation, but Peter was busy glaring at Flash.

“Shut the fuck up, okay? Like you even go to class.” Peter scoffed. “Get out of here. Go drink some water. And take a bath. You stink.”

“All right. Just go easy on her, okay Parker? She seems like a nice girl. She deserves to be able to walk out of here in the morning.” Flash clapped him on the back again and you let out a shocked laugh.

“Fuck off. Now.” Peter demanded. Flash held up his hands and shot you a wink before walking away. You looked to Peter for an explanation for what just occurred. You have never heard him swear before and definitely never heard him get angry with someone like that. You also couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to what Flash had said about all the girls Peter slept with. You knew it shouldn’t bother you, but the Peter you knew had never even had his first kiss. Something about the guy you’d always pined after going from never being kissed to a guy with a long line of girls leaving his bedroom made your tummy hurt.

“I’m sorry about him. He’s such a dick sometimes.” Peter apologized to you.

“Yeah. I picked up on that.” You laughed nervously.

“Why’d don’t we get out of here? It’s too loud.” Peter’s said and gestured to the rest of the part. You sucked in a sharp breath and thought back to what Flash had just said. As much as you’d wondered about Peter, you were not ready to “get out of here” with him.

“I should probably get back to my friend.” You answered. Peter smiled politely and nodded in understanding but felt disappointed that your time together was ending.

“I’ll help you find her.” He offered and you agreed. You brought him to where you last saw her and found her making out with someone on the couch.

“Oh!” You said in surprise but your friend didn’t come up for sit.

“I think she’s okay for now.” Peter joked.

“I guess she is.” You agreed.

“Do you want to take a walk?” He asked and you felt relieved that he wasn’t asking to go back upstairs.

“Sure. I could use some air.” You agreed and followed him outside. The two of you walked down the sidewalk together and Peter stayed on the side facing the street to keep you from stumbling into it on accident. It felt easy to talk to him despite the years of being apart from each other and the longer you talked, the more you realized he hadn’t changed all that much. Sure, he swore a lot more now and made some dumb jokes, but his character was the same.

“Are you cold?” He asked you at one point.

“No. I’m okay. The fresh air feels good.”

“Good. Because I don’t have a jacket to offer you. But I would give you my jacket if I had one.”

“I appreciate that.” You laughed and looked over at him.

“So how long are you visiting your friend for?” He asked you.

“I go back to school on Tuesday.”

“So soon?” He stopped walking and frowned.

“Yeah. I’m just here for the long weekend.”

“Oh, shit, really? I was hoping we’d have more time together. I’d really love to see you again. Maybe we can get dinner tomorrow or something.”

“I don’t know.” You laughed nervously and folded your arms out of self consciousness.

“Why not?” He asked, sounding a little hurt.

“It was really good to see you again tonight. But I don’t think we have anything in common anymore, Pete.” You admitted without looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Look at us. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. I don’t know if we’d get along anymore. Not like we did in high school, anyway.”

“Just because it’s been a long time doesn’t mean we won’t get along. We have history together. I’m still the guy you competed with in the decathlon.” He insisted. You looked up at him and stared at him under the light of the streetlight. He sounded like the guy you once knew, but he looked and acted so different now.

“Are you?” You asked quietly. Peter blinked a few times and smiled sadly.

“You don’t think so?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you look great and you seem happy with where you are now.”

“But?” He asked, sensing there was more. You smiled sympathetically because there was in fact more and it wasn’t exactly nice.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just a little surprised to see you tonight. I always wondered about you and assumed you were halfway to becoming a scientist or Nobel prize winner by now. I never expected all this.”

“All what?” He asked, sounding a little annoyed now.

“You know. Frat boy. Undeclared. Chugging beer. Long line of girls coming out of your room…” You trailed off and looked down at the ground again.

“Flash was joking about that. The only time I’ve had a girl in my room was when we had to get a maid after the New Year’s party because there was an unidentified goo on the floors. I’m still me.” He insisted and stepped closer to you. You still didn’t look up at him because you didn’t want to say what you were about to say.

“You commented on my ass.” You said quietly. You didn’t see it, but Peter’s face dropped. He had felt annoyed that you were judging him until he remembered his opening line to you tonight was about your body. He felt guilty for reducing a girl he knew so well to an object for him to comment on.

“I’m sorry about that. I really am.” He apologized. “I’m way drunk right now and not using my head.

“The guy I knew in high school was not the kind of guy who says things like that to girls.” You said and finally looked into his eyes. To your surprise, he looked genuinely apologetic.

“I know. I’m not like those guys. I swear, I never normally say things like that. I’m drunk and a fucking idiot. I’ve made a total ass of myself all night. What can I do?”

“Peter, it’s fine. I’m not here to judge you. And you don’t owe me anything. I’m being stupid anyway. I’m not the same person I was in high school so I don’t know why I expected you to be. Thats not fair to you. I guess I’m just little drunk and upset I never got to see my Peter again.”

“Your Peter?” Peter asked with a sad smile.

“Come on, Peter. I was crazy about you back then. The whole school knew. By senior year, everyone had figured it out but you. And I always regretted not telling you. So I’d fantasize about all the cool things you were doing in college. This just isn’t what thought it would be like when we found each other again.”

“For me either.” He admitted as he stared at you starry eyed.

“No?”

“I liked you too. You were the girl Flash was talking about. I was in love with you in high school.” He confessed. You knew you should be happy to hear that but all you could think of was the wasted potential of a relationship that never got to happen.

“You never told me.” You said softly.

“How could I?“ He laughed. “You were so beautiful I could barely get an intelligent word out when you were around. You still are. And I still can’t.”

“I wish I knew. Now I’m always gonna wonder what would have happened if I had just told you how I felt.” You smiled sadly.

“So will I.” He said as his eyes filled with sadness. You stared at each other for a moment with the quiet understanding that at one point you wanted the same thing at the same time.

“Maybe we don’t have to wonder.” Peter said after a beat.

“What do you mean?” You asked him. Peter stepped closer suddenly and tilted your chin up with his pinky.

“Please.” He pleaded. “Just give me one night. I’ll take you to dinner and prove I’m still me.”

“And suppose you do.” You shrugged. “I’m only here for the weekend. What does it matter anyway?”

“It matters to me. Because I’ve always wanted you. Even if I just get one night.”

“Peter, I’m not trying to be one of your girls.” You shook your head and stepped away from him.

“I told you. There are no girls. You are the only girl who has ever taken my breath away. I never stopped thinking about you after high school. Just give me one chance.” He asked and pulled you back into his arms. You stared into his eyes for a moment and found yourself unable to say no.

“Please.” He whispered and sounded irresistibly desperate. You could see his gaze dropping to your lips and felt your heartbeat pick up again. But this time, you didn’t feel nervous.

“I shouldn’t.” You said quietly.

“But don’t you want to stop wondering and know for certain?” He asked, and you nodded. Your eyes fluttered shut and just as you were expecting his lips to meet yours, he cupped your face and kissed your cheek.

“I’m not going to kiss you tonight. Because I’m drunk. And you’re not.” He said when you looked at him in confusion. You were disappointed to not be kissed but smiled knowing he made the responsible decision.

“Oh. Yeah. Good call.” You cleared your throat and stepped out of his embrace.

“But I will be on my best behavior tomorrow for our date.” He assured you.

“I never actually agreed to a date.” You smiled coyly. Peter grinned and pulled you back into his arms and let his hands rest on your hips.

“You agreed when you closed your eyes to kiss me.” He said with his face close to yours. You gulped again but never broke eye contact with him.

“You’re kinda an asshole now.” You teased him.

“Yeah, but in a good way.” He shrugged, making you laugh.

“We’ll see.” You said pointedly. Peter pulled put his phone and handed it to you.

“We will see.” He insisted. “Here. Put your new number in. And don’t drop it on the subway this time.”

“I won’t.” You playfully rolled your eyes and typed your number into his phone. When you handed it to him, your hands touched as he took it back.

“You better not.” He said and slipped his fingers into yours as he pocketed his phone. You stared into his big brown eyes and felt like you were right back in high school.

“You could kiss me, if you wanted to. I had a drink too.” You said in a soft voice.

“I do want to. But I’ll save it for when my lips don’t taste like cheap beer.” He said with a smirk. He leaned in and kissed your cheek one more time before walking you back to the house. You stepped inside the frat house and just as your friend was heading to the door.

“Hey. The guy I was making out with tried to explain the stock market to me and laughed when I said I’m an economics major. I’m over this party. Are you ready to head out?” She asked you as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. We can go.” You replied and felt disappointed to leave Peter so soon.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaned down and whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Goodnight.” You said as you turned around to see him.

“Goodnight.” He replied and cupped your chin one more time.

Ten minutes after Peter said he would pick you up, he still wasn’t there. You checked your phone for the hundredth time as saw the minutes adding up. You should have known it was all too good to be true and he wasn’t the exception he claimed to be. He joined a frat and they poisoned the once sweet boy you knew. Just as you were about to go inside, Peter sped down your block and rolled down the window.

“I’m late. I’m sorry.” Peter called out the open window. Since he didn’t even bother to get out of the car, you got off the front steps you were sitting on and bent down to look at him through the window.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” You said and didn’t try to hide your annoyance.

“I’m sorry.” He said and pouted. “God damn. You look hot.”

You opened your mouth to scold him for objectifying you once again but he wasn’t done yet.

“I’m so sorry I was late. I bet you spent a long time getting ready dry. And I’m sure you’ve been waiting for a long time. I remember you saying you get ready with time to spare and sit by the door until the person picking you up gets there so they don’t have to wait outside for long. And I’m an asshole and came late.”

You had planned to walk away and go back inside to punish him for being late, but you just couldn’t. Him remembering that little detail about you combined with the way he looked in his jersey made you want to stay.

“Well maybe I’ve changed.” You said pointedly as you climbed into his car.

“You have. High school you didn’t wear rings or have sexy red nails. But I figured some things would stay the same. Hello.” He greeted and leaned in to kiss your cheek. You felt your face burning and turned away so he wouldn’t see your smile.

“I thought some things would stay the same too. Yet I met you last night with a backwards cap on. The Peter I knew wouldn’t never be caught dead in a hat. Let alone one representing a sports team.” You teased him.

“It’s not actually a sports team. Look.” Peter took his eyes off the road to reach into his backseat and get his hat. He handed it to you and your eyes widened.

“Oh my God.” You said as you turned over your old black hat you got at the Gap freshman year.

“You let me borrow that at the senior skip day at the beach because I forgot sunblock.” Peter recalled. “And when I tried to give it back to you, you said I could keep it since it looked better on me.”

“It did.” You smiled fondly at the memory.

“I wear it all the time now because I don’t know how to do my curly hair now that it’s longer.”

“I like it longer.” You told him. “But I also liked your short gelled look. With your cute little button downs and sweaters.”

“Yeah. I outgrew those.” He chuckled. “I started working out more and they looked silly on me once I got bigger. Then Flash showed me how to cut my shirts to show off my arms.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine those arms in a little sweater.” You agreed.

“What about my arms?” He looked over at you with a smirk.

“Nothing.” You said coyly. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“It’s a surprise. But I’ll give you a hint. You wrote about it in your letter to your college self.”

“What?” You laughed in surprise. “Do you have a photographic memory of something? I don’t remember anything I wrote in that.”

“I told you. I was in love with you.” He said and looked over at you. You locked eyes and smiled until a car hocked at him for drifting into their lane.

“How come you’re so comfortable saying it now yet I had no idea back in high school?” You wondered. Then Peter got a text and pulled out his phone to read it. You eyed him but didn’t say anything as he replied to the text while driving. You’d never been in a car with him behind the wheel before and it was starting to make you a little nervous.

“I don’t know. You’re different too.” He answered finally. “I can tell from looking at you. So I guess I don’t feel like I’m telling the girl I was in love with how I feel because I don’t really know you anymore. It makes it less scary.”

“I didn’t think about it like that. You’re right. I guess we don’t know each other anymore.” You said with a sad smile.

“I want to, though. Because you seem like a cooler version of the girl I liked in high school. Who was already cool.” He said and looked over at you again. You smiled at his compliment and stopped worrying about hai driving for a moment.

“I have so many questions for you.” You to him.

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you leave MIT?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t what I thought it would be. I realized I was a big fish in a small pond back in high school. Everyone seemed so much smarter and more experienced than I was. I felt so alone all the time. So I drove home one night and never looked back.”

“Yeah. I get that. I was always told I was a smart kid growing up and then I just felt so burnt out in college. At least you know you got into MIT and gave it your all.

“Thank you for saying that. I like the way you see things. I’ve been missing your perspective in my life.” He told you and you felt your face heat up again.

“How’d you end up at your new school?” You said to distract him from how flustered he made you.

“They had offered me a full ride if I joined the academic decathlon team. Which I do in secret. Don’t tell my frat please.” He chuckled and looked at you to see if you’d keep his secret. You feigned a smile and internally missed the boy who was a proud captain of the decathlon team.

“How’d you end up in a frat anyway? That seems so opposite of your personality.”

“It kinda happened by accident. I was in a group project with Flash and he invited me to a party after I did his half of the work. And it wasn’t the worst once I had something to drink so I started going to more parties. And then I started drinking a lot. I made friends with a lot of frat guys that Flash knew I so ended up pledging.” He shrugged. You nodded your head but were less than impressed with his story. You and Peter had shared many conversations about not wanting to be at the parties you were never invited to anyway back in high school and now he was the one throwing them.

“I still can’t wrap my head around you being in a frat. I really never imagined you’d be into something like that.”

“How did you imagine me?” He asked with a coy smile.

“I imagined you’d be student teaching a biochemistry class and have a devoted fan base of nerdy students who hung on your every word like in Dead Poets Society. And you’d have circular glasses and wear ties and cardigans like Spencer Reid.

“Wow, Dead Poets Society. I totally forgot about that movie. I haven’t seen it in forever.”

“Really? I thought it was your favorite movie?”

“It used to be. I just watched this movie last week where Seth Rogan and one of the Franco brothers were smoking weed and then they witnessed this murder so they were worried the murder was gonna find them-“ Peter started laughing as he remembered the plot but stopped when he noticed you weren’t laughing along with him. The plot was far from the science fiction films he used to talk extensively about during lunch in an effort to convince you to watch them. It wasn’t much, just another reminder of how different he was from when you knew him.

“It was stupid. Anyways.” He changed the subject. “What have you been up to lately? How’s school?”

“School is good.” You shrugged. “I don’t know how I’ll ever work a job once I graduate because now having one class at 12 pm drains me for the remainder of the day, but I enjoy it. I like the freedom.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I like the freedom too. I can eat macaroni at any hour and no one can tell me otherwise. And your friends are nice?”

“Yeah. I’ve found a good group of girls. It was really lonely at first like you said but I eventually found my people. It’s been a lot better now.” You answered as your eyes watching his thumbs type something on his phone. You looked at him in confusion but he was too busy switching back and forth between watching the road and texting to notice.

“I totally get that. I ate alone so many times that I started it get used to it. But it gets better when you find a few good people to spend time with.” He said after a minute. You nodded your head and tried not to be bothered by how distracted he was.

“Are your frat brothers good people?”

“I know you probably have a million and one presuppositions about frat guys but I promise we’re not as bad as you’ve been told. Lots of frats are crazy and have those worst kind of guys in it but were not like that. We have a no bullshit policy.” He informed you.

“Oh yeah? What kind of bullshit do you not tolerate?”

“All sorts of bullshit. We just kicked a guy out last week because he cheated on his girlfriend. And we banned the girl from our parties because she knew he had a girlfriend and slept with him anyway. We do not tolerate that kind of bullshit. Plus, Flash told me they once found out a guy was a bully in high school so they took turns farting on his pillow and then he got severe pink eye and had to drop out of school for the semester. Isn’t that hilarious?”

“That’s nice to hear. Except for the fart stuff. That’s really gross. But not tolerating bullshit is cool. I guess I assumed all frat guys were Brads and Chads who chugged beers and creeped on girls. And I assumed that because a frat guy at my school had sex with a pumpkin and put it on his Snapchat story.”

“Ew, what?” Peter laughed. “Who uses Snapchat still?”

“That’s the part you found gross? Damn, how many pumpkins are you having sex with?” You teased him.

“A gentleman never tells.” Peter said poshly, making you laugh. He got another text and pulled out his phone to read it.

“Peter-“ You began.

“I can’t believe you’re in my car. Do you know how many times I tried to awkwardly ask you out in high school? But I was so vague you never realized? And now you’re just in my car and you smell amazing and I barely had to do anything.” He cut you off and grinned at you as he put his phone down. Every time you got annoyed with his behavior, he pulled you back in some compliment.

“Thank you. It’s my perfume.” You smiled and held your wrist out. Peter caught it with ease and held your wrist to his nose.

“Oh, wow. I like that.” He complimented. “Usually I wake up and walk into a cloud of axe body spray in every area of the house. You’re a nice relief from that.”

“Thank you. You smell good too.” You chuckled.

“Thanks. I stole Flash’s expensive cologne.”

“For me?” You gasped and touched your heart.

“Hell yeah.” He scoffed. “I’ve been waiting on this date since I was 14.”

“I never said this was a date.” You said out of the corner of your mouth.

“I’m pretty sure you did.” He said and dragged the word “pretty” out.

“You would have been on time if it was.” You teased him, making him look at you with narrowed eyes.

“Okay, yes, I was late.” He admitted. “But I had good reason.”

“And what was that reason?”

“I was setting something up.” He said simply.

“Really?” You smiled. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” He said coyly.

“Okay. Weirdo.” You chuckled. “So, where are we eating?”

“I know this great burger place a few blocks from here. You’re gonna love it.” He replied. You nodded and head and smiled until he pulled out his phone again to answer another text. His car swerved into the other lane and he barely noticed, making you shoot him a look.

“Who are you texting?” You finally asked him.

“Nobody. One second.” He answered as his eyes flipped back and forth between his phone and the road. He started to drift again and a car honked at him as it passed by to get away.

“Peter, you really need to keep your eyes on the road.” You said as another car shouted something at him out their window.

“What was that?” Peter asked and looked up from his phone. You looked at him incredulously and let out a short laugh.

“If you have someone else you’d like to be talking to right now, maybe you should go be with them.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Babe, chill. I don’t have anyone else. I want to be here with you.” He insisted.

“Don’t call me “babe”. Its condescending. And you’re putting both our lives in danger because you’re so busy texting. And if you want to be with me, why are you so distracted by your phone?”

“I just needed to respond to something. Sorry. I won’t do it anymore.” He grumbled and put his phone away. His lack of an apology and heavy attitude in his voice was the final straw for you.

“Just pull over.” You told him.

“What? No. We’re almost there. I won’t text anymore.” He promised.

“Peter, pull over.” You said sternly. “I do not want to be in this car anymore.”

“I’m trying to take you on a nice date and you’re gonna bail because I answered a few texts?”

“Pull the damn car over.” You raised your voice. Peter rolled his eyes and pulled over to the side of the street.

“Before you get out-“ He began. Just then, his phone rang with a girls name on his screen and his face dropped. You raised your eyebrows at him and he smiled sheepishly.

“Answer it.” You dared him. Peter gulped and looked between you and the phone before picking it up.

“I’m sorry. One second.” He said and answered the phone. You scoffed in disbelief and glared at him as he took the call.

“Hello? No, I’m not doing anything. I can talk. What’s going on?” He asked into the phone. You had seen enough and got out of the car and started walking down the street. Peter watched you get out and opened his car door to talk to you.

“Where are you going?” He called after you.

“Peter, I’m not gonna sit here while you text other girls. I’m leaving.” You answered and continued down the street. He quickly explained his situation over the phone and hung up before running after you.

“Wait, please don’t leave. I’ll put my phone away.” He promised but you didn’t stop walking.

“You can text whoever you want. I don’t care. You’re just not gonna do it and think you can still take me on a date.” You told him before storming off. You turned the corner and started heading towards a nearby park.

“Wait.” Peter called after you so you walked even faster. He eventually caught up and caught you gently by the arm.

“Damn, you’re fast for a girl in heels.” He said as he caught his breath. You pulled your arm away from him and went into the park to get away from him. He caught onto you again and this time, you had tears in your eyes.

“Where are you going?” He asked. “What about our date?

“This was a mistake.” You shook your head and looked down.

“What? No it wasn’t.” He said, sounding genuinely hurt.

“Yes it was. Look at us, Peter. We don’t have anything in common anymore. I really liked you back then but you’re not that guy anymore. That guy wouldn’t show up late, call me “hot” and “babe”, text and drive, forget his favorite movie, stop talking to his best friend-“

“Oh. I get it.” He cut you off. “You’re disappointed because I’m not the same person I was when I was 17.”

“Yeah. Maybe I am.” You snapped and folded your arms when you heard his attitude return.

“Yeah, well. You’re different too.” He insisted. “The girl I knew in high school was not this judgmental.”

“I am not judgmental.” You scoffed.

“Yes you are. You’ve been judging me since the moment you turned around at the party. Just admit it.”

“Maybe because you commented on my ass like you were one of the dickhead boys you used to make fun of I’m high school. God, what happened to you?”

“I said I was sorry about that.”

“But you still did it.” You laughed sadly. “And then showed up late. And then remembered things about me from high school. And then texted other girls. And then kept the hat I gave you. I don’t understand you, Peter. I can’t read you anymore. This is too confusing. And it’s all for nothing because I still go back home on Tuesday and we’re never going to see each other again.“

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” He said and put his hands on your shoulders. You were surprised by how desperate for you to stay he sounded since it contradicted his behavior thus far.

“I think it does, Peter. Goodbye.” You shook your head and walked away again.

“Wait. There’s snakes out there.” He called after you.

“No there’s not.” You called back. You kept walking through the park until you came across a picnic blanket surrounded by fake candles. Surrounding the blanket were printed out caricatures of celebrities strung up and tapped to trees.

“What is this?” You asked when you heard Peter come up behind you.

“Oh thank God. No one stole it.” He sighed in relief and walked over to the picnic blanket.

“Wait, you set this up?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. Ellen’s Stardust Dinner turns out to be insanely difficult to get into so I made us one.”

“Ellen’s Stardust Dinner?”

“In your letter. I remembered you said it was your dream to eat there one day.” He said with a sheepish smile. You couldn’t help but smile as well and started to walk around to look at all the photos he had printed. Peter lingered behind you and kept a comfortable distance since you were upset with him.

“Is this Joey Graceffa?” You laughed and pointed to one of the pictures.

“I took some creative liberties with the celebrities I chose to showcase once I ran out of ones I knew you liked. Do you still like Dylan O’Brien?”

“Do bears still shit in the woods? The answer is yes. Sorry. That wasn’t funny.” You quickly corrected yourself and Peter snorted.

“It was a little funny.” He admitted. “Not really, though.”

“I see the entire cast of Modern Family made it.” You chuckled and touched one of the photos he had tapped up to a tree.

“Of course they did. It’s the best show ever.”

“You’re not wrong.” You looked over at him with a smile. Peter took that smile as a sign you were forgiving him and stepped closer to you. You could feel his presence behind you and turned around to face him.

“You set all this up for me?”

“I did. That’s why I was late.” He explained. “I started early but then I ran out of magenta ink so obviously I couldn’t print the rest of my photos despite them having no magenta parts.”

“What about all the texting?” You asked him.

“My aunt is getting a mammogram today. Her mom had breast cancer so she was really nervous. I was checking in with her. But don’t worry, she’s okay. She just called to tell me. And that doesn’t excuse me texting while driving which I normally never do but she was anxious in the waiting room and I didn’t want her to be alone with her thoughts.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” You said softly and immediately felt guilty for snapping at him.

“You would’ve told me to go be with her.” He shrugged. “And I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you before you left.”

“Well that’s very noble of you but it sounds like she needed you more than I did today.”

“Don’t worry. She insisted I come here instead. I would have just made her more nervous with my anxious pacing.”

You looked around at everything Peter had set up for you and all the details he had put in. You’d misread everything and judged him off of things you knew little about. You looked at him with guilt in your eyes and smiled sadly.

“I don’t know what to say.” You admitted. “You went through a lot today for me and I just threw a fit and stormed off.”

“I can’t say I didn’t give you good reason. I should have told you these things sooner. I’m just not good at this sort of thing. I wanted so badly to impress you that I ended up making you think I didn’t care.”

“Can we just start over then? And enjoy this set up you made?” You asked him.

“I would like that.” Peter smiled and sat down on the blanket. You sat down beside him and leaned into his side. Peter wasted no time in wrapping both arms around you, making you both fall backwards onto the blanket. You both laughed and stayed in each others arms as you rolled over to look into his eyes.

“I’m sorry I judged you.” You said and fixed his hair.

“It’s okay. I know I’m not what you thought I’d be.”

“You’re not. But you’re still you. You still have your heart and your humor. And those were always my favorite parts of you anyway. I don’t know why I got so hung up on the other things. Who cares what movies you watch or what you do with your free time now? None of that stuff matters.”

“Do you still like me? Even though I’m different?” He asked as he stared into your eyes.

“Look at what you did for me today. You’re not different. You just wear different clothes. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge you. It wasn’t fair. And I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, I miss who I was too. I miss Ned. And being around people who know what amino acids are. And I missed you. God, I missed you so much. In the years since high school, there have been so many times when I’ve come across something I wanted to show you or thought something I wanted to tell you. I missed hearing your laugh when I made a stupid joke or hearing your thoughts on the bad movies I’d beg you to watch. I never made a friend like you again. And after a while, I realized I never would.”

“I never found someone like you either. No one ever had me like you did. I’ve been dreaming about the day we met again since the day I last saw you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He joked.

“Please. How could I be disappointed in this?” You playfully rolled your eyes and traced your fingertips up and down his arm. Peter reached forward and placed his hand on your face to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

“When do you leave on Tuesday?” He asked in a quiet voice.

“Late. My train is at 5.”

“Maybe we can get breakfast then.” He suggested without looking at you as he laced his fingers through yours.

“I’d like that.” You smiled and started to lean in.

“I can cook it.” He added. “After we wake up in my room.”

“Don’t push it.” You chuckled and rubbed your nose against his as you got closer.

“I won’t.” He replied before closing the gap between you and kissing you. The kiss that was years in the making was worth every minute of the wait. His right hand found his way to your hip and he squeezed it.

“Maybe you can push it just a little bit.” You said against his lips. Peter took that as his chance to pull you by the waist on top of him and deepen the kiss.

“That’s how I know you’ve changed. Nice boys don’t kiss like that.” You said when you pulled away to catch your breath.

“Yes they fucking do.” Peter said against your lisp before pulling you back into a heated kiss. You weren’t sure how much time passed as you kissed him but you only stopped when you Peters stomach let out a loud growl. You pulled away and rolled onto your back as you both laughed.

“Sorry about that. We never actually got any food.” He realized.

“Oh yeah. Maybe we should go do that.” You said and rolled over to face him.

“Yeah. We probably should.”

Despite the agreement to get up and go get some food, neither of you moved. You just laid on the blanket and stared into each others eyes with a comfortable silence in the air.

“In a minute?” You suggested after a minute and Peter smiled before leaning in to kiss you again.

“In a minute.”

PSA: DON’T TEXT AND DRIVE. it’s never worth it. It takes one second to get in an accident. Any text can wait. Your life is more important

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