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Peter Parker x Male Reader

A/N: repost from wattpad

Length: 1.6k

Originally Published: Dec 27, 2022

CW: none

On particularly rough days at school, like today, Peter would ask himself if his internship at Stark Industries was worth the hassle. At least Mr. Stark gave me a cool suit, he thought. It was a Friday and he loved his internship–he should be happy!–but after staying up too late on Thursday and suffering through a Chemistry exam, he wanted little more than to be home. Now that school was over, he allowed himself a moment to breath, but only for a moment. Mr. Stark had chosen today of all days to change his routine.

“(M/N)’s working on something new and I want you to help him,” Mr. Stark said. “He thinks he can use spider webs to make a strong, lightweight material. The kid’s got big plans for it if it’s successful. I thought it sounded right up your alley, Spider-boy.”

“It’s Spider-man,” Peter mumbled indignantly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mr. Stark said. He spoke over his shoulder, already walking away. “He’s in the lab on the fourth floor, third door on your right. Good luck.”

When Peter arrived at the lab, he didn’t bother knocking; his day had been too long to give such courtesy. He walked into the dimly lit room and closed the door behind. The lab glowed a soft blue and electricity hummed softly as white noise. The right wall held a long bookshelf filled with binders, the edged titled with acronyms and numbers Peter didn’t understand. A series of photos were tacked to the far wall, but he couldn’t see what they were in the light. Under the photos were multiple terrariums. Each terrarium was filled with short vegetation and a large stick. From this distance, they appeared empty, but Peter wasn’t convinced they were uninhabited.

“Who are you?” a voice called. Hunched over a table in the middle of the room was a (H/C) man. The light shining down from a haphazardly fixed lamp made him looker old, tired, and sickly, but, if he had to guess, he looked a year or two older than Peter.

“Oh, uh, I’m Peter. Mr. Stark sent me to help?” Peter cursed himself for making it sound like a question, but being assertive had never been his strong suit.

The man looked down at his work. It was obscured from Peter’s view. He seemed to be considering something, but as to what, Peter had no idea.

“Hm,” he finally said, looking back to Peter. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Peter whispered.

He nodded to himself, then spoke again, “Do you mind hitting the light switch?” Peter did as instructed. “Thanks. I’m (M/N), by the way. I don’t remember if we’ve met before.”

In the newfound light, Peter was able to see (M/N) clearly. He looked less old, less tired, and less sickly. His hair was messy and a strong shade of (H/C). His face was kind. He’s pretty, Peter thought. He wore an over-sized lab coat with the sleeves rolled up, emphasizing his forearms. He wasn’t incredibly fit, but that could be expected from the average scientist. The breast pocket of his lab coat had his name embroidered onto it in cursive. Peter was entirely sure that they had, in fact, met once before, but he wasn’t entirely sure where. Considering they were both interns at Stark Industries, it was most likely there, but he didn’t voice these thoughts.

“What are you working on?” Peter asked.

“Oh, Tony didn’t tell you?” Peter cringed at the informal use of Tony. “I’m harvesting spider silk from orb-weavers and turning it into a fiber. I saw some college somewhere did it and thought I’d try as well. With enough time and, well, enough spiders, I think I can make it better than they can.” (M/N) swiveled around in his chair, surveying the room quickly. The room was messy, but not embarrassingly so. There were papers and photos scattered in one corner, binders stacked in another, and chairs piled against left wall. “Oh, uh, sorry for the mess. I wasn’t exactly… expecting company.”

“Mr. Stark didn’t tell you I was coming?”

“He doesn’t tell me a lot of things. He’s too busy. To be honest, I didn’t even think he was listening when I was telling him about this.” Offhandedly, (M/N) murmured, “I guess he does care.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

“Well, no use standing around. Come pull up a chair. I’m harvesting some spider silk right now. I hope you’re okay with spiders.”

Ha, Peter thought, If he only he knew.

The first week that Peter and (M/N) worked together past smoothly. Peter was mostly tasked with feeding the spiders and organizational work, but he couldn’t complain. (M/N) usually worked in silence, but he would ask him the occasional question about his personal life to pass time. Where do you live? What do you like to do? Do you have a girlfriend? Eventually, (M/N) began giving Peter more and more responsibility.

“Peter, come over here,” (M/N) commanded. He was stationed on the middle desk as per usual. He held a strange square of some kind of fiber. “This,” he motioned to the fiber in his hand, “is our first successful cloth of spider silk fiber. Here, touch it.”

Peter accepted the cloth. “Woah! This is surprisingly soft.”

(M/N) gazed at Peter, his eyes slightly lidded. He had bags under his eyes, but that was nothing new. Peter looked back to (M/N) and they made eye contact. Peter couldn’t read what laid behind the man’s eyes, but it seemed… soft. After a few moments, (M/N) offered a half-grin and said, “We make a great team.”

Eventually, Peter and (M/N) created a routine. On the days when (M/N) didn’t work, Peter would come in and feed his spiders. They were golden silk orb-weavers, all of which (M/N) had named.

“You better be extra nice to this one,” he had said on Peter’s first day. He was pointing to a particularly large black and yellow spider in a terrarium.  "Her name is Eight Ball and she is my favorite.“ He pointed to a terrarium next to it. "This is Ocho and Yossi,” and the next terrarium, “the Addams’ family,” and the next, “Wanda and Cosmo,” and the next, “and these are the egg sacks I have. They haven’t hatched so I haven’t named them. I am taking name suggestions, if you were wondering.”

But on this particular day, Peter’s third week of spider duty, Eight Ball was unnervingly still. (M/N) had given Peter his phone number “for emergencies and funny pictures,” as he explained it. “Don’t call unless someone is dying,” (M/N) had added as well. Peter presumed it was a joke, but… Eight Ball seemed off, and Peter didn’t want to risk (M/N)’s wrath to find a dead spider. And so, he pulled out his phone and typed in his phone number: xxx-xxx-xxxx.

It rang once, then twice, then thrice, and went to voicemail. Oh no. Peter just hung up.

A moment later, Peter’s phone rang. (M/N) was listed as the caller. Oh thank God.

“Hello?” Peter asked.

“Hey, what’s up? Why’d you call?”

“Uh, I didn’t want to bother you, but, uh, one of the spiders is, uh, looking a little, uh… sick.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…(M/N)?”

“Did you forget to feed them?” (M/N) accused. His voice sounded calm yet angry.

“What?” Peter felt panic. “No, of course I fed them, I–”

“Ahh, I’m just kidding.” Laughter came from the other end of the phone. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Spider’s don’t last forever, y'know? I hope you brought clothes for the funeral.”

True to his word, (M/N) arrived a few minutes later.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he walked into the lab. He was dressed in an all black suit. In one hand, he held a coffee, and in his other hand he held a bouquet of roses. “I, uhh, had some… plans… but they fell through.”

Peter just stared at (M/N). “What’s with the suit?”

“Wow, a man can’t even dress up for a funeral without being questioned.”

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean it like that.”

(M/N) didn’t acknowledge him. “I had a date, but they, uh, they didn’t show up. Now I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah, it’s whatever. I didn’t really like him anyways.” Him, Peter noted. “Besides, what’s a better day to get dumped than the death of a loved one?” (M/N) joked. He offered Peter a half-grin. “Now, which one of my dear babies is it?”

As (M/N) walked over to Peter by the terrariums, Peter pointed towards Eight Ball’s cage. (M/N) squatted down and gestured for Peter to come next to him. “Hmm…” (M/N) leaned to the right, then to the left, then back to the right. His shoulder grazed against Peter’s. “She’s probably fine. A little death never hurt no one.”

Peter offered a light chuckle then looked over to (M/N). He’s kind of pretty. Maybe it’s the suit. He returned his gaze to Eight Ball.

“So don’t worry, you didn’t kill her, but she is dead,” (M/N) rambled on. He stood up, saying something about the short lifespan of spiders. “I loved her, but really, man, don’t worry about it. You’ve been doing really well these last few weeks. Spiders are bound to die, just like us one day. It was her time. Those eggs are bound to hatch soon. Then I can have Eight Ball the Second. But that’s all tomorrow’s problem.” (M/N) paused for a moment. Peter looked up at him then stood. “Today’s problem, uh, if you’re up to it…”

“Yeah…?” Peter inquired.

“Uh, well,” (M/N) blushed, “if you’re up to it, I’m all dressed up with no where to go, and if I had to guess, your boss–that’s me, by the way–wouldn’t mind giving you the rest of the day off… I mean, after this incredibly  traumatic death of a loved one, our dearest Eight Ball, a day off is the least I could do…” (M/N) took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that… do you want to go out and get some food? Uh, today?”

Peter didn’t fight the rosiness from spreading on his cheek. He offered a soft smile. “Sure, I’d love to.”