#Peter parker blurb
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*sigh* back into my tall, nerdy, brunette era of men (aka tasm! Peter Parker/Remus lupin and Spencer Reid). This was vey good though!
Begin Again
an: this has been a long time in the making and I think it's a favorite of mine.
Pairing: Peter Parker X Mean!Reader
Genre: Angst, fluff, enemies to lovers.
CW: harsh language, mental breakdowns, mentions of cheating (not peter)
Word Count: 24K
Summary: You've lived next door to Peter your whole life and the last nine years you've detested him. Now you're going through a breakup and it's nice to know someone's awake with you. Even if it is Peter Parker.
Breakups suck.
Thatâs it. Thatâs the whole message. Thereâs nothing else to add, except youâd never let yourself love again. Itâs not like you didnât know it wasnât going to happen, you were aware the entire year what it would lead into, but hasnât every girl sworn, at least once, they were the exception to a boys rule?Â
Natalie Greeneâs voice echoed in your mind, âdonât get involved with a senior boy. They move on and youâre left picking up the pieces in homeroom.â You didnât listen. You got involved and it was a good year, you knew he was going to college and when he left the break up was inevitable. Still, it didnât hurt as hard until three months into the school year he called and said he met someone else.Â
You wish you werenât so kind and understanding to him.
You called Natalie Greene the second it ended, she picked up and that angel voice of hers shined through the phone. She asked âhello?â three times before you sobbed. You could feel the empathy in her tone, âhe ended it, huh?â All you could do is squeak back, âstay right there babe, Iâm on my way with the break up kit.â Â
She showed up with a stray grocery bag. âalright,â she stated, hands on her hips.Â
âI got ice cream, a super soft blanket, movies - of all genres, face masks, a lighter-âÂ
âWhy do you have a lighter?âÂ
Natalie rolls her eyes with a goofy grin, âto burn stuff, duh.â
The gesture was nice, but you couldnât focus on the movie.
It felt like everytime you blinked there were tears that would find themselves tracking down your cheeks, you sniffled occasionally and blankly stared at the screen; flashbacks clouding your mind. Each kiss, each laugh, each touch, every fight and makeup, the first time you felt someone's hips melt into yours.Â
A supercut of every moment.Â
You were replaying a thousand things and all he was thinking about was the new girl under him, you were angry at everything all at once. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get hurt and feeling this much pain, because you knew it was coming, it was the whole agreement when it started. Angry at him for not breaking his promise and loving you anyway, angry at him for not telling you heâd wait for you and everything would be okay.Â
Angry that you hate him and yourself but more angry how quickly youâd fall back into him if he called.Â
âI knew this was gonna happen, Nat.â You sniff, a cry bubbles from your throat, âso why does it hurt so bad?âÂ
Your friend frowns, sheâs no savor to heartbreak. Sheâs been where you are more times than one could take, she still loves with her whole heart and you donât know if you could ever do it again. Natalie wraps her arms around your shoulders while you shake with a sob, you cry into her knowing you're matting her blonde hair but she just pats you and holds you close.Â
âBecause even though the ending was coming it didnât feel real until the book closed. And maybe a little bit because you hoped heâd change his mind.âÂ
You gasp, âhow do I get past this? Nat, it feels..âÂ
Youâre tugged into her so tight you can feel her collarbone against your cheek, âlike youâre dying? Yeah, that happens. But, youâll live. It doesnât feel like it now, but the day will come where you can think about him, smile, and thank him for the opportunity.âÂ
You snort, âfor breaking my heart?âÂ
Natalie Greene holds you as tight as she can, âfor making you grow.âÂ
Your shoulders feel like theyâre falling behind you as you inch along the hallway, everything feels heavy. Your feet are like lead blocks, and your heart feels like itâs been tied down with an anchor. It hurts more to know heâs not aching like this, he has someone new to keep him busy.Â
Blinking at your locker you fight back a yawn, two weeks after heartbreak and it still feels the same. You sleep like shit, tossing and turning and weird dreams when you finally dozed off. The one thing thatâs helped keep your mind away from him, was your neighbor. Every night, at 3:02 am, on the dot, you hear the same movements.Â
A window slams shut, two soft hops on the floor and three bumps against the wall.Â
For six nights straight you kept count, it was methodical. A nightly routine, you werenât sure what he was doing, but it was something. It made your mind wonder, your most recent theory was that he was a smoker; weed, cigarettes or whatever, and he would blow smoke out his window before landing in bed.Â
Maybe his bed was against your wall and thatâs why you heard so many small knocks.Â
Last night you stayed up, you waited and right on the minute, like you expected, you heard a window slam shut. A small grin crossed your face, not at him, but at the idea of a constant. You lost your reliable figure, heâs thousands of miles away with his own new person, but tonight, and for the last seven nights youâve had something to rely on. Something that couldnât go anywhere.Â
You blink and suddenly youâre staring at your open locker, you donât even remember putting in the combination. On autopilot you grab what you need for your next three classes and shrug your backpack down. Lately, it seemed like everything moved in slow motion.Â
âAre we ready to go to Flashâs party friday and makeout with a rando or are we still numb to everything?âÂ
Natalie smiles at your figure, when you slouch and give her a âhey, Nat,â her blonde hair bounces as she nods her head understandingly, âstill dead to the world, understandable.âÂ
âAt this point Iâd do heroin to feel something,â your deadstare makes her think you might be serious. âTell you what, if youâre still this miserable in six weeks, weâll do it together.âÂ
Your eyebrow quirks, âyouâd do heroin with me if Iâm still this miserable?âÂ
Natalie Greeneâs hand sticks out, her eyes ferocious. You know immediately she has something up her sleeve.Â
âSix weeks, starting today.âÂ
You have nothing else to go on except the nightly wake up call and Natalie Greeneâs plan.Â
âSix weeks.âÂ
Itâs solidified with a handshake, your fingertips turn white in her hold.Â
WEEK ONE.
Natalie Greene had talked you into going to Flashâs party, not to makeout with anyone, she quickly withdrew that from the table. You had been very hesitant at first, pushing at every restraint and reason to why you shouldnât go and she stopped you right there. Manicured hand and all, petite and poised, she stopped your path.Â
âHereâs why you should go: get fucking wrecked, absolutely smashed and let it all out. I promise you, babe, it feels so, so good.âÂ
âYou think that will make me feel better? Getting hammered at a house party on a friday night?â
âIâll take care of you for the night, okay? Iâll get you drunk and you can cry or scream or whatever you want. Let go of anything youâre holding back, thatâs why you should go.âÂ
You look her over, sheâs been your rock the last three years in the school. Natalie is different, she protects and cares for herself like she does someone else. She also gives out more of her heart than she should, but she appreciates the burn it leaves. She tells you itâs one more ache preparing her for the one who would never make it hurt again.Â
If Natalie Greene says itâll help, youâll listen.Â
âYouâll drive me home and take care of me the next morning? Hungover and all?âÂ
A denim jacket covered shoulder shrugs, âI think itâs time I repay you for all these years.âÂ
For the first time in two weeks a real smile crosses your face, itâs small but itâs there.Â
Flashforward two days later, youâre eight drinks in and feeling like youâre flying.Â
You sway against your friend, âand he,â you hiccup, âhe said he was like, soooo in love with me but then like, fuckin four days later,â it took you a moment to hold up the correct number on your hand, âboom, no boyfriend.â Natalie tried to hold back a laugh but her cheeks blew up when she let it escape, you pulled the most comical âwhat the fuck?â face.Â
âI mean who the fuck does that- a sick person. Thatâs who! And- And you know what?â you hiccup, âI thought Iâd be sad, but I just kinda hate him, does that make me bad?âÂ
âNah, I had some that killed me inside and some that I just shrugged off. Some moved in waves. One minute Iâd say âfuck him!â and the next Iâd be overwhelmed with sadness because I didnât have anyone to hold me anymore.âÂ
You blink at her words and swallow the rest of your cup, you hadnât thought about that part yet. Not having anyone to call yours anymore, thatâs the hardest hitting part. You really, really wanted to call him. Just one more time, maybe he misses you just as much, maybe he doesnât know how to say sorry, maybe heâs waiting for you to call.Â
âI should call him, right?â Your hands fumble at your pockets, your friend panics and grabs at your arms. âNo! No, no, no! You absolutely should not call him!â You whine, âbut what if he-âÂ
Natalie grabs you tight, it makes you look at her confused. Her tone takes a sharp turn, she breaks through your drunken stupor in a second.Â
âHeâs not. Heâs not thinking about you, heâs not missing you, heâs not sitting around wishing youâd call him, heâs just not. He broke up with you, you donât do that if you still care. Donât do that to yourself, it ended mature. You have to be mature now.âÂ
Brutal honesty. It puts everything in perspective.Â
He didnât miss you, and that⌠really, really hurt.Â
Natalie was right, it comes in waves. Because there comes that sadness, it starts with small blinks and suddenly fat tears skip down your cheeks. âYouâre right! He, he doesnât-â you take harsh breaths, for the first time in two weeks you had a full breakdown. Everything you held back bottled over, you didnât know how you could hold in so much hurt.Â
âOkay, okay. Letâs go, we can cry in the car but not here.âÂ
Your breath shook the entire way to the car, the moment you sat in the passenger seat you cried. Your voice cracked, âhe said he loved me!â Natalie nodded, cranking the engine, âAnd Iâm sure he did, babe. Sometimes these things run their course and itâs no one's fault.âÂ
It went like that the entire car ride, until she stopped at a McDonald's and got you a milkshake so you could focus on getting the liquid up the straw instead of saying the same three things on a loop. Once you got fries in your mouth the thought of him was erased from your mind, choosing to sing loudly and stick your head out the window on the way back.Â
Stumbling and giggling quietly at the late hour while you swayed on the walk to your door, you stretched freely and yawned when you stumbled in. Home alone for the weekend, just how it should be. âIâm getting naked,â you started stripping while walking to your room to change into pajamas, your heart lurches when you see one of his shirts.Â
You flop backwards on your bed, the room slightly spins and you close your eyes tight trying to ground yourself. Wriggling into the sheets you sigh, and yawn again. Your head buries into a pillow and sleep is imminent.Â
âSleepy?âÂ
Natalie Greene stands in the doorway with water and some advil, you smile and pat your bed, inviting her to join.Â
âNatalie Greene, you are so great, did you know that?âÂ
Your friend laughs, you nuzzle into her hand while she strokes your hair, âI did, but a reminder is always nice. Go to sleep, babe. Iâll make toast in the morning.âÂ
Her gentle touch makes it easy, you yawn one more time. Your voice flutters while you talk into sleep.
âDo me a favor?âÂ
âAnything,â she whispers. You donât think he ever loved you this soft. Â
âMake sure he gets home for me.âÂ
Natalie Greene asked who but all she received were soft snores.Â
The birds were screaming the earth back awake.Â
At least thatâs how it felt, your ears were ringing and there was a dull, present thud in your head. The sunlight has never been so bright, you hold your eyes shut but the ache gets louder and you canât get comfortable.Â
Thereâs two pills and half a glass of water waiting for you, god bless Natalie Greene.Â
âGood morning, sunshine!â You wince and choke on your gulp of water, a knife has pierced your eardrum. âOh my god, everything is on dial eleven, I think Iâm dying.âÂ
âHow are you feeling? Besides the obvious, I mean.âÂ
She means about him, you take a moment to really think about it.Â
âI think⌠I think Iâm doing okay.âÂ
Your friend smiles and throws her hair into a ponytail, âgood, Iâm making breakfast. Come join.âÂ
After ten minutes and infinite pep talk you rise on shaky knees, stumbling towards your door and barely making it to the couch where you spread wide and gulped for air. Your friend snorted at your exaggeration over her shoulder and carefully walked towards you with a piping mug of tea.Â
Sitting up you bring a blanket over your shoulders, you squint at her before taking the handle. Taking a sip while you turn the TV on, searching for a midmorning throwaway show. A re-run of The Wendy Williams Show wins, you rest your head on a cushion and stare blankly at the screen. Natalie Greene humming up a tune in the kitchen.Â
You hadnât even checked your phone yet, âwhat time is it?âÂ
âNoon thirty.âÂ
Your eyes widen, âmy god,â you mumble to yourself.Â
Listening to Wendy your eyes lull shut and suddenly you're sinking back into sleep, you roll over and smack your dry lips. Until your friend is kicking at your shin with two plates in her hands, stacked full of the breakfast nines.Â
Your queasy stomach grumbles and any drowsiness is ripped away with hunger. Nearly drooling, you stuff a piece of french toast in your mouth and moan, âNat, youâre the greatest thing I got.â She bounces her shoulder into yours, âI know.â Â
You fall into silence while you scarf breakfast down, booing and applauding when deemed necessary by Wendy. Leaning back you rest your hands over your full belly and pat gently. Swiping your tongue over your gums for any crumbs, you sigh happily.Â
âHey, what did you mean last night? You said to let you know if he got home safely.âÂ
You wave her off, âdrunk stupidness, I hear my neighbor every night around the same time moving around. This last week, I dunno, it felt nice knowing someone else was up too?âÂ
âHave you ever-âÂ
Both your necks turn to look at the front door then back at each other, the knocking that caught your attention continues.Â
âWhoâs-âÂ
âDid you-âÂ
You swallow and stand up, not so shaky anymore. Looking through the peephole your forehead hits the door at the sight of said neighbor, you know what they say about devils and appearing, groaning you take a moment to collect yourself and open the door.Â
âWhat do you want, penis?âÂ
Peter Parker in all his glory, is knocking at your door with a plate of⌠cookies?Â
Neighbors forever, close pals never. Youâd played together as kids, mostly elementary age but since you were eight youâve had a disdain for Peter Parker. Youâre not sure where it went wrong, but just looking at him you wanted to roll your eyes.Â
âI was going to say, âwow, how could a guy ever dump you?â but now, Iâd say thatâs how.âÂ
Normally that wouldnât hurt, but the recent circumstances made it a cheap shot.Â
âIs this your sorry attempt to be a rebound? Because if it is, I want to make it extremely clear Iâd rather eat glass than-âÂ
The plate is shoved into your face, âMay had me bring these over, she said your mom told her youâve been a weepy, miserable mess because some dickhead thought he found someone better.âÂ
You huff at him, your fingers wrap around his wristwatch as you pull it down, all you heard was weepy and miserable.
âI know you wouldnât know anything about someone loving you but-âÂ
âIs that Peter B. Parker?âÂ
Natalie Greene reminds you of your hangover in record timing, you wince at her shriek. Peter gives a polite, dare you say charming (?) smile. It makes you fight back a gag, âhello, Natalie Greene.â Her eyes flash from his, to the plate, to the cracked open door across the hall and she gets a wicked grin.Â
The person youâve hated and bickered with the most is suddenly the one you listen out for in the middle of the night. The look on her face, the glance she shared with you, proved she knew.Â
âCookies?â Natalie nudges your arm, âhe brought cookies and heâs right across the hallway, how nice.âÂ
Peterâs oblivious to her tone, he has his goofy smile on and it makes you seeth. Heâs always so god damn happy, itâs annoying.Â
âWell, actually, my aunt made them. But I am delivering, so I can accept some praise.âÂ
She laughs, full on cackles and nudges you again.Â
âYou know, in all the times you talked about Peter you never mentioned how funny he was!âÂ
You donât know what sheâs playing at but youâre shutting it down immediately.Â
Peter looks at you, he seems almost hopeful and you have to settle the urge to toss the plate to the ground. âYou talk about me?âÂ
You cross your arms and sneer, âdonât worry, nothing good.âÂ
His smile drops, âyeah, sorry. I donât know why..â his curls bounce as he gently shakes his head before pushing the glass into your chest. âHere, eat as many as it takes to feel somewhat okay again.âÂ
You grip the plate and look down, theyâre your favorite.Â
âWe, um. We have more over here, so if you want more. Or if you wanna hang out or something Iâm here, soâŚâÂ
Peterâs never been a friend like this before and it was some pity party you wanted no part of now.Â
âItâs a breakup. Iâm sure I can manage without you just fine.âÂ
His eyebrows turn in, âright. I just thought- nevermind, enjoy the cookies.âÂ
Natalie gives him a sympathetic frown and sulks back inside, you keep your glare on his figure until he reaches his door. As youâre about to retreat he stops in the doorway, âfor what itâs worth, I think heâs stupid and heâs gonna realize what he lost when itâs way too late.âÂ
Itâs almost nice, sometimes it sucks when the person youâre supposed to hate has human peek through their armor.Â
Too bad youâre more guarded than ever.Â
âWell, then. Itâs a good thing youâre not worth much.âÂ
Maybe itâs his resilience that troubles you, no matter how hard you push him away or beat him down with words heâll pick himself back up and hand your words back in a package of self reflection.Â
Today is no exception, Peter flashes you a sad smile, this one actually is filled with pity.Â
âIâm sorry youâre hurting,â you didnât have a chance to fire back. His door was already shut.
Heartache throbbed but the cookies were damn good.Â
On your third, you down half a cup of milk. You reach for a fourth and Natalie hasnât said one word. Instead she cleaned the kitchen and packed up her overnight bag, before settling next to you for an episode of Jerry Springer and her own deserved treat.Â
âSo, do tell, my friend. Is Peter the one you wanted to know was home safe?âÂ
Deny till death.Â
âNo way, Iâm talking about Mr. Harrington, heâs like a hundred years old.âÂ
Natalie takes her time chewing and swallowing, âyour hundred year old neighbor is up in the middle of the night?â
Itâs dumb to lie, you and her know the truth.Â
You shrug and take a fifth cookie, âhe may have a routine, I dunno.âÂ
Your friend hums, âI just thought it may be Peter, cause you share a wall and all.âÂ
Gagging at his name you shake it off, âGross! Itâs bad enough knowing the plate these were on were in his hands.â It takes you a second but youâre able to plow through another bite.Â
âI just⌠why do we hate Peter so much?âÂ
You donât know, you think you blocked it out. Every time you look at him a weird feeling bubbles up and it makes you want to scream, cry, fight and hug it out with him in one second. Itâs easier to bark at him than confront him about your feelings.Â
âI donât know. Heâs just a pest to me, every time I turn around heâs there. And I swear to god he spilled the beans about that party last year.âÂ
Natalie Greene knows three things to be true.Â
One: Peter Parker likes you, you just donât know it yet.Â
âWhat if you talked to him?âÂ
Cookie crumbs fall over your shirt as you talk, âIâm sorry, what?âÂ
Two: You like Peter Parker, you just donât know it yet.Â
âIf you need me and Iâm not around, if you need someone to support you through this and I canât be here, promise me youâll knock on his door.âÂ
You scoff at the idea, âyeah, sure.â sheâs not very confident you mean it.Â
âSeriously, promise me right now if I canât be there for you, youâll ask him.âÂ
She was serious, something in her tone made you shift and agree. Itâs not like sheâd go anywhere, Natalie Green was your lifeline.Â
âAlright! If you arenât around and itâs literally life or death, Iâll ask⌠him.âÂ
Three: Things get worse before they get better, you just donât know it yet.
WEEK TWO.
Your mornings always started the same, a routine was important to you. It was consistent. It was wake up, hit up the bathroom, change, yawn and rub your eyes through breakfast before leaving to thrive in silence before school.Â
Today, when leaving, right as youâre pocketing your keys, your neighbor speaks out.Â
âHey.âÂ
You freeze, itâs rare you run into Peter in the mornings. You figure he leaves way earlier, or later than you. But when you do, you ignore each other with silence. You really donât like the sudden change.Â
âHow are you doing?âÂ
You wonder if he heard you crying last night, you thought you got rid of it after the party. You didnât understand how you could be happy one moment and miserable the next. What made it worse was when 3:02 am hit and you heard his window slam, your sniffles settled.Â
âLike I was dumped, thanks for the reminder.âÂ
Your foot hits the first step when he calls out, âand the cookies?âÂ
Biting your bottom lip you turn, it really was a nice gesture. You may not like him, but you loved May and sheâs the one that put in all that hard work. Peter lights up when you face him, if he had a tail heâd start wagging it. It makes you bite down on your cheek, he doesnât deserve unprovoked rage.Â
âThey were really good,â you take three steps before turning back around.Â
âAnd, I uh, took your advice. Ate the whole plate, I mean.âÂ
Peter fumbles, his key chain drops but he stays looking at you. His thumb shoots behind him to point at his door, âwe have like, twenty left. Want some more?âÂ
You shake your head softly, âmaybe later?â Peter nods exuberantly, âyeah, yeah. Iâll bring them over.âÂ
You curl your lip up and stomp down the steps, âthanks for the warning, penis!âÂ
This was it.Â
This was your worst nightmare.Â
Not only did things get shuffled around until you were sitting next to Peter at dinner, where you made it a point to scoot your chair away from him when his shoulder touched yours and immediately swiped the area clean- But now you blinked blankly at your dinner while your mom droned on and on and on about the guy who dumped you. It didnât matter if it was good or bad, you just wanted her to stop.Â
âAnd he was so sweet, wasnât he? Honey, are you sure he hasnât reached out? Itâs not too late to call him, maybe if you-â May didnât deserve to see you upset, and it kills you that Peter saw that emotion. Your mom didnât even deserve it, you were so sick of trying to keep it together.Â
Your chair screeches with how quick you jump out of your seat.Â
âHe doesnât give a shit, he dumped me! So why do you think heâd call? He doesnât want me, I mean heâs made that clear right?â Your eyes shoot to Mayâs, âIâm right, right? You donât break up with someone if you still care, or want them, right?âÂ
Tears haze your vision, âhe ended it with me mom, and you know why? Itâs cause he found a new girl! He fucking-â water rushes down your cheeks but you donât stop, âhe,â you collapse on the word, you canât get a good inhale on breath.Â
âHe left me to pick up the pieces, thatâs all he did.â It clicked full motion, he left you behind and ended it. He got a fresh start and you were left trying to hold it together, like how it was, how it was supposed to be.Â
You sob, your chest has never felt so tight. Shaky breaths fade into sharp inhales, you canât fucking breathe. Gasping you put a hand over your heart, you know in the back of your mind itâs a panic attack but all you feel is imminent death.Â
Peter stands and blocks your body with his, you donât know whatâs happening but youâre trying to get away. Each step you take backwards he takes one forwards until you're wheezing in your room, your ears are ringing and it feels like a heart attack is in approach. Your eyes squeeze shut and in an instant you feel calmer, itâs not because of your sudden blink. Itâs because Peter has his hands over your ears pressing in, your back against the wall and front against his chest. Â
Itâs the last place you want to be but youâre angry, and heâs there, and itâs all coming out.Â
Youâre able to breathe but at what cost? You grip Peterâs shirt as tight as you could and wail into his chest, itâs the first time youâve ever actually felt him against you. Heâs more sturdy than you thought, as you push more and more weight on him he doesnât stagger one bit. His arms held you to him, keeping steady until youâd push him away.Â
âIâm sorry, Iâm so sorry,â you coughed the words into his shirt, you held tighter when his only response was resting his chin on your head. You apologized and cried until you ran out of tears and your breaths were nothing but sharp inhales.Â
When reality hits and you realize you've been crying into Peterâs hold for minutes you push him away and wipe your nose. Avoiding his eyes, you look to the carpet, you have a fresh cry glow and mindset, itâs the good kind of emotional numb.Â
âI, um, I still have those cookies?âÂ
Those being his choice of words after a troubling breakdown was warming, it made you feel like you werenât so crazy. Or at least, Peter didnât see you as crazy, which when thinking about didnât mean much.Â
You canât help but laugh, itâs so loud and opposite of every other emotion you spilled tonight it makes him jump, you see him setting up for the attack. The moment you snap at him and call him a weirdo for cornering you and throwing himself on you.Â
Tonight, you were full of surprises.Â
âYeah,â you nod your head and wipe your nose one last time, âIâd love to come over for cookies.âÂ
You had to look away from his smile, it was too blinding.Â
You broke the rule, you went lurking and hurt your own feelings. Sheâs all over his instagram, and sheâs pretty. Heâs all over hers, dating back to five months ago.Â
You do a double take, five months?Â
He had been cheating on you for months before he ended it. You feel sick. He told you he loved you while he was in bed with another girl. You felt so much rage inside you couldnât hold it in, Natalie was too far away and Peterâs already seen you at your worst.Â
You move without thinking, slamming your fist on his door.Â
Wide eyes open it, Peter would be lying if he said he wasnât scared he was the subject of attack. You swerve past him, if you were in a cartoon, steam would be billowing from your ears. You didnât get angry often, and youâve never felt upset enough to punch someone, but all you could think about was screaming and slamming your fist into the wall.Â
âI hate him, I fucking hate him so fucking much. If you ever hear me crying I need you to come over and tell me Iâm absolutely pathetic for crying over a fucking cheater.âÂ
While heâs glad youâre not there to yell at him, his heart sinks for you.Â
âIâm so sorry.âÂ
âIt was right in front of my face, too. Sheâd been claiming him since the second week of school. Iâve been a fool, god, I fucking hate him. I hate him so much I⌠I want to break something.âÂ
Peter eyes his science notebook, he doesnât have anything for you to break, but he has something that will make enough noise to drown out the voices. He grabs it and holds it out, you gently take it giving him a confused look.Â
âWack it. Beat the absolute shit out of it on the counter.âÂ
You look unsure, you donât want to ruin his things, even if you donât like him.Â
âRight on the edge, go on, do it.â His egging you on makes you follow his command, itâs gentle.Â
âHarder,â you test it.Â
âHarder,â you give a smack, it makes a popping sound and you jump, it feels good.Â
âLike you mean it, like you need it.â You do it again, itâs louder. You strike down without instruction, Peter starts barking at you, it makes you angrier.Â
âHarder, donât be so weak!â
He hit the right nerve, you canât stop, youâre moving so quick and using so much force the spine starts to rip from the cardboard. It feels good destroying something, it makes you beat the laminate harder. Loud cracks echoing from the walls.Â
You heave for air, every bit of force directed into your diminished trust. You yell between each blow.Â
âFucking!âÂ
âPiece!â
âOf!â
âShit!âÂ
You start to slow down, Peterâs notebook is fucked. You feel bad. Gasping for air when youâre done, Peter gives you a head nod, âbetter?âÂ
You nod, âlots. Sorry about your book.â He doesnât look bothered in the slightest, âitâs a good excuse to get a new one, I hate green.â You peer over the contents in the pages, âthatâs a lie, everyone knows science is green.â Peter laughs, he nods like heâs saying âyou got me there.â âDoesnât mean I like it though.âÂ
Looking down at the notebook, you peer up at Peter. He looks soft, the sleeves of his zip up hoodie covered his thumbs, he has sweater paws. His hair framed his face nicely, his cheeks have a natural pink hue, itâs like heâs always sunkissed, or calming down from a laughing fit.Â
The sun is backlighting him perfectly, it makes his eyes look even more honey golden than they already do. You donât know why you find him slightly cute at the moment, it makes your stomach tug and not in a good way. The last time you thought someone was cute you got burned, and youâve always had a disdain for Peter.Â
Peter was the worst kind of rebound to have because you canât decide whoâd get more hurt from it, and the thought of that makes you want to avoid him forever.Â
âYouâre looking at me funny.âÂ
You are, itâs because youâre noticing him for the first time, at least since you were eight. Suddenly you can remember why you cut him out when you were a kid.Â
âI had a crush on you when we were younger. I think thatâs why I stopped being your friend.âÂ
Your confession made Peterâs eyes widen, he looks to the ground and hides his smile. When he picks his head back up he looks to the side, his cheeks a bit more flushed than normal. âThatâs cute.âÂ
It was. It was innocent and juvenile, his small response made you laugh. âYeah, it really was.â You shouldnât entertain it any further, but you canât stop. Something about seeing his blush makes you want to keep going, âWanna know when it started?â He looks curious, âsure.âÂ
You go quiet for a minute, you havenât thought about it in years. The moment it clicked you were freaked out, the first time you liked a boy and he was your best friend. You went from wanting to play in dirt to holding his hand. A smile spreads over your face when you watch the memory replay in your mind.Â
âWe were at the complex playground and we were digging by that droopy tree across from the swingset, and I saw a lizard in the grass and I pointed it out to you. I told you I always wanted to hold one but they moved too fast and scared me, but you held out your arm and said âI got this.ââ You laugh, replaying it once more.Â
âAnd you dive bombed and picked it up, and you were so fucking proud to have caught it. Then you placed it in my hand but I felt it move around and freaked out, but you held your hand over mine and said âdonât be scared.ââÂ
Thereâs something about an eight year old Peter Parker with glasses and dirt smudged cheeks that had child you giddy.
Peterâs smiling, itâs like heâs reliving that day in his head too. âI fulfilled your lifelong dream and you fell for me.â You shrug, âmaybe.â Setting his notebook on the counter you look around, you feel like youâve said too much.Â
âHey, um, thanks for the whole⌠unleashing my anger thing.â You're setting yourself up for a goodbye, Peter can sense it.Â
âAre you hungry? Wanna go get some pizza?âÂ
No matter what was said, or thought, you still have that pinch of annoyance at him. But his brightness was what you needed today, and you hadnât had lunch. You have a sinking feeling youâd regret it, there was something that felt like it was a bit more than friendly and it had you throwing up every wall possible.Â
Still, you find yourself agreeing.Â
âSure. Letâs get some pizza.âÂ
It was a stereotypical pizza place and those were the best ones. The wall is covered in pictures of random people, terrible paintings and red checkered tablecloths covered wobbly tables. They had a permanent sticky residue, your elbows peeled when you raised them up.Â
âIâm surprised you didnât judge me on my hawaiian choice.â He always did, he told you it wasnât authentic and childish.
âHey, Iâm a pizza guy, alright? Anything you put on a pizza belongs on it. I mean, I get the appeal, sweet and savory.â Your face brightens, he understands. âExactly! And the warm pineapple just hits differently, itâs like-â Peter can read your mind, you say it at the same time. âFries and ice cream.âÂ
Another thing he found gross, your head tilts, it just kind of clicks with Peter. Your ex would sneer when youâd go for a dip, you begged him to try it a hundred times, you promised heâd like it but heâd tell you it was âfucking grossâ.Â
âHawaiian and pepperoni, can I get you kids anything else?â You shake your head while Peter responds for the both of you, âno thanks, weâre good.â Peterâs slice has a pool of grease in a slice of his pepperoni, it looks delicious. He sees you eying his choice and holds it out, âyou want a bite donât you?â Your eyes flash to your slice, âonly if you take a bite of mine.â Itâs only fair. âSwap with me,â you trade plates and tap slices as a cheers, humming when you take a bite Peter nods impressively.Â
You swap back and take a bite of yours, itâs heavenly. âIâm glad I got mine.â Peter agrees with the statement, âIâm sorry, babe, but pepperoni is superior. Itâs all about keeping it simple.â You know he meant nothing by it, you know it meant it in a friendly way, you know itâs a regular pet name to use in passing, but he called you babe.Â
Hearing the term of affection makes your skin crawl, you swallow a lump in your throat. You want to snap at him, but instead your voice comes out soft. âPlease donât call me that.â Peterâs eyes soften, he almost tells you he didnât mean it like that, but he knows you already understand that.Â
âNo problem, old lady.â It took a second, but you couldnât stop the laugh. âWhat did you just call me?â Peter bites his bottom lip, âwell, thatâs the opposite of babe, isnât it?â It makes your smile bigger, itâs funny, if you had asked him something that simple heâd fight you on it, ask a million questions and push it until you gave up.Â
For the first time in a month you really canât remember why you thought he was so great.Â
WEEK THREE.
Natalie Greene has her hair pulled slick back in a ponytail, a determined look and hands on her hips.Â
âLetâs fuck some shit up.âÂ
Lunch with Peter had really pushed you forward, you had strayed away from him the last few days. You still listened for him nightly but avoided him in the hallway and at school, he was everything he was not, and it made you feel queasy.Â
It was time you removed him from your life, you started with blocking him on everything. From instagram to duolingo. Then, you piled up everything he left behind or things that reminded you of him, but you couldnât touch your closet. You couldnât bring yourself to do it. Enter Natalie Greene.
âI donât know why itâs so hard for me, everything else was fine.â Natalie shrugs, your closet doors are open and sheâs itching to start rummaging. âItâs not for me. What are we thinking, trash, donate, burn? Dare I say detonate?âÂ
You snort, âthink I could do some black magic?â Her eyes light up, âIâll look up the dark arts right now, donât dare me.â You sigh, âI donât care what you do with them, I just need them out of here.â Natalie Greene understands, sheâs been there too a few times. Everything that reminds you of him burns like hell. A constant reminder of whatâs no longer.Â
Itâs only five shirts and some sweatpants but it feels paralyzing. Once his clothes are gone heâs no longer, like the last year never meant anything. He cheated but you still feel like it was real for the time you had him.Â
âShit, can we raincheck the disposal?â Natalie is staring at her phone in her hand, a worried line where her lips were. âFamily stuff.â You tell her itâs fine and send her out in a second, staring at the bag you started to twitch.Â
It felt daunting- a looming presence. You almost got rid of him but couldnât. It was five minutes of harsh breathing, then you drag it across the hall hoping Peter was home. You needed them gone.Â
 May answered the door and you feel slightly flustered.Â
âHi, May. Is Peter home?âÂ
She welcomes you in the door, skipping over the makeshift laundry bag and giving a quick but squeezing hug. âHow are you feeling?â If you had been asked that a week ago youâd fly off the handle, but this week it feels like you can breathe a bit better.Â
âI think Iâm doing pretty okay. It helped to know he cheated, it makes me miss him sixty percent less. The other forty makes me feel pathetic.â May frowns with empathy, âmy college boyfriend cheated. Betrayal and hurt is a weird feeling when mixed with love.âÂ
You laugh, âyeah, it really is.â May clears her throat, âPeterâs in his room, he may be busy with some homework.â You thank her and move down the hallway, the plastic bag follows, half of you hopes it rips because itâs what he deserves.Â
You knock and wait for his response, grunting when you swing the trash bag over the threshold and let it drop. âI have an odd request for a man.â Peter seems surprised to see you for a second, then looks at the bag and back at you. He seems a bit more weary.Â
âUh huh.âÂ
âIâm getting rid of his things and Nat had to dip, wanna come with?â You follow up with a wince, âIâm sorry, this is super weird and out of place.â
Peter shrugs, âif it helps, it helps. And if youâre serious, Iâll go with you.â You take a deep breath, healing and growing isnât always comfortable. âFuck it, letâs donate some shit.âÂ
You feel like you stand straighter walking out with Peter behind you, heâs carrying the dead weight and you feel accomplished. May has a raised eyebrow, you hold out your hand and settle her curiosity.Â
âDonât worry, justice is about to be served.âÂ
May grins at her nephew's soft smile, sheâs seen and heard about you more in the last two weeks than she has in the last nine years. âItâs sounding a lot more like twenty percent.âÂ
The moment things started turning south was at the donation center. You werenât even standing super close to Peter, or radiating an aura that even suggested he was anything more than a conveniently close acquaintance. But the volunteer at the front thought differently.Â
âAw, I wish more young couples came in, it always seems to brighten up the place!âÂ
You feel like a force of wind caught you breathless, every inch of you froze on the spot. When she says couple you think of him, but youâre not a couple anymore. When she says âcoupleâ you feel your heart encapsulate with rubble, the idea of him makes you feel sick.Â
You donât think you could ever love again.Â
Especially not with Peter, not even when he shies away with pink cheeks and tries to shrug her comment off. Itâs not worth the awkwardness of announcing youâre not a couple, you both know youâre not, and she doesnât really care if you were or not.Â
âWe were just in the mood to donate today,â he plays it off well. You chew on your lip and watch him fill out the donation slip, itâs second nature for Peter to take care of you, it was something he mostly failed at.Â
Before the attendant can take the bag, Peter stops her by hovering his hand over it, he turns his neck and makes eye contact. âAre you sure you want to do this?âÂ
Your heart pounds, threatening to crack the rock.Â
âIâm sure.â Because, you really are.Â
Peter smiles, âany last words?â You try to think of something, nothing comes to mind other than a blur of frustration and confusion. Raising your hand you give it the middle finger, Peterâs laughing at your blank face, âcâmon, you know you wanna double it.â You do, so you did.Â
It feels freeing, youâre not healed but you donât have a daunting weight on your shoulders anymore. A satisfied smile spreads, your hands drop for a second before Peterâs high-fiving you. Youâre tucked under his arm after saying his thanks to the confused volunteer, bumping your hip against his and caged in his hold you feel safe. Safer than youâve ever felt.Â
A crack in the rocks, your heart thumps wildly when he drags you opposite from where you came. âLet me buy you a hawaiian.âÂ
Peter is pretty. You could admit it. Never out loud, but youâd admit it silently. Heâs on fire tonight, keeping you laughing and talking. Heâs a perfect story teller, he has a way of pulling you in. Heâs charismatic and throws himself into every role, voices and body movements.
Your chin is resting on your hand while you focus on every word of his, entranced in his excitement. A lamp hanging over your mini booth makes him look a tad yellow, but his eyes shine brighter than all hell, you never knew brown eyes could suck you in for hours.Â
For a second your mind blips and you truly canât remember his eye color. But you know theyâre nothing like Peterâs.Â
You forget to react, because Peter cut himself off and waved his hand in front of his face. You blink alert, he has a very charming smile, you look at a table of older women. âYou good? Felt like you were trying to look into my soul.â
You canât stop it, it's a knee jerk reaction and the moment you say it you regret it.Â
âYour eyes are very pretty.â You wonât stop looking at a slice of mozzarella on a grandmaâs plate. Peter hums, nodding his head like he understands, âso you werenât trying to sacrifice me, you just got lost in my very pretty eyes.â
The crack splinters, a chunk falls off. You meet his eyes, heâs not making fun of you. You sit straighter and reach out to steal a piece of pepperoni from his slice, acting like youâre not blatantly flirting with ease.
âI just havenât noticed them before I think.âÂ
Peterâs quiet for a moment, his arms are crossed on the table, fingers tap on his elbows.Â
âWell, Iâm glad you are now.â Itâs a little too much, heâs not allowed to entertain you back, he could hurt you too.Â
You clear your throat, âI need to ask you something.â Peter stops tapping, itâs like heâs been waiting on you to say it. âYeah, anything.âÂ
You lean forward a little, âdid you tell my mom about the party last year?â He looks slightly disappointed that was your question, ânope.â Your eyes narrow, âIâd rather us not start a friendship built on lies.âÂ
Peter lights up, âfriendship?â A displeased expression was shared, âthin ice, Parker.â He seems a bit more determined to tell the truth this time.Â
Peter sits up and interlocks his fingers, âI promise I didnât tell her. Mr. Harrington did. And I know how much you like him and I thought you would stop going to see him if you knew and heâs super old so I just kinda⌠let you believe it was me.âÂ
Your heart breaks free, itâs loud and pumping and itâs making you feel alive. A sense of urgency to do something to him makes you itch, you have to pull your hands to your lap. In that second, for whatever reason, all you want is to feel his skin on yours.Â
Heâd be willing to do anything for you, even at the cost of you hating him.Â
âYouâre the most selfless person I know and itâs kind of insufferable.â Peter rolls his eyes, âjust admit you like me, god.â Your breath stutters, but you move right past it.Â
âYeah, yeah, yeah, keep talking about the petting zoo.âÂ
Peter jumps back into character, âalright, so Iâm down on-â
For the first time in weeks you slept through the night, until three am. You woke up on your own, a mental alarm had you looking out for him. After you hear the comforting chorus of movement, you hide under your pillow and go back to sleep.
Your world is falling apart. You were on the track to healing, each piece of your heart was slowly mending back together. Until news of Natalie Greene going out of town hits, you collapse to your bed with an arm over your eyes. Facetime carries her into your room.
âWhy couldnât your grandma die next month?â She nods her head, folding a tank top to drop it into her carry on. âSo true, she shouldâve known you were having a crisis.â You nod, âitâs so hard knowing the world doesnât revolve around me.âÂ
The room goes quiet as she moves around and packs. You contemplate telling her, you didnât want a spectacle and you didnât even know if or what you wanted from Peter. But damn if you hadnât been thinking about it for days. You wonder if sheâs picked up on the hints, youâd been relying on her less and less.Â
âAre you going to hang with Peter while Iâm gone?â Your mind flashes to him, the past few nights heâd sent you a few videos that he thought youâd like. And you did, even if he didnât know you as deeply as he has until recently, he still makes you feel seen.Â
He would send you things he found funny.Â
Peter sends you things he knows youâd find funny.Â
âMaybe. He buys me pizza so heâs cool to have around, I guess.â Natalie Greene snorts, âand Iâm sure he makes fun of your pineapple.â It feels like your heart shines, âno, actually. He gets it.â Your eyes flash to the top of the screen, a text from Peter pops up, you waste no time hitting the notification.Â
âWanna come have some brownie cookies?âÂ
You bite your lip, rising from your bed you shuffle into your slippers. âHey, Nat, I gotta go. Iâm really sorry about your grandma.â She rolls her eyes, âshe was super old and I didnât really know her, itâll be cool to see my cousins though.âÂ
âHave fun on the trip!âÂ
A wicked grin, âhave fun with Peter.â You donât even fight her on it, she knew exactly what you were doing.Â
Your knuckles tapped on the door, it was opened in seconds. Peter had a glow like youâve never noticed, he only got more and more pretty. A smile stretched across his face, you love how it always meets his eyes.
âHi.âÂ
Your slippers softly scrape the wood floors when you enter, âhi.â Peter gestures you towards the kitchen, and for whatever reason, you reach behind you and tug him along.Â
âOkay, okay, so what did she say?âÂ
Your legs swing on the counter, mumbling between mouthfuls of the dessert fusion youâre fully invested in Peterâs story. He had caught Mrs. Hopkins and the chef that lives on floor two in an argument, and it turns out Mrs. Hopkins was the complex's porch pirate.Â
Peter swallows his own bite, âshe asked me to back her up! And I was all like, âhell no, you stole my auntâs juicer.ââ You gasp, ânot Mayâs juicer.â Peter holds a finger up, ânah, I caught her red handed. She was so pissed and on the spot she snapped at me like, âit wasnât a juicer, it was a butter dish.âÂ
You slap a hand over your mouth, âoh no.â Peterâs eyebrows raise, turning his back to grab a glass of milk. âI wish you couldâve seen the look on her face when she realized she told on herself, it was awesome. She was spewing shit all the way to the elevator.âÂ
Finishing your treat your tongue feels thick, holding out a hand in a silent request for a swig of his milk. Peter looks between your hand and his glass, he looks weary.Â
âAre you sure you wanna drink after me? I figured youâd be scared of my cooties.â You motion for the cup, he passes it over and you wrap your palms around the glass.Â
âOh, you absolutely have boy cooties, they just become non-contagious at puberty.â Peter runs his tongue over his teeth, âI think I forgot that lesson, what else can I expect from puberty?â You laugh on a gulp of milk, âtrust me, Parker, puberty hit you like a bus.Â
He steps closer, you set the glass down next to you.Â
âIs that a good thing?âÂ
You look over his face, heâs got a defined bone structure but soft features. A boyish charm coats over him, itâs just enough of a hint of innocence you beg he never loses it. Itâs a no brainer, he was attractive, your eyes flash to his mouth, itâs a wild instinct and you try your best to shake it off.Â
âYes. Iâd say puberty was very kind to you.â Peter takes another step, âhow so?â Pretending to think about it, like you werenât already, you take a second to respond. You donât notice him taking another step.Â
âWell, you have a nice jawline.â Peter tilts his head slightly, âis that all?â Youâre not sure what it is, but thereâs an undertone and it fills you with excitement.Â
âAnd very nice curls.âÂ
âI donât think that has anything to do with puberty.â You suppose heâs right, âyouâre taller than me now.â You had an inch on him when you were kids. Peterâs suddenly right in front of you, âespecially now.â He has to look down at you while you blink up at him from the counter, âyeah, youâre like a giant.âÂ
Your mind betrays you, his lips are unnaturally pink, they look like theyâre the right amount chapped. âAnything else?�� Youâre struggling, all you can think about is him but you canât follow a train of thought.Â
âYou smell really good,â you take a deep breath when his hands rest on either side of you, heâs caging you in and everything builds with anticipation, you fight the urge to pull him in. âYouâre just complimenting me now.âÂ
You shake your head, âdo you know how many teenage boys smell bad?â Itâs not your fault, heâs so close his scent has invaded your senses, you wanted to inhale him until you turned blue.Â
âOne more.â You try to think, heâs making it very hard. It takes a second but you have one, proud to have pulled it from the chamber, a sly grin takes place.Â
âYou-â Lips on yours, it happened so fast you couldnât catch up. Mind spinning when you realize Peter Parker was kissing you, you know you should shove him off, but it feels right. Itâs over as quick as it started.Â
You just got out of a relationship, one that tugged you to one of the lowest points of your life so far. Itâs not lost on you when you werenât the one to pull away, but youâre the first one to comment on it.Â
âYou shouldnât have done that.â You werenât mad, you were warning him, he doesnât know what lies ahead.
âBut I really wanted to.â His eyes keep looking you over, was he expecting you to scream?Â
Itâs dangerous territory, your voice feather soft when it comes out. âAnd do you want to again?â Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.
It felt like the air went still in the room, everything slowly melted into the background until it was only you and him. The quiet hum of the air conditioner faded into silence, the scene music from a movie on the tv in the room behind you diluted to nothing.Â
It was just you and Peter, and he was getting closer. It was achingly slow, you know what heâs doing, heâs giving you a chance to escape. Bail before it became too real, but has he thought about the possibility of you leaning closer?Â
What are you doing?
His lips hovered over yours, when you closed your eyes he took it as permission.Â
Youâd always heard of the fireworks, that kisses are like explosions of happiness. And they were, and you loved them, but there were no fireworks. At least with him.Â
With Peter, your entire sky brightened. Little prickles of electricity dolly chained up your spine, an explosion of color in your mind. It made you starving and whole in one touch, his body made to fit against yours perfect.Â
You wonder if he has the same feeling, you think he does when his hand cups your face, the other one tugs your hip so you fit him better. Itâs bold of you, but when you feel that entranced you donât know how to stop. Your tongue swipes on his bottom lip, itâs very clear he doesnât know what to do.Â
You pull away for air, Peterâs pupils blow wide before looking at the floor. His head feels like itâs spinning, the girl heâs always wanted, wants him right back. Peter feels very aware of his surroundings, how hard his heart is pounding, how youâre holding him to you, how youâre tracing his bottom lip with your thumb, how youâre leaning back in, how heâs holding you into him.Â
You take the lead, itâs slow but you build his confidence, heâs a quick learner.Â
In minutes youâre nearly laid back on the kitchen counter, youâre about to suggest he takes it to his bedroom, but the thought of breaking away from his kiss keeps you stationary. Peterâs locked to you too, your legs hooked around his waist, keeping him as close as he could get.Â
All you can think is Peter, Peter, Peter.
He claims he doesnât know much, but it feels like heâs intune with your body. Peter matches you perfectly, you never knew a makeout session could bring so much tension. A moan pulls from the back of your throat when his thumb peeks under the cotton of your shirt.Â
Peter breaks the kiss, little huffs of air billow from your mouth while he kisses down the side of your neck. When he finds the spot that makes you squirm he nibbles gently, a hand tangled at the back of his hair lets him know heâs doing something right.Â
Especially when you arch into his touch as his hand confidently slides under your shirt, digging his fingers into the plush skin over your ribcage. âFuck, Peter,â itâs breathy and eggs him on, he wants to hear nothing but that for the rest of his life.Â
Caught up in the moment neither of you heard the door, or noticed the third person in the room, until shock spewed from their mouth.Â
âOh, wow!âÂ
Peter rips himself away, his instinct is to hide your face into his chest. Youâre grateful, it saves the embarrassment of looking his aunt in the eye after she watched you fold under his hands. Peterâs mind is racing, his only priority was keeping you comfortable.
Fuck, he kisses so sweet. Shut up! Â
âHey, May. Get anything good at the farmers market?âÂ
Blatant ignorance and casual conversation was the route he took, and it seemed to have worked. Cloth bags hit the counter, you stay hidden, Peterâs hand pressed into the back of your head. Heâs sturdy, your head lays perfect on his sternum, it was made for you. No, stop.
âYes! I got more of that european bread we really liked.â As much as you would like to be ignored, May wouldnât let you. A pat on your knee sent your arms curling around Peterâs waist, he tried his best to settle the clench of his heart.Â
Fits perfect, fits perfect, fits-
âYouâd love it, itâs roasted garlic, real pieces too!âÂ
It may be rude to ignore the owner of a home, but you werenât looking at her for another ten lightyears. At least you give a muffled response into Peterâs chest, âsounds good.â May giggles a little, you hear the fridge open and rustling.Â
âAre you gonna hide from me forever?âÂ
If Peter could play pretend, so could you. You pushed him away softly, âPeter made brownie cookies.â May raises an eyebrow, directing her attention towards her nephew. âEver since that first plate of cookies Peterâs been baking like itâs his job.âÂ
Heâs perfect.
âYou made the cookies?â Peter had told you May did, youâre sure of it. He nods quickly, âI figured if I told you, youâd think they were poisoned.â
You want his touch, you want him pressed into you again. This has to stop.
Itâs dramatic, but youâll bite. âSmart boy.â Peter has a gleam in his eye, âI really am.âÂ
May knows when sheâs third wheeling, she makes an excuse to move to the living room, Peter nods towards his room. You accept his hand down and look behind you at the door. He was frustratingly magnetic, you wanted to do nothing more than fall into bed and stay forever attached to his lips.Â
It was a new rush of feelings, most of them new and almost dangerous. You wanted to explore and learn and take some of Natalie Greeneâs advice and grow. But more than wanting, you knew you had to leave.Â
You were still healing, and if it hurt this bad with him, where nothing felt like this, you canât imagine the burn this could leave.
âI should go,â you canât look him in the eye, heâd suck you back in. Youâd never be able to leave, you have to leave.
âIs this because of May? Cause we can leave and..â You shake your head fast and take a step back, heâs too kind, too understanding, too new and thrilling and, and⌠loving. You donât deserve him or what he brings, you canât bear the imagination of what his heartbreak would feel like.Â
âNo, not May.â There was only one thing that kept you from him before, you were still pulling the same childish tricks. Something about Peter Parker caused you irrational terror.Â
âI told you, you shouldnât have done that.âÂ
Peter tries to look at you, you take another step back. âYou asked if I wanted to do it again.â He canât use logic, it wonât work here. âThat didnât mean do it again.âÂ
âYou sure? Cause it really seemed like you wanted me to do it again.â You feel choked for air, heâs backing you into a corner.Â
âYou understood wrong. I need to leave.â Your footsteps paused when Peter called out your name, a timid look over your shoulder made him continue.Â
âDonât do this. I know what youâre doing, and it doesnât end well for either of us. Weâre not eight anymore.â Your game was called, you didnât want to do this, you donât want to be mean. Why did he have to make you do this to him?Â
âDesperation isnât a good look on you.âÂ
Peter crosses his arms over his chest, his tongue swipes over his top teeth before poking out his cheek. âOf course it isnât.â Youâre very aware that he expected this to happen, he expected you to push him away and close the gates. If he did, then he shouldnât have kissed you. He brought this on himself.Â
âNothing is.â Whatâs a final blow if only to tie the bow on no future contact? Peter took a deep breath and gives you the escape you were looking for, âIâll see you later.â You shake your head, âno, you wonât.âÂ
The hallway is cold and so is your heart. Removing Peter as a potential threat didnât do much, somehow you think it feels worse than what it would be like to love and then lose him.Â
Too bad he wasnât worth the risk.Â
You knew dinner was going to be awkward. You did your best to get out of it but it was deemed impossible, you were about to gouge your eyes out of your head just for a solid excuse. But your mom said that you werenât allowed to do that. So you didnât.Â
Peter on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life. Especially when May shot you a wink across the table when he reached over your plate. You threatened your eye with a fork, your mom gave you a nasty glare.Â
âButter, please?âÂ
You cross your arms and scoff, âget it yourself, penis.â Your mom gasped out your name, appalled you would say something like that. She told you to look him in the eye and apologize, using his real name. Peter showed no reaction, chewing on a buttered biscuit.Â
âIâm sorry for calling you a penis, Peter.â It was the least authentic apology heâs ever heard.Â
âAw, let them be kids, theyâre in love.âÂ
Your knife hits your plate so hard it chips, Peter chokes on his bite, crumbs fall from his mouth as he tries to speak as fast as he can. âNo, no, May⌠no.âÂ
You feel the walls closing in, the more you run from it, the more itâs announced. You canât win. Itâs brutal silence on your end, youâre shutting down into a shell of a human.Â
âOh? I thought after-âÂ
Peter has your back. âAfter we made pizza? It was one time, May. It wasnât like I planned it, it just happened. We were hanging out and I just really wanted pizza and I didnât really stop to think if she wanted pizza, I just made it.âÂ
May plays right along, and asks you directly. âDoes that mean youâre not coming over for pizza anymore?â Does that mean youâre not dating my nephew anymore?
Peter already knows the answer, he just wonders if itâs different if his aunt asks.Â
âThe last pizza I had burned to a crisp in the oven and it tasted really, really bad. And if that was a pizza I thought I loved, I canât imagine how bad it wouldâve been if it was my favorite.âÂ
Your mother has never seen you so passionate about pizza. May quirks an eyebrow, she looks at Peter while she asks.Â
âYou donât trust Peter in the kitchen?âÂ
Youâre doing your best to ignore Peterâs eyes on the side of your face, youâre trying to pretend youâre not being vulnerable.Â
âHeâs the only person who could burn it all down.âÂ
May clicks her tongue, sheâs more focused on cutting up her dinner. âFor what itâs worth, as Peterâs aunt, heâs a great chef. He takes his time in the kitchen, he doesnât mind waiting for the yeast to bloom. Because when the dough is ready, heâs really gentle at scooping it up and helping it turn into whatever it needs to be.âÂ
You turn to Peter, he gives a shy smile. âYouâre not scared of burning yourself?âÂ
A shrug, âItâs a precaution you take each time you cook, but from what Iâve learned, burns heal.âÂ
âScars donât.âÂ
Peter tilts his head, âthey fade over time, donât they?âÂ
May speaks up, sheâs looking right at you. It goes past the depth of high school love, it goes to the deepest mark one could leave on a heart. A lover lost too soon.Â
âThey do.âÂ
WEEK FOUR
Peter Parker has been on your mind for four days, (and nights,) straight. Each morning you wake at 3:02 and hear his muffled metronome. Youâve gotten avoiding him down to a T. The first morning you woke up early to watch him leave, then planned a ten minute window in case he was running late one day, and left around that.Â
Youâve been successful so far. But there was an underlying tug that wanted to be caught, you wanted him to hold you close to him and tell you that he wasnât going anywhere and nothing safe is worth the risk.Â
Is that why you let yourself be caught by him this morning?Â
âGood morning,â it was shot over his shoulder while he locked the door. You grumbled out to him, Peter doesnât mind you didnât use words, you were directing expression towards him and thatâs enough. âWanna walk together?âÂ
The idea sends flutters to the middle of your stomach, a brief image of his hand in yours while your hip bumps against his every so often and you laugh at whatever he tells you takes over your mind. âIf you want to walk near me while we go to the same location, thatâs on you.âÂ
Peterâs hot on your heels down the steps, âthatâs a total yes.â You ignore him and try to subtly shut the main door on him, it doesnât work. âHow have you been?â Walking faster, you hope he catches the hint. Peter matches pace perfectly- damn him and his puberty bus and his big strides.
âPersonally, I have been mourning the loss of my favorite neighbor coming over.â Peter blinks at the side of your face while carrying a grin. âI mean you, by the way. In case you needed that hint.âÂ
âGot it. Thanks.â You know you need to pick a side, but something in you wonât let you ignore him.Â
âWelcome. You know, if youâre free, youâre invited for dinner tonight.â You pout sarcastically, âtell May Iâll miss her presence.â Peter bumps your arm, you feel like dropping to your knees. âShe keeps asking about you, Iâm running out of excuses.âÂ
You scoff, âexcuse what? You can tell her the truth, penis.â Peter almost loses you when you swerve around a strangerâs shoulder, in one second heâs next to you again. âAnd what would the truth be?âÂ
âYou pushed yourself onto me,â you stare at Peter in shock when your wrist was grabbed tightly, you came to a stop on the sidewalk with him. He maneuvered to stand in front of you, noticing every inch he had on you; it seemed like his playful mood vanished.Â
âHey, I was just messing with you, okay? I thought you just didnât want to talk about it, but pushing myself on you is the last thing I want you to think I did. If I made you uncomfortable, Iâm really sorry.âÂ
Your features softened, your words sent him into a shame spiral. It was annoying how upset he looked with himself, even if you had to swear him off forever, you didnât want him to think he sexually harassed you.
âI was kidding, Peter. I donât think you pushed yourself onto me, you gave me the option to back out and I pulled you in. Iâd just rather never speak or think about it ever again.âÂ
A weary smile, âthat bad, huh?â You pulled your coat tighter around your chest, the cold making the tip of your nose numb. âQuite the opposite, really.â Before you could fall into temptation and kiss him in the middle of the city, you pulled away to keep heading towards school.Â
âCan I ask what that means?â You nod, âsure.â You offer up no more explanation.Â
âWell?â You look at him for a second, âoh, sorry. You can ask all you want, doesnât mean Iâll tell you.âÂ
âYouâre gonna inflate my ego, youâre telling me it was so good you canât put it into words.âÂ
You give him a side eye, âI wasnât aware there would be so much talking when I allowed you to walk next to me.âÂ
âThatâs not denialâŚâ His cadence was sing-songy.Â
âYouâre in denial.âÂ
Peter shook his head confidently, âIâm not in denial, I am very okay with the fact I like you.âÂ
You came to a halt. Heâs not allowed to feel this way, he doesnât know what it could bring. Has he not seen what love can do to a person? Has he not watched you crumble into a thousand pieces over and over throughout the weeks?Â
And why did his confession turn every piece of rubble into stained glass?Â
Peterâs not allowed to like you because reciprocation leads to temptation which bleeds into dating where it comes to a crashing end in heartbreak.Â
You tried to put on a serious face, but you know Peter sees the mask. âDonât.â Pointing a finger at his chest, âdonât say that, donât think that, and sure as shit donât act on it.âÂ
Peter must think youâre joking because he pushes your hand down before lightly laughing. âDonât act on it? I already did.â Is that what he did? Did he plan that moment? You thought it was a spur of the moment thing, but maybe heâs been planning it for weeks.Â
How long has he liked you?Â
It doesnât matter. Youâll be the adult and end it before it can start, he doesnât know what this can do to a person. You can do it nicely, or at least try. Maybe heâd find it more sincere if it comes from the heart.Â
âPeter, have you ever had your heart broken? Like, really broken? Because I wouldnât put that on my worst enemy. Itâs a type of emotional pain that turns physical, I mean, have you ever been so heartbroken you throw up? Have you ever been so sad you donât eat for days? Have you ever cried so hard you almost fainted? Itâs shit, Peter.âÂ
âBut was it worth it?âÂ
Did he not hear anything you just said? âWhat does that mean?âÂ
Peter adjusts the strap of his backpack, âyou loved him, right?â You donât need to give an answer, he already knows it. âDo you regret it? Even with the heartbreak, did that undo all the good that came out of it all?âÂ
You lick your bottom lip, itâs been a circulating thought. Love opened up doors you didnât know were closed, in the end it was a beautiful tragedy. But thatâs the worst part, with Peter you donât know what it would feel like. Youâve only had a glimpse and it tells you that itâs something thatâs going to change you forever.Â
If Peter leaves, if Peter cheats, itâll kill you, itâd be nothing like when he did it and you canât take the gamble.Â
It was worth it with him, he made you grow. With Peter youâd take ten steps back and never be the same.Â
âThere isnât always a silver lining, Peter.â You refuse to answer.Â
âSo, what, youâre never going to fall in love again?â Peterâs matching your pace again, you canât wait until youâre in the four safe walls of Midtown.Â
âNo, I just canât fall in love with you.âÂ
âCanât is a funny word choice.âÂ
âWonât.â You exhale sharply, âI wonât fall in love with you.âÂ
Peter has no interest in your claim, âitâd be easier if you just said you didnât like me, but youâre not.âÂ
You donât have to answer, you can choose to ignore him entirely and youâll be doing just that.Â
âI donât like this conversation anymore and Iâm ending it.â It works, only for twenty seconds, but it worked until Peter thinks he has a brilliant idea.Â
âBreak up with me.âÂ
Your steps slow, his did the same. Peterâs hands were tucked in his jacket pockets, the urge to kiss him breathless unmeasurable. You fight past it, âhuh?âÂ
âYou said I donât know real heartache, so I want you to break up with me. Right here.â Heâs entirely way too amused for you, even the idea makes you feel sick.Â
âIâm not going to break up with you, Peter. I canât get another tardy slip.â You keep walking, Peter hopped to keep up. âTen seconds, just end it.âÂ
âNo.âÂ
âCâmon, itâll be easy. Dump me and break my heart.âÂ
âWeâre not dating. I canât dump you, even if I wanted to.â What happened to ending the conversation?Â
You hear the smirk when he speaks. âIf.â
âIâm not playing your word games, Peter.â Because youâre not.Â
A laugh, âthen break up with me.âÂ
You thought he was supposed to be smart. How has he not gotten any of this, does he think itâs a joke, does he think youâre playing? Peter has no idea what this means, but you do.Â
Tugging at his elbow, you stop him in his tracks. Staring into his eyes and daring yourself not to get lost, you try to make things extremely clear. âI canât break up with you, Peter. I barely made it through him. I wouldnât know how to handle losing you. Youâd hurt me too bad and I canât take that risk.âÂ
Peterâs voice is soft when he answers, you want to close your eyes and have it carry you to heaven. âI canât break up with you either. Youâd be able to hurt me just as bad.â It takes you from your trance, âyou would. Because Iâm a bad girlfriend. If I wasnât he wouldnât have replaced me before he could end it.âÂ
Peterâs eyebrows pull together, you stuff your hands into your coat pockets to keep from smoothing them out. âHey, woah, letâs pause there. You did nothing wrong. Even if you were a bad girlfriend, and trust me, you werenât, that would never justify him doing that to you. Nothing could.âÂ
Itâs nice of him, but he doesnât know that. âWe didnât talk, you donât know I wasnât a bad girlfriend.â Peter scoffs, like the idea of you calling yourself a bad girlfriend offends him personally. âHe made you cry all the time,â the words followed by your name. âBad girlfriends donât cry, bad boyfriends make their good girlfriends cry.âÂ
Peter heard you. Every time you cried, every time you felt unloved, every time you sobbed out an âIâm sorryâ for something you didnât know you did. He listened, Peter listened like you did each night. How did you never notice the universal gimmick?
If you think back, most of the bad moments were at the hands of him. And for Peter to notice when you were worlds away from his person, makes your heart wrench inside your chest. You know you already drew the line and thereâs no crossing it, but itâs nice living in a moment make believe.Â
âYouâd never be able to call me babe.â It was a shitty pet name. You never liked it.Â
You get flashed with a toothy grin. âThatâs okay, I have a million to choose from.âÂ
Or the obvious hang up, âMay would totally hate me too, she knows Iâll take your virginity.â Peter waves you off, âwe donât know that.â You quirk an eyebrow, âwe donât?â Peter corrects himself, âshe doesnât have to know that.âÂ
You chuckle from the back of your throat. âBut she will. You wouldnât be able to hide it. I definitely wouldnât be able to hide it.â Peter looks down for a second, you follow his gaze, you wonder if youâre both zoned in on a black skid on the side of his shoe. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?âÂ
âI donât know. Itâs like, you just get a lot more⌠touchy, I guess. Nothingâs off limits anymore.âÂ
A monotone reply, âyeah, that sounds like a total nightmare.âÂ
It gets too real. Make believe time is over, now you have to be an adult and stick to your guns.Â
âIt wouldnât work between us, Peter.â
You feel sad, thereâs no good answer and both of you would be left with a bruise. He wanted more than youâd let yourself give and you wanted more than youâd let yourself have. Peter was right, you could hurt him just as bad, and youâd never forgive yourself.Â
Peter made himself a constant, someone you could really rely on the last few weeks, and if you lose that you donât know how youâd ever be okay again.Â
âIf you think so.â His kind smile doesnât meet his eyes. Itâs a quiet journey the rest of the way, both of you receiving a tardy slip and parting ways in the hall without a word or glance.
Peter Parker had gotten his wish. You just broke his heart.Â
This was all Natalie Greeneâs fault. If she wasnât stuck states away at a funeral she wouldâve held you accountable and used every means necessary to stop you from going to Peterâs.Â
It could also be Peterâs fault. He shouldâve never kissed you like he did, he shouldâve never made your heart beat with purpose and left a sear where he touched. Doesnât he know you could never forget it?Â
It also didnât help that you were drunk. Not drunk enough to be slamming into walls and slurring words, but enough to stop that part in your brain to hold you back from the things you truly wanted. Like your neighbor.Â
It had been three days of nothing and that wasnât Peterâs choice. He respected your decisions too much. If you didnât want him in your life, he wouldnât be. Doesnât he know that just makes you want him more?Â
Peter wasnât at the party, you didnât expect him to be, but you were a little hopeful heâd surprise you and show up. He didnât. But that didnât mean he wasnât on your mind with each shot you took, or when you stopped for pizza with a group of friends, when everyone teased you for pineapple but you knew Peter wouldnât.Â
You grabbed him a slice of pepperoni without thinking. Or maybe you were. It was an excuse to talk to him, to see him, to touch him. You could take it home and reheat it in the morning, or you could lean into your excuse of a few too many and knock on his door.Â
Itâs Peterâs fault. He really shouldnât have kissed you like that, he doesnât understand his power.Â
Harsh banging. Itâs over your head how late it is, you have important things to do. Like, lay over his body in his bed like you kiss down his neck, or squirm with harsh whimpers when he kisses down yours. You bet he likes to cuddle too, he never did, but Peter seems like he couldnât get enough of you.Â
If you couldnât date Peter you could use him as a rebound, right?
Faster knocking, why isnât he answering? At your loudest, the door opens. He was sleeping, you could tell by the puffy eyes but you didnât look at his face too long, no, Peter was in nothing but a pair of boxers.Â
When the fuck did he get so toned? You wouldâve reached out for a light graze, but he stopped you.Â
âYouâre so lucky Mayâs on overnight duty.â No, youâre lucky because heâs half naked and sleepy, youâve never seen anyone so tempting. It feels like youâre dying and only he could save you.Â
You canât help it, your palm connects with his chest, itâs there longer than a second. Itâs less about pushing him aside and more about touching him, and he knows that. Peter talks at a normal volume for the hour, âwhat are you doing here?âÂ
Your thumb traces his collarbones, âI brought you pizza.â Your breath skips when he turns his head to the side to check the time on the microwave in the kitchen, his jawline ultra toned.Â
âAt one in the morning?â Peterâs amused, you donât think he wouldâve ever been so kind if you disrupted his sleep. You nod, âI was thinking of you.â You raise the small box, just as proof as you really did get him a slice.Â
Peter takes it with a smile. âThanks, kid.â You donât know why, but you really like that one.Â
âCan I come in?â If he thought all you wanted was to share a midnight snack, he was terribly mistaken. The door widened in response, you made sure to brush against his side, he said nothing. Â
Following him into the kitchen, you have a flashback. Itâs one you want to reenact, maybe if you sit in the same spot heâll catch the drift. A blue wave of light washes over him when his snack is stored for morning, he looks angelic.Â
You donât think youâve ever been this fascinated with him.Â
âNow I understand all the song references about refrigerator lights.â Peter looks over his shoulder, his grin makes you feel like youâre flying. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â He emerges with two water bottles, cracking the lid on yours and passing it over. His rests on the counter. He doesnât need water but you do and heâs not about to make you feel singled out.Â
You think it might be too late. You think you might already be falling.Â
âI donât know, but I just get it.â Heâs letting you do all the talking, itâs odd, youâre not used to being listened to. If Peter realizes what youâre doing, he says nothing. Maybe you just have to point it out.Â
You gesture to yourself, the real reason you came over finally announced.Â
âDo you see where Iâm sitting?âÂ
Peter nods, âI do.âÂ
Your fingers tap on the countertop, âremember the last time I sat here?â Peter breathes deep, you wonder if heâs thinking about it right now. âI do.âÂ
You wait. He makes no move. Whereâs your kiss?
âWell? Are you gonna do it again?â You pucker for good measure, just in case there was an inkling of uncertainty on his end. Youâre making it clear what you want. A faulty smile, you donât like it one bit.Â
âNo,â at least he sounds sorry about it. But he likes you, he told you himself, why would he deny you? Doesnât he know how much you need this?Â
âWhy not? If you think this is a trick, itâs not. If you want, Iâll kiss you first.â You jump down but youâre held back by a hand, heâs literally pushing you away. Itâs a feeling that causes a tug, you really donât like it.Â
âYouâre drunk,â Peter follows the statement with your name, heâs not mean but heâs also not going to change his mind.Â
You scoff, buzzed would be more accurate. âIâm not drunk.â
âDrunk enough youâre allowing yourself to have this conversation.âÂ
He has a very fair point.Â
âLiquid courage, kiss me?â Peter shakes his head, âyou made it clear nothing would happen, so nothing is going to happen.âÂ
You grin, âconsider it practice then.â Your words make him frown, âyou donât want this.â Who is he to tell you what you do or donât want?Â
âHow do you know I donât want this?âÂ
âBecause this isnât you.âÂ
You feel a tightness in your chest, he doesnât get to think he knows you more than you do. âYou donât know me, Peter. You just have an idea of me.âÂ
âYouâre hurt and confused. I wonât take advantage of that, being mad at me wonât make me change my mind.âÂ
Where was his care coming from? He didnât care about you this much and neither should Peter. It wasnât normal, was it? But itâs also not fair to compare Peter to him at every chance, especially because Peter only ever seems to outshine.Â
âWhy didn't you act like this a year ago?â If he truly cares, where was it before?
âYou mean when you had a boyfriend?âÂ
Is that why he waited until now to be a friend? Did he think youâd be sad and have weak defense, making it easy for him to get first in line? âIs that what it is? You waited until I was dumped to put on this act and lay it on me while Iâm all confused? How long have you had this planned out?âÂ
Your words are like daggers, the things youâre alluding to, he would never do them. Ever.Â
âDonât. Iâve always liked you but you had a boyfriend and the last thing on my mind was trying to get with you when it ended. You were so miserable, I just wanted to be a friend or something, but it changed and maybe a little piece of it was me being selfish. I made the first move, several times. I kissed you, I asked you out, I told you I liked you. And you said no. I respect your no, why donât you?âÂ
You could tell him the truth, tell him that he was right and his love terrified you because you havenât felt something so raw before in your entire life. Peter wasnât yours, or anywhere close to it. It shouldnât be natural to feel magnetized to him.Â
You could tell him the truth, but youâre better at hiding behind false walls.Â
âI liked you better when you didnât care about me.âÂ
âIâm sorry you feel that way.âÂ
He knows youâre lying but he wonât make you admit it, no, heâll push you into your corner of lies until you force your way out with the truth. Peter Parker will not chase you.Â
Would it be wrong to push him so far away he wouldnât let you chase him too?Â
âYou have a superiority complex. Thatâs why you canât find a girlfriend, or any friend really. You think youâre better than everyone else and itâs a natural repellent.â You back up towards the door, you spit words as they come to your mind.Â
âI was willing to do it. I was willing to give you a shot but you ruined it for yourself. Youâre going to look back on this moment and regret it.âÂ
Peter really doesnât care for your dramatics. Itâs impressive he can one, handle it and two, make you check yourself. âRegret not taking advantage of a drunk girl? Is that what youâre insinuating?âÂ
âNo! I just meant that⌠I donât know what I mean, Peter! I donât know anything and youâre not helping in the slightest and everything about you makes me want to fucking cry or scream or, or⌠I donât know.â Your voice trails, itâs the most honest youâve been in weeks.Â
âI donât know anything anymore, Peter.âÂ
Everything youâve ever thought about love has been wrong.
He made you feel flightless. But Peter, Peter made you feel free. Peter made you feel like you were flying at full speed, like the wind washes over your cheeks so harshly youâre in a permanent grin. Youâve never seen the world from this high up, in this much color, itâs never been so beautiful.Â
The flight is amazing, thinking about stopping it hurts you. How would it feel to be on the ground again, to walk around, to be without wings and treetops and colors and wind? How would it feel to be without Peter?Â
Would it feel like an agonizing death?Â
Would your wings ever be patchable again?Â
Questions that make you realize the closer you get to him, the harder youâll hit the ground. Youâre okay with falling, youâre able to brace yourself the best way you can. But will Peter be there to catch your landing?Â
It looks like heâs trying to stop himself from hugging you, itâs a good thing he is. He might be thinking youâd yell or push him away, you think youâd just cry.Â
Peter looks tired, and more than just because you woke him up. You wonder if itâs because heâs up late every other night, you want to ask him about the routine and why he broke it tonight. You wonât.Â
Your back hits the door, there was only one thing you were sure of, it had been a chain reaction since. This was Peterâs fault, heâs the one that kissed you. He started it.Â
âYou shouldn't have kissed me, you really, really shouldnât have. Youâve fucked this all up, penis.âÂ
Peterâs tired of the blame. âYou came here,â he ends it with your name, like heâs pleading.Â
Itâs annoying, at least you tell yourself it is. If you can replace feelings with antonyms youâll trick your brain and youâll be right on track to hating him again and only seeing him as a void object.Â
You open the door, itâs the last time youâll allow yourself to look at his face.
Itâs Peterâs fault.Â
âBecause you made me want to.âÂ
WEEK FIVE.Â
Itâs way too early for the hysteric buzz of a mosquito in your ear, yet, it still sings to you while youâre locking your front door.
âGood morning.âÂ
You nod your head, âpenis.âÂ
And just like that, the mosquitoâs squashed.Â
You yawn so harshly that you rub at your jaw. Youâre unable to sleep and miserable. Youâve tried everything under the moon and stars, nothing worked. Staring up at the ceiling you tried to count sheep but they kept turning into the tiny freckles that dotted over Peterâs cheeks.Â
It wasnât fair to keep thinking about him, youâre doing your part. You cut him out and you decided to hate him. Youâre just finding out that thatâs not how it works.Â
3:02, you hear his window.Â
3:04, your eyes finally get heavy.Â
3:07, youâre dozing off.Â
3:10, youâre asleep.Â
It wasnât fair.Â
Three nights later, Itâs 3:02 in the morning and a window slams shut. This time, it isnât your neighbors. This time, it was your own. You should be scared, but you donât feel threatened, youâre curious. You pull your head from under your pillow.Â
Spider-Man is at the foot of your bed, his shoulder hits the window frame when he pulls his mask off. Heâs racing for air, he looks beat up, a gash crossed over his chest.Â
If you didnât have as much distain as you did, youâd be slightly shocked.Â
âIf you get blood on my carpet, I will fucking kill you.âÂ
Peter must be dizzy, because heâs imagining you in his room.
"Seriously, if you get blood on my carpet I'll have you come over tomorrow and scrub it out with your toothbrush."
Peter tries to swallow, it's hard to do. His head feels like a brick, his hands won't stop shaking.
âHey, pesky pete, I mean it. Get the fuck outta here.â
When he holds his eyes close, then opens them, he still sees you there. Peter looks down at his hands, turning them back and forth. They go in and out of focus, itâs dizzying, at one point he has five hands.Â
He says your name questioningly, itâs hard to get words off his tongue, his brain is moving too slow. âYup, thatâs me. Now get out.â Peter touches his chest, itâs beet red. His shoulder is killing him, he stumbles and slams into the wall- now youâre sitting up in bed.Â
âPeter, are you okay?â Itâs pure worry, the act is dropped for a second, heâs not normal. Heâs not answering, you think heâs trying but he canât bring himself to speak, heâs lagging in real time. One foot hits the floor, the rest of you perched in your bed keeping an eye on his frame.
âPeter.â You need his focus on you.
He presses his hand to his wound, a last ditch effort to protect your carpet. Then, he hits the floor. You jump up, âPeter? Peter, are you okay? Peter,â heâs passed out and tore up to shreds. Every bit of you wants to scoop him into your lap and hold him tight, but instead, you get to work.Â
Peter flies up from the bed gasping for air, his face is cold and wet. The source is your twisted grin above him, a water glass held tightly.Â
âOh, good. Youâre up.â
Peter pats his chest, a blur of last night follows. He sits up in a haste, a tug in his side makes him cradle it, you both wince at the same time.Â
âYeah, I tried doing the best I could, but I wasnât sure if there was something under that.. Or how to take it off. You probably have significant damage.âÂ
âThanks.â His mouth is dry and his voice crackly, it sends a zing up your spine. Peterâs never felt so weak after a rough night, his head is pounding and he can feel the crunch of dried blood under his suit.Â
âCan I get some of that or are you still punishing me?â The only reason you give him the rest of the glass is because you like Spider-Man. He has a job to do, Peter on the other hand, could die of thirst.Â
âYou passed out on me last night.âÂ
Peter chugs the glass, you almost think about getting him another. âI did.âÂ
You nod, âI had to lug you up here, youâre extremely heavy when youâre dead weight.â He almost smiles at the imagery, instead he glances down and realizes you did your best attempt at working on the gashes over his chest and arms through the spandex.Â
Even as he was passed out and rendered useless. You must not hate him as much as you say. It's still nice to know he's not getting special treatment because of who he is, not even Spider-Man could make you like Peter.
âHas anyone ever told you that you have excellent bedside manner?âÂ
âOh no, anything I could do to make it worse?âÂ
âI think another water and some advil might kill me.âÂ
âPerfect, coming right up.âÂ
Peter takes another ten minutes before trying to sit up, âI should go home and shower.â Your hand gently pushes his shoulder back down, âeasy, tiger. May isnât home and youâre not about to turn your shower into a personal slip and slide.âÂ
Before you could regret the words, âif you want a shower, youâre doing it here.â He paused under your touch, scared you made the wrong impression, your eyes widened. âNot with me or anything, I just meant so youâd have someone around.âÂ
Peter doesnât care how it has to get done, he wants the suit and dried blood off him. He nods his head and sits up a little slower before tugging at his neckline. You look away for a minute, unsure where to settle your eyes.Â
âHelp me get my arm out?â Your hands pull at the suit, his arm escapes, itâs covered in small knicks. Itâs a subconscious move, you gently tap the cuts with your thumb. Peering into his eyes you hold a frown.Â
âDoes it hurt?âÂ
Peter feels like you might kiss his marks. âNot really, itâs mostly my side.âÂ
You rub his chest, âyou got a gash right here.â Itâs over his heart.Â
âGuess weâre twinsies now.âÂ
If he wasnât in pain, youâd slap his arm for the comment. Instead, you watch him carefully remove the red and blue until heâs left in his boxers. You do your best to keep your eyes on his face, Peter looks amused.Â
âYouâre trying really hard not to look at me.âÂ
âDonât flatter yourself, Parker.â You offer a hand to pull him up, he accepts. A slow stand, his backâs more defined than his front, you almost bite your fist. Peter has the same shower as you, but you still explain how to use it. And allow him to use your products.Â
âGot it.â The tap is turned on, the water hits against the ceramic. You make no effort to move, instead watching for a moment. Peterâs fingers pull at the waistline of his briefs, your eyes dart right to them.Â
âYou know, this is the part where most people leave.â Itâs teasing.Â
âI just wanted to make sure you got in okay, itâs a high step.â Itâs a quarter of the truth.Â
âIâll be alright, Iâve been doing this alone for a few years.â Peter says it like itâs an inside joke, but it just makes you feel sad. Heâs never had someone to be there for him, or patch up his wounds, or make sure heâs okay to shower. You wonder how many times heâs passed out on his bedroom floor with no one to drag him to bed.Â
âYou okay?â A hand on your skin wakes you back up, clearing your mind of Peter.Â
You nod, it was a flash of empathy. You couldnât imagine what itâs like for him.Â
âIâm just sorry youâve had to do it all alone. It doesnât seem fair, Spider-Man does nothing but take care of other people. He should have someone to take care of him for a change.âÂ
It may sound like youâre insinuating, especially the way he looks at you when he responds.Â
âYeah. Thatâd be nice.âÂ
Seconds tick, itâs getting a little weird, mostly because you want to tackle him into the shower and race your mouth over every inch of skin. You clear your throat, âyou want me to get you anything from your place?â
âSure. Go shopping for me.âÂ
You use the copied key May left for you several years ago when you tended to some plants while her and Peter went on vacation, and it feels weird being in their home alone. Itâs too quiet, the Parkerâs are expressive in everything they do, when they're not around everything lacks passion.Â
Peterâs bedroom is almost the same as it was the last time you were in it, the same furniture but moved around. His posters looked updated and thereâs a few extra awards heâs tucked away, you frown, he should be proud of his achievements and hang them high.Â
A new picture of him and May from last year, you ignore the part of your brain that says he has very kissable cheeks. His closet is clean and heâs made it easy for you to search around, each drawer is dedicated to a different clothing and everything that should be hung up, is.Â
Itâs something you hadnât considered, but a man taking care of his laundry creates an entire new standard.Â
Peter handed over the control when you said to get what you wanted, that means you can dress him how you please. And wouldnât he look yummy in sweatpants and a white shirt? You donât see how he couldnât, itâs the male version of a sundress.Â
Arms full of cotton, you tap at the bathroom door with your foot. You shout over the water, âI have your clothes.â Itâs muffled but you hear him and gently push the door open, a faint outline on the shower curtain suddenly makes you shy.Â
âTheyâre right here,â patting the clothes for good measure. Peter shoots out a âthanks!â and you slowly back out until youâre sitting patiently on your bed, listening closely when the tap turns off. If he goes falling, youâre busting the door down.Â
No struggles, at least not until he emerges. Peterâs fine, but youâre speechless and choked. There was no one you punished but yourself with the outfit, the t-shirt is tight on his arms and the sweatpants hug his hips just right.Â
âI feel human again, thanks, kid.â You turn on manual breathing mode and distantly nod, his biceps are stretching the cotton, you lick your lips subconsciously. âNo problem.â You watch a water droplet fall from his hair to his shoulder, your eyes stay hooked in place, his arms flexed when he dried it with the towel you lended him.Â
âWhere should I put this?â You point to your hamper, if he put it anywhere else youâd be half tempted to sniff it. âDid you tell May I was here?â You nod and finally find strength to talk to him, âyeah. I sent her a text last night, I wasnât sure of her Spider-Man knowledge so it was a little cryptic.â You take a breath and choose honesty, no doubt heâd get a third degree.Â
âI think she interpreted it as us hooking up.â Another breath, âI did not correct her.âÂ
Peter has a boyish smile spread, it squeezes your chest, you want him in your hold more than anything. âNice.â You scream and cheer and thank your lucky stars when he sits next to you. He used your products, but he still smells like Peter. You want to stuff your nose into his shirt and breathe him in until you physically canât.Â
âMay knows, by the way.â You nod absentmindedly, âanyone else?â âA couple friends.â You almost make a quip like âwow, you have friends?â but you really canât find it in you to pretend to hate him anymore. Especially when he almost died on your floor and all you wanted to do was tell him that you were sorry and you were mostly in love with him.Â
âCan I ask a question?âÂ
âShoot.âÂ
âDo the webs come out of you?â Peter lightly laughs, itâs always the same question off the bat. âNo. I make a special web fluid and I have these bracelet kind of things to shoot them out.âÂ
âOh. Cool.â Youâre hiding the burn in your lower stomach at the thought of him over his desk creating a new form of technology. Heâs so fucking smart itâs unfair, heâs too smart for his own good.Â
Heâs grinning at you, âis it?â You canât stop staring at his mouth, âyeah.â Youâd do anything to kiss him again, the last time you truly felt alive was when his lips were on yours. âAny other questions?â Thereâs one. But itâs not about Spider-Man.Â
âNot really.â Your interest could be explored later, right now, all you needed was him. Peter finds it surprising, âI think you are the least curious person to find out about this.â You shrug, shifting your body more towards him. Peter rejected you last time but if you move like he did when he kissed you, if you move in slow for the kill, you might just get your way.Â
âGive me the cliff notes.â Peter starts ticking them off with his fingers, while heâs distracted you move in closer. âBit by a radioactive spider when I was fifteen. Heightened senses plus a cool sixth sense where I can sense danger. Super strength-â You stop listening right there, your eyes are all over his build, no fucking wonder heâs a contender for worlds fittest man.Â
You shuffle in, your knee brushes his thigh, if he notices, he doesnât say anything. You thank the sweatpants, the material too thick to give you away. â-Oh, and I stopped needing my glasses which is pretty cool. I think thatâs pretty much it, but if you want me to expand on anythâŚâ
 Now or never.
You push up and straddle Peterâs waist, his hands immediately hold your hips. You lean down, his grip tightens. Peter mumbles out your name, you answer with a slow kiss. Your fingers drag through his hair, curls wrap themselves around your fingers, you hold them tight. When Peter licks your bottom lip, when Peter takes control, you need to feel every bit of him.Â
Your hands fall down his neck and over his shoulders, then they fall to his arms, your nails lightly drag up the skin. A hum from Peter, your lower stomach clenches, you answer with a roll of your hips, he sighs into your mouth. You drag your palms over his chest, his heart is at the same pace as yours.Â
You break the kiss, both of you breathing fast, it doesnât last. You kiss over his jawline, you canât hold it in, you canât fucking stop yourself. âYouâre so fucking hot,â wet marks are dotted down his neck. âI wanna take you right here, I wanna make you feel so good.â Another grind, this time, Peter moves with you, it pulls a moan from the back of your throat. The favor returned with a hickey at the bottom of his neck, it sent him falling into your hold.Â
Youâre kissing anywhere you can reach, âyou gotta stop,â it comes out in a puff. âYouâre killing me here.â Too bad, not so sad, youâre latched onto his mouth again, this time, you tug at the bottom of his shirt, it takes three times before you realize heâs not catching the hint and you pull it up yourself.Â
You study him when it goes flying, his eyes are more pupil than brown, his lips pouty and pulling a red hue. âLay back,â he does, you lean over him, youâre marking up his collarbones while his hand has a fistful of your hair. Then⌠the kisses get lower, you're grazing over his chest, delicate brushes across the semi-healed cuts, you mustâve blocked out the advanced healing perk.Â
Your hand trails over his side, you soak in the grooves and muscle, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. Peterâs breathing hitches, you keep teasing, then bring your lower body into play. Bumps and grinds have Peter panting in your mouth, you pull back, even as heâs heaving for air, Peterâs trying to follow your kiss.Â
Your fingers slip further under the elastic, holding his gaze when you tell him about your intentions. âI wanna suck you off.â
Thereâs a pause, then he sits up on his elbows.Â
âDoes this mean you want to be my girlfriend?â Does it? You donât think so. You just want him, you want his mouth and his hands and his body intertwined with yours. But to fall into him and have him see all your worst parts, to have him hold your heart between his hands and trust heâd take care of it is too much.Â
âNo.âÂ
Heâs sad. Itâs not just something you think, itâs something you know. Your heart tumbles with his face. You want to hug him, you try, but he tossed you off his lap like nothing.Â
âMay told me to get groceries today, so I should probably head out.â You swallow tightly, youâre not liking how this is sounding. âAre you mad at me?â You feel nothing but shame at his sigh, itâs debilitating when you hear his cutthroat tone. âIâm not a fucking rebound.â But he wanted to be. He wanted this. He wanted you.Â
Peter doesnât use the f word, not ever.
âWhether Iâm your girlfriend or sucking your dick, youâd still be a rebound.â Silence rings around the room. Peterâs voice is tight when he answers you.Â
âIs that all you think of me? Just a rebound?âÂ
You donât know how to be honest with him. You never have. âWould I be wrong?âÂ
âVery.â Itâs clipped. Youâve never heard Peter with an edge and you donât like it. You really donât like being on the other side of his frustration. Heâs only ever been soft and kind with you, you canât handle any more change in your life. You need Peter to keep being Peter.Â
You were so scared of losing him you went and filled his head up with words of affirmation, used your mouth on him, then turned around and shut him down. If this is only a fraction of how it stings when Peterâs upset you donât know if you could handle more. Youâve never felt Peterâs cold shoulder before and it hurts.
âIâm sorry. I didnât mean it.â Itâs bullshit, Peter can sense it too. âYou did.â You chew on your bottom lip, âI did, but not like that.â Peter seems taller than normal when heâs standing over you, you canât look him in the face, itâs nothing but being mortified. You really put your foot in your mouth.Â
âDo you even like me or are you just horny?â You canât allow yourself to answer him.Â
âIâm an idiot.â Your face turns in, Peterâs laughing at himself. âIâm such an idiot. I really thought you liked me. I thought you were trying to fight it but no, that was just me daydreaming.â Youâre looking up at him but heâs already standing at the door with his shirt on and suit tucked under his arm.Â
âYou donât like me. You never did and now Iâm trying to make pieces fit where they donât.â Heâs staring right into your eyes, he says it louder, heâs saying it for himself. âIâm not a rebound.âÂ
âYouâve never been properly loved and it shows.âÂ
And thatâs the most brutal thing he couldâve ever said to you. Your lower lip trembles with the tears pricking at your eyes, he started it and you canât stop it.Â
âI fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much, Peter.âÂ
No surprises there. âYeah, I know.â He sounds just as defeated.Â
When he leaves you cry harder for Peter than you ever did him, and that says something. But youâre not listening.Â
WEEK SIX.
You finally broke down and told everything to Natalie Greene. She held you in her arms while you cried about losing what you couldâve had. âIâm sure heâll come around babe, he likes you a lot.â You shake your head, ânot anymore. He hasnât answered any of my texts in three days.âÂ
You can at least give yourself the benefit of trying to do damage control. He wouldnât let you. Youâd sent a flurry of texts, each one more apologetic than the next, begging him for a chance to see you but he refused.Â
You think you broke him.Â
âHave you tried talking to him? In person?â You shake your head, he doesnât want to talk to you. You blew everything up and for the first time you really hate it. Two weeks ago you were begging for this but now you just feel terrible.Â
âNat, this is nothing like what I had with him and I donât know what that means.â Your friend hugged you close, âit means you love him more than you ever did him.â You swallow hard, you knew the truth but it was different hearing it.Â
It doesnât matter anymore. You ruined it and Peter wonât talk to you anymore.Â
âYou shouldâve seen the look on his face, Nat. He was fucking crushed. Itâs likeâŚâ You take in a sharp breath, youâve been beating yourself up over it since he walked out. âItâs like I used him.â Natalie Greene doesnât bullshit but sheâs still soft as ever with her response, itâs purred out while her acrylics scratch your back. âYou did.âÂ
Sheâs your best friend. She should be on your side. âBut I didnât! I just-â
âYeah, you did. You knew how he felt about you and you said no so he stopped trying. Then you showed up drunk and threw yourself at him, he said no and you got all butthurt. Then he comes over and somehow passes out on your floor and you offer him a blowjob.âÂ
Well, when she puts it like thatâŚÂ
âOf course heâs going to think you flipped your script, youâre the one who kept pushing after you told him no.â Peterâs words echo in your mind, âI respect your no, so why donât you?â Because you canât allow yourself to have him, thatâs why. But⌠you already do, donât you? Or, you did.Â
âHeâs gonna wreck me, Nat. He already is.âÂ
âBecause youâre fighting it. I get it, babe, Iâve been where you are a dozen times. But you donât get over heartbreak by hiding from love. I know itâs Peter Parker and heâs been your enemy since you were eight, but no matter how fast you try to run, heâs right there matching your stride.âÂ
You sniff into her arm, she smells like lavender and it makes you snuggle further. âI think Iâve always liked him.â You could finally admit it. Natalieâs been there for months, years possibly. âI know. You always talk about him.âÂ
You scrunch your eyebrows, âno I donât.â Natalie thinks you mustâve said a funny joke because sheâs laughing like it. âYeah you do. Sure, it might have been mean things but if you truly hate someone you donât notice everything they do.âÂ
You noticed everything about Peter and made sure to fill Natalie Greene in on the gossip.Â
Like when he cut his hair way too short in middle school and his curls disappeared for months.Â
When he slipped in mashed potatoes in the cafeteria and fumbled until he could steady himself.Â
When his cheeks flamed pink because he forgot to silence his phone during a test and the Game of Thrones theme song blasted through the room as he awkwardly tried to silence the call.Â
Then thereâs the time he stuttered when giving an answer in biology because Lindsey Snipes was twirling her hair at him. A small tug in your stomach, the answer suddenly clear to why youâve always hated her too.Â
And when he bumped a friend's coke all over his notebook and he just watched with an open mouth while all his hard work was ruined.Â
When he stumbled up the steps.Â
When he hit his head with his locker.
When he stepped on his glasses.Â
When he was tackled in flag football.Â
When he tripped over his shoelace.Â
When he got glue in his hair.Â
When he winced while dissecting a frog.Â
When he cracked his phone because he dropped it and a guy on the football team kicked it clear across the cafeteria while he laughed. That one didnât make you laugh. That one made you so angry you made a point to tell Kristina, said player's girlfriend, so she could give him a well deserved tongue lashing. And not the good kind.Â
When he fell asleep at the library and had a red mark on his cheek to prove it.Â
When he spit milk everywhere because the one he grabbed was expired.Â
When, no matter what, each time you met his eyes heâd send you a smile. And how each time there was something that made you want to give it back.Â
âNatalie,â you can hear it in your voice. Itâs dangerous. Itâs terrifying.Â
Itâs worth it.Â
âI think Iâm in love with Peter Parker.âÂ
Natalie Greene and you had carefully conducted Operation: Get Peter Back.Â
Step one: Tell him, (IN PERSON) how you feel.Â
Step two: See above.Â
There were no other steps. Natalie Greene told you thatâs all you could do.Â
One day later you knocked at his door before you could lose the small amount of courage you had, itâs soft enough you hope itâs unnoticeable, you could quit and say you tried. Your heartbeatâs in the bottom of your throat, your palms itch as you rub them over your shirt.Â
A smidge of relief, no one heard you. Youâre about to quietly escape, May doesnât let you off that easily. Sheâs surprised when your name comes from her mouth, you wonder how much she knows. âHi, May. Is Peter home?â Sheâs got a weak poker face, her eyes dart to the side of the door before sheâs smiling sweetly.Â
âSorry, honey. Heâs out with some friends.â You know heâs right behind the wood. You speak up, you want to be sure he hears you too. âCan I leave you with a message?â May stands straighter, she wasnât expecting this. âOf course.âÂ
âCan you tell him Iâm sorry? And that Iâve been way too selfish and mean and a complete and utter fucking bitch to him for no good reason for nine years? Can you tell him that heâs the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this and that I really want to say it to his face?âÂ
May ignores the colorful language and youâre thankful for it. Her eyes trail to the side again, she smiles softly. âIâll let him know.â Thereâs no need, he already knows and you both know it. His answer lies in the fact that heâs allowing May to keep up the charade. You donât know if Peter is bad at forgiveness or just that you donât deserve it.Â
âThanks, May.â You watch the door slowly close, when there's just a crack left you stop it with a hand. âHeâs⌠Heâs okay, right?â Your heart thumped slowly, youâre reading her face like itâs your job, you need to know heâs okay.Â
A tight nod. âHeâs okay.â You can breathe a little better. âGood.âÂ
You stare at his door for another two minutes after it shuts.Â
Is this an asshole move? Yes.Â
Is this worse than what youâve already done? Possibly.Â
Peter still wasnât talking to you and you only had one card to pull. He was home, but he wasnât answering your texts. You think itâs time to fight fire with fire. Youâre standing by his apartment door, and loudly talk into your phone. No oneâs on the other side, but he doesnât know that.Â
âHello? Yes, Iâm looking for J. Jonah Jameson?â Your eyes twitch to his door, nothing. You speak a little louder. âI understand heâs busy. Well I just⌠Uh huh, right, I understand, yes maâam. Is he interested in Spider-Manâs identity?âÂ
You hear something drop inside his apartment.Â
âYeah, I know who Spider-Man is.â Peter swings the door open, your phone is ripped from your hand. He glares down at the screen, youâre not connected to anyone. âThatâs a low move.â You lightly shrug, âdid you expect anything more than that?âÂ
A scoff, âwith you? No.â Your lips twitch, you have to fight the frown. You catch his arm when he turns around, thereâs no trying, heâs an unstoppable force, youâre moving with him. âIâm sorry! Peter, please! Iâm sorry, I am so so sorry and I need you, okay? I need you to not be mad at me.âÂ
Was that honesty? Were you actually being honest with him? Your shoes squeak when he stops pulling you, youâre looking at him desperately searching his face for emotion. There is none. âYouâre not a rebound. Not at all. I shouldâve never called you one.âÂ
Thereâs a lot youâve done to Peter you never shouldâve done. Maybe itâs time you start owning up to it.Â
âI shouldâve never said you were a rebound, I shouldnât have kissed you, I shouldnât have shown up here drunk, I shouldnât have kept coming back for more after I told you no. I shouldnât have ignored you for nine years, I shouldnât have shut you out when I was eight, I shouldnât have hurt you.âÂ
Peterâs not saying anything and you donât mind. You need to say this, you need him to know.Â
âI shouldnât have hurt you. I meant what I told May. Youâre the last person I ever wanted to hurt like this. Youâre Peter. Youâre nice, youâre warming, youâre always positive and you buy me pizza without making fun of me and you sign off on donation slips and you let me rip your notebooks apart and you bake me things.âÂ
You blink through your tears. âYou were there when I really needed you and you are anything but a fucking rebound to me.â Your chest feels tight, âyouâre so good to me, even when I donât deserve it. I really donât deserve it now but I really fucking need you, Peter. I know I went on this whole speech thing where Spider-Man needs someone but-âÂ
âIâm here.â Relief fills you, Peter has you tucked into his chest with his arms around you. âIâm right here, okay?â Itâs the selflessness that really gets you. Youâve been nothing but mean and standoffish but Peterâs hugging you because you need it.Â
But really, itâs because he knows he was right. You do like him. You like him more than youâre willing to admit to him yet.Â
âCan you catch popcorn with your mouth?âÂ
Peter tosses a piece up and catches it with his eyes closed. You grumble and throw your own at him, he also catches that with his eyes closed.Â
âOkay, turn off the powers and try again.â He laughs at you, âit doesnât work like that.â You huff, âwell, make it.â Peter tosses a piece up and dodges it, it satisfies you. âHa. Loser normy.âÂ
âDid you just call me a normy?âÂ
âYouâre just a boring normal person, I hate to tell you, but itâs true.âÂ
Thereâs been a brief pause in the actual relationship aspect of your friendship. Thereâs no more kissing, but youâd really like there to be. You think Peterâs starting to sweat you out and you have no issues with it. If he wants you to make the first move, youâll do it.Â
But itâs all in the timing.Â
âDid I ever tell you that six weeks ago Nat said sheâd do heroin with me?â Popcorn spills on the couch, Peterâs darting his eyes over your arms looking for track marks. âWe didnât do it! She said that if I still felt miserable after six weeks sheâd do it with me.âÂ
âMiserable? What, about the breakup?âÂ
âYeah,â you shove a handful of buttery styrofoam into your mouth. For the first time in weeks it doesnât hurt to talk about. Itâs not even a little sore, thereâs no bitterness or resentment. Thereâs nothing there. Itâs pure indifference.Â
You pushed Peter away because you didnât want him to be a rebound, you didnât want to use him to get over someone else. But you havenât thought of him since⌠since⌠you canât remember the last time you actually thought of him.Â
But when you think of Peter your heart races, your palms feel warm, your stomach flutters. His kisses ignite you. You wake up in the morning and think of him, you wake up every night to make sure heâs home and go right back to sleep. You walk with him every morning, you wave and smile at school, you come over everyday.Â
Youâre in love with Peter and only Peter.Â
âI donât know why I ever thought he was worth that.âÂ
Peter has the answer, itâs muffled around popcorn. âCause you loved him.â You pick a piece off Peterâs shirt and crunch down on it. âYeah, I donât think I knew what love was. How embarrassing.â Â
He smiles. Your eyes catch the screen again, you shuffle more towards Peter, then stop yourself. âIs it weird if we cuddle?â Peter rips the popcorn bowl between you away, heâs never cuddled with a girl before but heâd be an idiot to say no.Â
âWeird for who? Weird for me? Weird for us?â Peter doesnât care about the answer. âThose are rhetorical, just come cuddle me.â Itâs all you needed, you press up against him and wait, heâs not moving. Fine with you, you halfway lay on him, head on his chest. Youâve never been this close to him, youâve kissed him and youâve made a bold move that backfired, but youâve never been this soft or domesticated with him.Â
Peterâs heart is drumming a little fast, you make no comment. Yours is beating at the same rate.Â
You expected Peter to still like you but you havenât asked. After what happened maybe he decided youâd be better friends. It wasnât talked out, you both skimmed over what happened and started hanging out like nothing happened.Â
But it did and youâre glad. It puts things in perspective. It made you realize how much you like him. You just need to know if it made him feel the opposite.Â
âDo you still like me?âÂ
âIâm sorry, Iâve never cuddled with anyone before so I donât really know what-âÂ
âNo, I mean do you still like me?â Peter knows what you mean. He doesnât know how you think he doesnât. âOf course I do.â You peek up at him, heâs already got eyes on you, it makes your cheeks feel warm.Â
âEven after I was shitty to you?â Peter laughs, a hard laugh, you move with his jostles. âHoney, youâve been giving me shit for nine years, it hasnât slowed me down one bit.âÂ
Honey. It has a nice ring to it, you like it. But the one youâve always liked hasnât ever been uttered with endearment and you really want it, you want it to come from Peterâs voice and have it wrap around your ears while your heart bubbles up with giddiness.Â
âCan you call me sweetheart?âÂ
âIs that the one you like?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
âSure thing, sweetheart.âÂ
Itâs so much sweeter than you imagined.Â
Youâre not sure what details May knows, but she knows you hurt her nephew. She hasnât said anything but you can feel her watching your back every time youâre with Peter. Her tone isnât clipped and sheâs just as welcoming as before, but you can feel it. You can sense that she isnât fully trusting.Â
May had stared at you for a good thirty seconds when she caught you spread across Peterâs lap while he studied. You tried to focus on his rubix cube in your hand, even going as far to prove youâre not a threat by giving him a light kiss on his cheek. She didnât seem convinced, but she left it alone.Â
Two days ago she burst into Peterâs room and made it very clear that when you were over the door stays open. Peter tried to fight it, he said that you were just hanging out but she was dead serious, going as far as saying that if he couldnât handle her rules, he wasnât allowed to have company.Â
Peter didnât tell you that you were the only person with this rule, but you knew you were.Â
âI just donât get why youâre making such a big deal out of this, May. Sheâs just-â You werenât going to be involved, you werenât going to give May more ammo.Â
âDoor stays open, Peter. If May says it, we follow it.â Peter doesnât agree with you, you can tell by the way he nods his head and clicks his pen. When did you start being able to read him? And why do you like it so much?Â
But the real hint was when you werenât welcome to stay for dinner the previous night. Thereâs never been a time May denied you food, most of the times sheâd come over begging you to join so they wouldnât have so many leftovers. But last night she just suggested you go home and prepare for the next day.Â
You watched Peterâs jaw clench in frustration, then you sweetened him up with a smile and told him you were planning on leaving anyway. You donât think he bought it. You needed to talk to May, you needed to know she was okay with you and Peter, if she wasnât- no matter how hard it would hurt, youâd stay away from Peter.Â
May is all he has and youâre not going to put any strain on their relationship. Not over you.Â
Peter was staying late at school for math club and itâs your perfect opportunity. A light knock, May answers almost instantly. Sheâs surprised but she melts into a smile, itâs lacking something. âOh! Peter isnât here.âÂ
âI know. I wanted to talk to you.â Now youâve got her interest. May opens the door wide, you go straight to the kitchen for the batch of cookies Peter made you last night. You can taste the love in them.Â
âMay, I need you to level with me here. Do you have a problem with me dating Peter?â Thereâs a beat of silence, âare you dating him?â You swallow a bite, ânot yet. I needed to make sure it was okay with you.âÂ
âYouâre asking for my blessing?â You slightly nod. âMore or less. Youâve been really nice but I feel like thereâs a little tension. I feel like you donât totally trust me with him.â Confirmation, but it doesnât hurt like you think.Â
âPeterâs a sensitive boy. He does everything a hundred and ten percent. If you want him, heâll give you more than his all. Can you say the same?â Can you? Yes. Itâs without a doubt. You want him and only him and youâd lay your life on the line. Thereâs been so much wasted time, Peter couldâve been your first but you were too stubborn.Â
Peter wasnât your first, but with everything in you heâs going to be your last.Â
âYes. Iâm in love with him. I love him more than I ever loved anyone, I love him more than I thought was possible. I want to be there for him, I want to support him through the bad days and I want to be by his side for the good ones. I want him and only him, I was just too dumb to see it before.âÂ
Mayâs mouth etches into a smile, this time it reaches her eyes and sheâs hugging you. A whisper in your ear, âI always knew this is how it would end.â You grin into her shoulder, âreally?âÂ
âPeterâs nothing but determined. It was only a matter of time.â You know what that means. âAre you giving me your blessing?â She laughs and pulls you closer, âyou always had it. I just needed to know you were serious.âÂ
Time passes quickly, youâre three cookies down and youâre itching for a fourth. You swear he puts crack in them. You talk animatedly with May, youâre fawning over her own love story and hoping that that would be your future with Peter. When the door unlocks you perk up, you canât bite back your smile or tapping feet.Â
âWhatcha doing here? Hi May.â Your arms spread wide, Peter fills them. âI came to talk to May, I stayed to see your handsome face.â How did you once see it as annoying? How did you once find his smile revolting? Heâs the prettiest person youâve ever seen. You want to kiss him more than anything, May gave you the green light, you press up on your toes to give him a peck.Â
âI missed you. How was math club? Were you the smartest hunk there? Donât answer, I already know itâs a yes.â Peterâs still reeling from the kiss but he powers through. âI wouldnât be too confident about that, sweetheart.â Your heart clenches, him saying it makes your knees feel weak. âMathew Ryan is in the club with me.âÂ
âI hate blondes. I only like cuties with brown, curly hair by the name of Peter Parker.â His eyes squint at you, it makes you feel warm, you hide back in his chest. Mayâs watching with heart eyes, sheâs never seen you so happy. âYouâre laying it on thick today. You must need something.âÂ
âJust you, handsome.â Okay, you might be laying it on a little thick, but you canât hold it in. You just love him too much, itâs uncontainable. Heâs perfect. âMay, sheâs up to something. I donât trust it.â His aunt keeps grinning. âI do.âÂ
Peter pats your back, âif you trust it, I guess I have to, too.â You squeeze him tight and mumble into his chest, he still hears you. âWhat, now?â You asked if you could talk to him, it had him looking down and giving you his full attention.Â
âWhatâs up?â Your eyes shoot to his door, message received. Peter leaves a small gap in the door, you pause and poke your head out to his aunt. âCan I shut the door?â A three second count, âpermission granted.â It clicks shut, you spin, you have all his attention.Â
âYou said I was never properly loved.âÂ
Peter feels his heart drop, it was the nastiest thing he could ever say to you. Part of him wished you had forgotten but thatâs not something thatâs forgettable, thatâs something that sticks with you forever. He never meant to say it, it was something he spewed out to make you feel just as bad but thatâs not who he is and thatâs not what he does and he really shouldâve apologized way before now.Â
âIâm so sorry, I didnât mean it. It was a shitty thing to say and I-âÂ
âYou werenât wrong. I havenât been properly loved. But Iâd like for you to show me how it feels.âÂ
Your pulse rises with his silence, Peter holds out a steady hand. âJust to be clear, youâre asking me-âÂ
âIf youâd be my boyfriend.âÂ
You let out a soft groan, youâre spinning in his hold and pushing at his arms. âPeter!â He doesnât care, your feet lightly dangle, youâre laughing with him. âNuh uh, youâre not allowed to push me away anymore, Iâm your boyfriend.âÂ
Boyfriend. Peter Parker is your boyfriend. What a rush of feelings, thereâs a new one you havenât felt before. Pride. Youâre prideful that Peterâs your boyfriend, youâve got the greatest person in the world tethered to your hip and heâs going absolutely nowhere. Ever.Â
âIâve been waiting for this day since I was fifteen.â A flurry of kisses over your face, âholy wow, youâre my girlfriend. I can kiss you whenever I want, and I can touch you! Oh, and now I always have someone to eat pizza with. And the science museum! No one ever wants to go to the science museum with me!âÂ
âHoly wow?â You giggle at a string of kisses to your jawline, you never knew someone would be so excited at the thought of dating you. âWow, wow, wowie, my girlfriendâs a hottie.â You push him away with a disgusted sound, âthatâs so gross, Peter.âÂ
âOops, let me repent with a kiss.âÂ
Itâs the fireworks again. This time theyâre blinding. Your back burns with his touch, you want to swallow him whole. Itâs not lacking passion, but itâs soft. You reach for his shirt collar when he pulls away, this time he laughs.Â
âI was going to ask if I was a bad kisser but-âÂ
âNo.â This time youâre keeping him chained to you with your hands behind his neck. âBest kisser ever,â you give him a chaste one to prove it. âMy handsome baby.â Your waist is squeezed, âyouâre too nice.â He doesnât understand, heâll never be able to understand.Â
âI wasted so much time, Peter. You were right there and I was so⌠so stupid that I couldnât see what was right in front of me. I have no idea why you like me, I was so mean and cruel and I never appreciated you.âÂ
Peter has secrets too. âI was friendly, but I didnât like you. You were super aggressive and made a point to say something mean⌠but then Ben died.â The oxygen runs from your lungs, it wasnât something you thought about, you thought he didnât either.Â
It was brutal watching him and May go through that. You remember that night vividly, the night May got the call. You could hear her screams from your room, itâs something youâll never forget. Her wails, the way she begged to God that it was all a dream. You knew what happened before you could see them and the one thing you thought of in that moment was Peter.Â
You can still remember the panic you felt, the overwhelming urge to make sure he was okay. You remember your feet skidding across the carpet, the cold hardwood in the hall, the way your middle knuckle split you were knocking so hard.Â
âPeter,â itâs all you had to say. Then you were scooping him into your arms, holding him tight as he sobbed. You kept telling him you were sorry, you brushed his hair back and rubbed circles on his back. You kept him tucked into your neck while he cried, you didnât tell him it was okay, nothing about that night was okay. You remember holding in your own tears, you swallowed them down and held Peter all night.Â
Fourteen hours. You had him curled up with you while you kept telling him sorry, you had stayed up all night with him and took care of him. You got him water, you made him eat a snack, you did what you could while they slept. You did laundry, you did the dishes, you made cookies.Â
Peterâs uncle died and you made him cookies.Â
Your boyfriend dumped you and Peter made you cookies.Â
You basically lived there for a week, you slept with Peter, held him with each bout of sadness, and never ever told him it was okay. You held his hand at the funeral and kissed him on the back of it before he gave his eulogy. You made sure he was minimally functioning, you tried to keep him busy with dumb tasks.Â
After two weeks he didnât need you anymore and you slowly faded away until it settled into how it used to be. You think Peter liked it a little, not everything had to change because Ben died. But you never went out of your way to hurt him anymore, he didnât need your help in that department. What used to be petty attacks turned into silence and gentle name calling.Â
But you were there for him when he needed it. Just how he was with you.Â
âYou pulled an Uncle Ben on me.âÂ
A twitch in his lips, âyou were there for me when my world ended, I had to return the favor.â Itâs not fair for him to compare the two. âI was broken up with, I didnât have my-âÂ
âDevastation comes in all forms. Itâs not about whos is worse, itâs about being there for someone you care about.â He doesnât hide his smile, âeven if they claim to hate you for all eternity.âÂ
âI donât hate you anymore.âÂ
âSpoiler alert, you never did.âÂ
Youâve been caught. Peter knew the whole time, he was just waiting on you. âAre you sure you donât hate me? Cause Iâve been really terrible to you the last month.â Your boyfriend rolls his eyes before giving you a big hug.Â
âThatâs because youâre stubborn and didnât want to admit you liked me.â You poke his ribs, âyou knew?âÂ
âSweetheart, I knew the day you said I had very pretty eyes.âÂ
âYeah, you do. Let me see them again, boyfriend.âÂ
The last six weeks you detested love and what it brings. The disaster, the heartbreak, the pain. You never thought youâd love again and definitely not with the neighbor you hated. But right there, in his room, you felt your heart crack open and ooze onto his bedroom floor.Â
And you watched love begin again.Â
âAnything for you, girlfriend.âÂ
----
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Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]Â
c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isnât good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery
・đŚšÂ°â§â.á
FallÂ
Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic.Â
You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet heâs heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.Â
âGood morning!â You pull your coat on quickly. âSorry.âÂ
âGood morning,â he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. âShould we go?âÂ
You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesnât check it while you walk, and only glances at it when youâre taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says itâll be warm water that falls.Â
He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because thatâs where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.Â
As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and canât help wondering what it is thatâs missing. Something is, something Peter wonât tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, heâs busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.Â
Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. âI wish I had more time,â he says.Â
âItâs fine,â you say, âyou canât help it.â
âWeâll do something next weekend,â he says. The lie slips out easily.Â
To Peter it isnât a lie. In his head, heâll find the time for you again, and youâll be friends like you used to be.Â
You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds.Â
Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere youâd never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.Â
You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.Â
He feels you watching and meets your eyes. âI have to tell you something,â he says, smiling shyly.Â
âSure.âÂ
âI signed us up for that club.âÂ
âEpigenetics?âÂ
âMolecular medicine,â he says.Â
The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. Itâs still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. Itâs gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peterâs bag and sort through his jumble of possessions âstick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodegaâs worth of protein barsâ and grab his camera.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âIâm cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,â you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.Â
âTechnically, I signed us up a few days ago,â he says.Â
You snap his photo as his mouth closes around âagoâ, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. âSemantics,â you murmur. âAnd molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?â
âIt has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.â
âI like oncology,â you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, âand I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.âÂ
âI canât go without you,â he says. Simple as that.Â
He knew youâd say yes when he signed you up. Itâs why he didnât ask. Youâre already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.Â
âWhen is it?â you ask, smiling.Â
â
Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. Itâs boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.Â
He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks youâre not looking. Only when she isnât either.Â
â
âGood morning,â you say.Â
Peter holds an umbrella over his head that heâs quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the cafĂŠ, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: youâre still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.Â
âTell the joke,â he says, slamming his coffee down. Heâs careful with yours. Heâs given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.Â
âI was thinking about you as a businessman.âÂ
âAnd thatâs funny?âÂ
âWhen was the last time you wore a suit?âÂ
Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesnât know. Later, youâll remember his Uncle Benâs funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you donât remember yet. âWhen was the last time you wore one?â he asks. âI donât laugh at you.âÂ
âYouâre always laughing at me, Parker.âÂ
The cafe isnât as warm today. Itâs wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. Thereâs no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.
Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.
âYou okay?â Peter asks.Â
âFine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?âÂ
âDonât think so. Did you ask nicely?âÂ
âI did.â Youâd called him last night. You wouldâve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it âyou donât want Peterâs help, you just wanted to see him.Â
Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone youâve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didnât recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didnât matter âhe was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice againâ until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.Â
His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like heâs up late. If he is, it isnât to talk to you.Â
You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, âHere, Iâll show you a song.âÂ
He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Shouldâve Come Over. It feels like Peterâs trying to tell you something âhe isnât, but it feels like wishing he would.Â
âYou okay?â you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.Â
âIâm fine, why?âÂ
You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. âYou look tired, thatâs all. Are you sleeping?âÂ
âI have too much to do.âÂ
You just donât get it. âMake sure youâre eating properly. Okay?âÂ
His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest youâll ever get. âYou know May,â he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, âshe wouldnât let me go hungry. Donât worry about me.â��
â
The dip into depression you take is predictable. You canât help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.Â
You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when itâs dark and you know itâs a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New Yorkâs not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You canât count how many times youâve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me.Â
Youâre not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks.Â
You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you donât really care. Youâre not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and itâs fine, really, itâs okay, everything works out eventually. Itâs not like itâs all because you miss Peter, itâs just a feeling. Itâll go away.Â
âYouâre in deep thought,â a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.
You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. âOh,â you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, âsorry.âÂ
âWhy are you sorry? I scared you.â
âI didnât realise you were there.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. Youâve never met before but youâd like to see him up close, and you arenât scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.Â
âCan I walk you to where youâre going?â Spider-Man asks you. Heâs humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.Â
âHow do I know youâre the real Spider-Man?âÂ
After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldnât want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.Â
You canât be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. âWhat do you need me to do to prove it?â he asks.Â
He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. âI donât know. Whatâs Spider-Man exclusive?âÂ
âI can show you the webs?âÂ
You pull your handbag further up your arm. âOkay, sure. Shoot something.âÂ
Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine.Â
âCan I walk you now?â he asks.Â
âYou donât have more important things to do?â If the bitterness youâre feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesnât react.Â
âNothing more important than you.âÂ
You laugh despite yourself. âIâm going to Trader Joeâs.âÂ
âYellowstone Boulevard?âÂ
âThatâs the oneâŚâÂ
You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. Itâs a short walk. Trader Joeâs will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and youâre in no hurry. âMy friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.âÂ
âAnd youâre going just for him?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âNot really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.âÂ
âDo you always walk around by yourself? Itâs late. Itâs dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,â he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.Â
âI like walking,â you say.Â
Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, heâs running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. Youâre having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man youâre walking beside now.
âIs everything okay?â he asks. âYou seem sad.âÂ
âDo I?âÂ
âYeah, you do.âÂ
âMaybe I am sad,â you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joeâs already in view. It really is a short walk. âDo you everââ You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, âDo you ever feel like youâre alone?âÂ
âIâm not alone,â he says carefully.
âMe neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.âÂ
He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking youâre being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. âSometimes I feel like Iâm the only person in the world,â he says. âEven here. I forget that itâs not something I invented.âÂ
âWell, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?â You smile sympathetically. âIt must be hard.âÂ
âYeah.â His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then thereâs a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. âIâll come back,â he says.Â
âThatâs okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.âÂ
He sprints away. In half a second heâs up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.Â
You buy Peterâs chips at Trader Joeâs and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesnât come back.Â
â
I donât want to study today, Peterâs text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?Â
The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood.Â
Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. Youâd been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When youâre older! heâd always promise.Â
Peterâs waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. âLook what I got,â he says.Â
The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. Thereâs a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.Â
You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven youâve eaten from a hundred times. âThere,â he says.Â
âDid you cook?â you ask.Â
âOf course I didnât cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. Iâm an excellent chef.âÂ
âThe only thing Mayâs ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.âÂ
âHope you like marinara,â he says, nudging you toward the stove.Â
You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. Heâs dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.Â
âItâs for you,â he says casually.Â
âItâs not my birthday.âÂ
âI know. You like cake though, donât you?âÂ
Youâd tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. âWhyâd you make me a cake?âÂ
âI felt like you deserved a cake. You donât want it?âÂ
âNo, I want it! I want the cake, letâs have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, itâll be amazing.â You donât bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. âThank you, Peter. Itâs awesome. I had no idea you could evenâ that youâd evenââ You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. âWow.âÂ
âWow,â he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. âYouâre welcome. I wouldâve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.âÂ
âIt mustâve taken hours.âÂ
âMay helped.âÂ
âThat makes much more sense.âÂ
âDonât be insolent.â Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesnât let go for a really long time.Â
He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. Itâs good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.
âSit down,â he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. âRemoteâs by you. Iâm gonna get drinks.âÂ
You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. Youâre halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.Â
âI brought you something too, but itâs garbage compared to this,â you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.Â
Peter laughs at you. âYeah, well, say it, donât spray it.âÂ
âI guess Iâll keep it.âÂ
âKeep it, bub, I donât need anything from you.âÂ
He doesnât say it the way youâre expecting. âNo,â you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, âyou can have it. Sâjust a bag of chips from Traderââ
âThe rolled tortilla chips?â he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. âYou really are the best friend ever.âÂ
âBetter than Harry?âÂ
âHarryâs rich,â Peter says, âso no. Iâm kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.âÂ
âEat your own.âÂ
Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isnât that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesnât check his phone, the tension you couldnât name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. Youâre flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You wonât look a gift horse in the mouth; you wonât question what it is that had Peter keeping you at armâs length now itâs gone.
To your annoyance, you canât stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder.Â
âHave something to tell you.âÂ
âYou do?â you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.Â
âIs that surprising?âÂ
âIs that a trick question?âÂ
âNo. Just. Iâve been not telling you something.âÂ
âOkay, so tell me.âÂ
Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. âMe and Gwen, weâre really done.âÂ
âI know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.â Your stomach pangs painfully. âUnless youâŚâ
âSheâs going to England.âÂ
âShe is?âÂ
âOxford.âÂ
You struggle to sit up. âThat sucks, Peter. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âBut?âÂ
You find your words carefully. âYou and Gwen really liked each other, but I think thatââ You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. âThat thereâs always been some part of you that couldnât actually commit to her. So. I donât know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe itâll break your heart, but at least then youâll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.â You avoid telling him to move on.Â
âIt wasnât Gwen,â he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.Â
âObviously, sheâs the smartest girl Iâve ever met. Sheâs beautiful. Of course itâs not her fault,â you say, teasing.
âReally, that you ever met?â Peter asks.Â
âSheâs the best girl you were ever gonna land.âÂ
He rolls his eyes. âYeah, I guess so.â After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, âI think we were done before. I just hadnât figured it out yet. Something wasnât right.âÂ
âYou were so back and forth. Youâre not mean, there mustâve been something stopping you from going steady,â you agree. âYou were breaking up every other week.â
âI know,â he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.Â
âWhich, itâs fine, you donâtââ You grimace. âI canât talk today. Sorry. I just mean that itâs alright that you never made it work.â You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, âDoesnât make you a bad person. Youâre never a bad person, Peter.âÂ
âI know. Thank you.âÂ
âYouâre welcome. You donât need me to tell you.âÂ
âItâs nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.âÂ
You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I shouldâve said it the moment I got home.Â
Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.Â
Good, because I have so much Iâm keeping to myself.
You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.Â
âÂ
He visits with a whoop. You donât flinch when he lands âyouâd heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.Â
âSpider-Man,â you say.Â
âWhatâs that about?âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âThe way you said that. You laughed.â Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. Heâs got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but itâs not as though each of his fights are bloodless. Theyâre infamously gory on occasion.
âDid you get hurt?â you ask. Youâre worried. You could help him, if he needs it.Â
âAw, this? Thatâs a scratch. Thatâs nothing, donât worry about it. Iâve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.âÂ
You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and itâs not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm.Â
Peterâs not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter canât jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has.Â
âWhat?â he asks.Â
âSorry. You just reminded me of someone.âÂ
His voice falls deeper still. âSomeone handsome, I hope.âÂ
You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesnât follow, you add, âYes, heâs handsome.âÂ
âI knew it.â
âWhat do you look like under the mask?â
Spider-Man laughs boisterously. âI canât just tell you that.âÂ
âNo? Do I have to earn it?âÂ
âItâs not like that. I just donât tell anyone, ever.âÂ
âNobody in the whole world?â you ask.Â
The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps thatâs all Novemberâs are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesnât part from you.Â
âTell me something about you and Iâll tell you something about me,â Spider-Man says. âIâll tell you who knows my identity.âÂ
âWhat do you want to know about me?â you ask, surprised.Â
âA secret. Thatâs fair.âÂ
âHold on, howâs that fair?â You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. âWhat use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesnât bring me any closer to the truth.âÂ
âItâs not about who knows, itâs about why I told them.â Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Manâs side. He shakes himself off. âJerk!â he shouts after the car.Â
âMy secrets arenât worth anything.â
âI doubt that, but if thatâs true, that makes it a fair trade, doesnât it?âÂ
He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, âAlright, useless secret for a useless secret.âÂ
You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they arenât useless, then, so you move on.Â
âOh, I know. I hate my major.â You grin at Spider-Man. âThatâs a good one, right? No one else knows about that.âÂ
âYou do?â Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.Â
âI like science, I just hate math. Itâs harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.âÂ
Spider-Man doesnât drag the knife. âOkay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.â He clears his throat. âI told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. Iâm trying really hard not to tell anybody else.â
âHow come?âÂ
âIt just hurts people.âÂ
You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.Â
âTell me another one,â he says.Â
âWhat for?âÂ
âI donât know, just tell me one.âÂ
âHow do I know you arenât extorting me for something?â You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. âYouâll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.âÂ
âIâm not showing you anything,â he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.Â
Peterâs shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesnât ask for secrets. He doesnât have to. (Or, he didnât have to, once upon a time.)Â
âWhere are you going?â Spider-Man asks.Â
âOh, nowhere.âÂ
âSeriously, youâre out here walking again for no reason?âÂ
âI like to walk. Itâs not like itâs dark out yet.â Youâre not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden âFlushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. âWalk me to Kissena?â you ask.Â
âSure, for that secret.âÂ
You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. Itâs exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why youâd want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.Â
âI burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,â you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. âIt blistered and I cried when I did it, but I havenât told anyone about it.âÂ
âWhy not?â he asks.Â
He shouldnât use that tone with you, like heâs so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they donât, and half the time youâre embarrassed.Â
You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. âI didnât think about it at first. Iâm used to keeping things to myself. And then I didnât tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldnât make sense. Like, bringing it up when itâs a scar wonât do much.â Itâs a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.
âIt was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.âÂ
âMaybe Iâll tell someone tomorrow,â you say, though you wonât.Â
âThanks for telling me.â
The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be.Â
âThis is pretty far from Trader Joeâs,â he comments, like heâs read your mind.Â
âJust an hour.âÂ
âAre you kidding? Itâs an hour for me.âÂ
âThatâs not true, Spider-Man, Iâve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,â âyou try to meet his eyes despite the maskâ âmy heart in my throat. Werenât you scared?â
âIs that the secret you want?â he asks.Â
âI get to choose?âÂ
Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Parkâs playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.Â
âIf you want to,â he says.Â
âThen yeah, I want to know if you were scared.âÂ
âI didnât haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?â He shifts from one foot to the other. âI donât think Iâve ever thought about it before. I wasnât scared of the height, if thatâs what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didnât have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.âÂ
âWhen they lined up the cranesââ
âIt felt like flying,â Spider-Man interrupts.Â
âLike flying.â
You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do.Â
âThatâs a good secret.â You offer a grateful smile. âIt doesnât feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.âÂ
âSo tell me another one,â he says.Â
â
Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where youâd text him and heâd ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasnât that you couldnât like him, angry as he was; thereâs always been something about his eyes when heâs upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, itâs an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.Â
It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where heâd been. Skating, heâd always say. Most of the time he didnât have his skateboard.Â
Youâd only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing heâd kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.Â
Youâd always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter âwhether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyoneâ it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course youâll fit, of course you couldnât go home, not this late, May wonât care if we keep the door open âthe suggestion that the door being closed mightâve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.Â
Now youâre nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasnât tried to stop her, but heâs still busy.Â
âWhatever,â you say, taking a deep breath. Youâre not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time wonât change a thing. âItâs fine.âÂ
âIâd hope so.âÂ
You swing around. âDonât do that!â
Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. âI called out.âÂ
âYou did?âÂ
âI did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesnât know how to get a goddamn taxi!âÂ
âI like to walk,â you say.Â
âYeah, so youâve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? Itâs freezing out, Miss Bennett!âÂ
âItâs not that bad.â You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. âIâm fine.âÂ
âWhatâs wrong with staying at home?âÂ
âThatâs not good for you. And youâre one to talk, Spider-Man, arenât you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.âÂ
âI donât do this every night.âÂ
âDonât you get tired?â
Spider-Manâs eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. âNo, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?âÂ
âI donât know. Youâre in a full suit, I canât tell. I guess you donât⌠seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.âÂ
âWant me to do one?âÂ
âOn command?â You laugh. âNo, thatâs okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.âÂ
âSo where are you heading today?â he asks.Â
Thereâs a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. Youâre surprised he canât feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. âI can see your stubble.âÂ
He yanks his mask down. âHasty getaway.âÂ
âA getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, thatâs not very gentlemanly.âÂ
You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. Itâs cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)
âLuckily for you, crime is slow tonight,â he says.Â
âLucky me?â You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. âYou realise Iâve managed to get everywhere Iâm going for the last two decades without help?âÂ
âI assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.âÂ
âThatâs what you think. I was a super independent toddler.âÂ
Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. âSure you were.âÂ
âIs there a reason youâre escorting me, Spider-Man?â you ask.Â
âNo. Iâ I recognised you, I thought Iâd say hi.âÂ
âHi, Spider-Man.âÂ
âHi.âÂ
âCan I ask you something? Do you work?âÂ
Spider-Man stammers again, âIâ yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.âÂ
âI was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.â You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. âI couldnât do what you do.âÂ
âYeah, you could.âÂ
He sounds sure.Â
âHow would you know?â you ask. âMaybe Iâm awful when youâre not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.âÂ
âNo, you donât. Youâre not awful. Donât ask me how I know, âcos I just know.âÂ
You try not to look at him. If you look at him, youâre gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. âWell, tonight Iâm going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said heâd buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Bennyâs. Have you tried that?âÂ
Spider-Man takes a big step. âTonight?â he asks.Â
âYep, tonight. Thatâs where Iâm going, the Cinemart.â You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. âAre you okay? You look like youâre gonna throw up.âÂ
âI can hearâ something. Someoneâs crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?â He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. âBye!â he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.Â
Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. Heâs lithe. Â
Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than youâd agreed to meet.Â
âSorry!â he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. âGod, Iâm sorry! Iâm so sorry. You should beat me up. Iâm sorry.âÂ
âWhat the fuck happened?â you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. âYouâre sweating like crazy, your hairâs wet.âÂ
âI ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Donât answer that. Fuck, do we have time?âÂ
You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. âYou couldâve called me,â you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, âwe couldâve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?âÂ
âForget about my favourite girl? How could I?â He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. âNow shh,â he whispers, âfind the seats, donât miss the trailers. You love them.âÂ
âYou love themââ
âIâll get popcorn,â he promises, letting the door close between you.Â
Youâre tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.Â
You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand.Â
â
WinterÂ
Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as youâre walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. Heâs friendly, and youâre getting used to his company.Â
One night, youâre almost home from Trader Joeâs, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, âHey! Running girl! Wait a second!âÂ
Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You donât know his name, but Spider-Manâs a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.
He jogs toward you.Â
You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.Â
âHey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?âÂ
You blink as fat rain lands on your face.Â
âYou okay?â Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. Itâs sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. âCome on, letâs go,â âhe takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside himâ âitâs freezing!âÂ
âPeterââ
âJesus Christ!âÂ
âPeter, what are you doing here?â you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.Â
Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.Â
âI wanted to see you. Is that allowed?âÂ
âNo.âÂ
Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. âNo?â he asks, a hairâs width from murmuring.Â
âShit, my groceries are soaked.âÂ
âItâs all snacks, itâs fine,â he says, pulling you to the stairs.Â
You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in.Â
Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same.Â
âSorry I didnât ask,â Peter says.Â
âWhat, to come over? Itâs fine. I like you being here, you know that.âÂ
All your favourite days were spent here or at Peterâs house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, âYou okay?â with a meagre nod.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks eventually. âYouâre so quiet.âÂ
Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. ââM thinking,â you say.Â
âAbout?âÂ
About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, âcos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week heâd barge into the club room and say, âFuck, Iâm sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,â until it turned into its own joke.Â
Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.Â
âFuck,â heâd said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, âsorry. My last class is onââ
But he didnât finish. Youâd laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasnât about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.Â
But Peterâs been distant for a while now, because Peterâs Spider-Man.Â
âDo you remember,â you say, not willing to share the whole truth, âwhen you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?âÂ
âSo you didnât need me,â he says.Â
âI was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.âÂ
Peter holds your gaze. âIs that really what you were thinking about?âÂ
âJust funny,â you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. âSo much has changed.âÂ
âNot that much.âÂ
âNot for me, no.âÂ
Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. Heâs found a crack in you and heâs gonna smooth it over until you feel better. Youâre expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but youâre not expecting the way he pulls you in âyouâd slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. Itâs really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. Heâs never looked at you like this before.
âI donât want you to change,â he whispers.Â
âI want to catch up with you,â you whisper back.Â
âCatch up with me? Weâre in the exact same place, arenât we?â
âI donât know, are we?âÂ
Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. âOf course we are.âÂ
Peter⌠What is he doing?Â
You let yourself relax against him.Â
âYou do change,â he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, âyou change every day, but you donât need to try.âÂ
âI just⌠feel like everyone around me isâŚâ You shake your head. âEveryoneâs so smart, and they know what theyâre doing, or theyâreâ theyâre special. I donât know anything. So I guess lately Iâve been thinking about that, and then youââ
âWhat?âÂ
You can say it out loud. You could.Â
âPeter, youâreâŚâÂ
âIâm what?â he asks.Â
His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.Â
If you're wrong, heâll laugh. And if youâre right, he mightâ might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like itâs gonna put you to sleep.Â
Heâs Spider-Man.Â
It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course itâs Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete.Â
Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesnât tell you much, but you trust him.Â
You wonât make him say anything, you decide. Not now.Â
You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.Â
âI was thinking about you,â he says.Â
âYeah?âÂ
âYouâre quieter lately. I know youâre having a hard time right now, okay? You donât have to tell me. Iâm here for you whenever you need me.âÂ
âYeah?â you ask.
âYou used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldnât be home to make sure I wasnât alone.â Peterâs breath is warm on your forehead. âI donât know what youâre worried about being, but Iâm with you,â he says, âân nothing is gonna change that.âÂ
Peter isnât as far away as you thought.Â
âThank you,â you say.Â
He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand.Â
âCan I stay over tonight?â he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.Â
âYeah, please.âÂ
His thumb strokes your cheek.Â
â
Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as youâve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.Â
Heâs alive and well, as evidenced by Peterâs continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesnât drop in on your nightly walks.Â
You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peterâs increasing affection, but now that you know heâs Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you wouldâve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know heâd do to you. After all, heâs been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parkerâs ears.Â
You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peterâs out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesnât seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connorsâ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition.Â
Itâs not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what heâd said, how he wasnât scared, but not being scared doesnât mean he wasnât hurting.Â
You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You donât mind when Peter doesnât answer your texts anymore. You didnât mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesnât text you back you convince yourself that heâs been hurt, or that heâs swinging across New York City about to risk his life.
Itâs not a good way to live. You canât stop giving into it, is all.Â
In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesnât lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording.Â
âHey,â he says, âyou all right?âÂ
âShould you be up there?â the person recording shouts.Â
âIâm fine up here!âÂ
âAre you really Spider-Man?âÂ
âSure am.âÂ
âAre you single?âÂ
Peter laughs like crazy. How you didnât know it was him before is a mystery âit couldnât sound more like him. âIâve got my eye on someone!â he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when heâs Spider-Man lost to a good mood. Â
Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button.Â
âHello?â Peter asks.Â
You bring the phone snug to your ear. âHey, Peter.âÂ
âHi, are you busy?âÂ
âNot really.âÂ
âDo you wanna come over? I know itâs late. Come stay the night and tomorrow weâll go out for breakfast.âÂ
âIs Aunt May okay with that?âÂ
âSheâs staring at me right now shaking her head, but Iâm in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?âÂ
âSheâs always allowed as long as you keep the door open.â
You laugh under your breath at Mayâs begrudging answer. âAre you sure sheâs alright with it?â you ask softly. âI donât want to be a burden.âÂ
âYou never, ever could be. Iâm coming to your place and weâll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?âÂ
âNot yet, butââ
âOkay, Iâll make you something when you get here. Iâll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?âÂ
âI have to shower first.âÂ
âTwenty five?âÂ
You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing youâre not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. âHow about Iâll see you at seven?âÂ
âItâs a date,â he says.Â
âMm, put it in your calendar, Parker.âÂ
â
Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. âYouâre gonna get sick.âÂ
âIâll dry fast,â you say. âI took too long finding my pyjamas.âÂ
âI have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.â Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. âI wouldâve waited,â he says.Â
âItâs fine.â
âItâs not fine. Are you cold?âÂ
âPete, itâs fine.âÂ
âYou always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,â he laughs, âsuper stern.âÂ
âIâm not stern. Look, take me home, please, Iâm cold.âÂ
âYou said it wasnât cold!âÂ
âItâs not, Iâm just dampââ Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. âHandsy!â
âYou like it,â he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.Â
âI donât like it,â you lie.Â
âOkay, you donât like it, and Iâm sorry.â Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. âNow letâs go. I gotta feed you before midnight.âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
âApparently, nothing is.âÂ
Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, youâve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.Â
âI see Peter hasnât won this argument yet,â you say in way of greeting. Peterâs desperate to do his own laundry now heâs getting older. May wonât let him.Â
âNo, he hasnât.â She looks you up and down. âItâs nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me youâve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Canât you buy a treadmill?â she asks.Â
âMay!â Peter says, startled.Â
âI like walking, I like the air,â you say.
âCanât exactly call it fresh,â May says.Â
âNo, but itâs alright. It helps me think.âÂ
âIs everything okay?â May asks, putting her hand on her hip.Â
âOf course.â You smile at her genuinely. âI think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I donât know what Peter told you, but Iâm not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.â
She softens her disapproving. âGood, honey. Thatâs good. Peterâs gonna make you some dinner now, right?âÂ
âYeah, Aunt May, Iâm gonna make dinner,â Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.Â
Peter shouldnât really know that youâve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joeâs or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you havenât mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. Thatâs information he wouldnât know without Spider-Man.Â
He seems to be hoping you wonât realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that heâs about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. âWarm up,â he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.
He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peterâs a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles.Â
âI can do the dishes,â you say. You might need a breather.Â
âAre you kidding? Iâm gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.â Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. âWarmer. Good job.âÂ
You shrug away from his hand. âLoser.âÂ
âConcerned friend.âÂ
âHandsy loser.âÂ
âShut up,â he mumbles.Â
As flustered as youâve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When heâs done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.Â
You look down at your socks. Peterâs room is on the smaller side, but itâs never been as startlingly small as it is when Peterâs socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.Â
âThereâs chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,â he says.Â
You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think youâre in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. âIâm all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go âcos you think I do then Iâm fine.âÂ
âThatâs such a long answer,â he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. âYou donât have to say all of that, just tell me no.âÂ
âI donât want ice cream.âÂ
âWasnât that easy?â he asks.Â
âWell, no, it wasnât. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.âÂ
âBecause Iâm adorable?âÂ
âPersistent.âÂ
âYeah, I guess I am.â He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.Â
âPeterâŚ?â you murmur.Â
âWhat?â he murmurs back.Â
You touch a knuckle to his chest. âThisâ YouâŚâ Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once âPeter doesnât like you as you desire, how could he, you arenât beautiful like he is, arenât smart, arenât brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. Itâs why his being with Gwen didnât hurt; she made sense. And for months now youâve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But itâs not you, itâs never you, and whatever Peterâs trying to do nowâ
âHey, you okay?â he asks, taking your face into his hand.Â
âWhat are you doing?âÂ
âWhat?â He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. âI canât hear you.â Â
You raise your voice. âWhy did you invite me over tonight?âÂ
ââCos I missed you?âÂ
âI used to think you didnât miss me at all.âÂ
Peter winces, hurt. âHow could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? Itâs like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.âÂ
You bite the inside of your bottom lip. ââŚCollege isnât hard for you.âÂ
âItâs not easy.â He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. âWhatâs wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?âÂ
Youâre being wretched, you know, saying it isnât hard for him. âYou didnât. Really, you didnât.âÂ
âBut why are you upset?â he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.
âIâm notââ
âYou are. Itâs okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?â He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. âEven if it takes a long time.âÂ
âIâm fine.âÂ
âYouâre not fine.â
âHow would you know?â you finally ask.Â
Peter stares at you.Â
âI know you,â he says carefully, âand I know you arenât struggling like you were, but that doesnât mean it didnât happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.âÂ
âI didnât realise that I was,â you say, licking your lips, ââtil now. I didnât get that it was on the surface.â
Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. âIâm here for you forever, and Iâll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,â he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.
After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peterâs bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall.Â
Things arenât meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you âholding youâ was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like itâs an impossibility?
When he comes back, youâll apologise. He hasnât done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but donât you keep one too? Heâs Spider-Man. Youâve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.Â
You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.
Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.Â
âAre you sure thereâs nothing wrong?â he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.Â
âIâm sorry for being weird.âÂ
âYouâre not weird,â Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.Â
âItâs just âcos things have been different between us.â And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because youâre not just Peter anymore, youâre Spider-Man. Iâm only me, and I canât do anything to protect you.
Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up.Â
âYeah, they have been. Good different?â he asks hesitantly.Â
âI think so,â you say, quiet again.Â
âThatâs what I thought.âÂ
âI donât want you to feel like I donât want to be here. I just worry about you.âÂ
Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. âDonât worry about me,â he says, âJesus, please donât. Thatâs the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.âÂ
You curl into the lump of comforter youâd made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like itâs golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupidâs bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?
You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead.Â
You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.Â
âAm I going too fast?â Peter murmurs.Â
You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.Â
âIs it something else?âÂ
You donât move.Â
âDo you want me to stop?â he asks.Â
âNo.â
Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. âAlright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. Youâre still cold.âÂ
You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh.Â
He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, âIs this alright?âÂ
âYeah.âÂ
He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. âPlease donât take this in a way that I donât mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry youâre gonna get stuck in your head forever.âÂ
âI like thinking.âÂ
âI hate it,â he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, âwe should never do it ever again.âÂ
âIâll try not to.âÂ
âWould you? For me?âÂ
You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. âIâll do my best.âÂ
âGood. Iâd miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.âÂ
You relax under his arm. You arenât sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. âIâd miss you too.â
May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesnât flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. Heâs holding your arm, and youâre snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.Â
âDoor open,â she says.Â
âNot that either of us want it closed, May, but weâre adults.âÂ
âNot while Iâm still washing your clothes, youâre not.âÂ
He snorts. âGoodnight, Aunt May. The door isnât gonna close, I promise.âÂ
âI know that,â she says, scornful in her pride. âYouâre a good boy.â She lightens. âThings are going okay?âÂ
Peter covers your ear. âGoodnight, Aunt May.âÂ
âI have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I canât ask a simple question?âÂ
âI love you,â Peter sing-songs.Â
âI love you, Peter,â she says. âDonât smother the girl.âÂ
âI wonât smother her. Itâs in my best interest that she survives the night. Sheâs buying my breakfast tomorrow.âÂ
âPeter Parker.âÂ
âIâm kidding,â he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. âJust messing with you, May.âÂ
You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers. Â
â
To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book sheâd given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.Â
You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. Itâs chemistry, sure, but itâs biology too, wrapping your and Peterâs interests up neatly. If it werenât for Peter you doubt youâd love science as much as you do. Heâs always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it.Â
Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!Â
The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway.Â
But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Manâs webbing.Â
You wait until youâre at the alleyway between Portoâs Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.Â
âSpider-Man?â you ask, shoulders tensed in case itâs not who you think.Â
âWhat are you doing?â he asks.
You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. âShit, donât break your ankles.âÂ
âMy ankles?â He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you donât know; what a fool youâd been for falling for his put upon tenor. âTheyâre fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?âÂ
âYou just dropped down twenty feet!âÂ
âItâs more like thirty, and Iâm fine. You understand the super part of superhero, donât you?âÂ
âWho said youâre a superhero?âÂ
âNice. What are you doing down here?âÂ
âI was testing my theory. Youâre following me.âÂ
âNo, Iâm visiting you, itâs very different,â he says confidently.Â
âYou havenât come to see me for weeks.âÂ
âYes, well, Iââ Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. âHey, youâre the one who told me to take a day off.âÂ
âI did tell you to take a day off. Itâs not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. Thatâs a lot of responsibility for one person to have.âÂ
âBut itâs my responsibility,â he says easily. âNo point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I donât mind it.âÂ
âDo you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?â you ask, cheeks hot.Â
âNo,â he says, fondness evident even through the mask, âjust you.âÂ
âDo you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but itâs not that far.âÂ
Spider-Man nods. âYeah, Iâll walk you back.âÂ
He doesnât hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You canât believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he canât pretend to save his life.Â
âAre you having a good semester?â he asks.Â
âItâs getting better. Iâm glad I stuck with it. I love biology, itâs so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, itâs not something everyone understands.â You give him a look, and you give into temptation. âMy best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.âÂ
âItâs definitely for dorks.âÂ
âRight, but I love being one.â You offer a useless secret. âI like to think that itâs why weâre such great friends.âÂ
âMe and you?â Spider-Man asks hoarsely.Â
âMe and Peter.â You elbow him without force. âWhy, do you like science?âÂ
âI love itâŚâÂ
âYou know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like weâve been friends for a long time.â Youâre teasing poor Peter.Â
He doesnât speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise heâs stopped, you turn back to see him.Â
Peterâs gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. Itâs the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didnât want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: youâd meant to wind him up, not make him panic.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask. âCan you hear something?âÂ
âNo, itâs not thatâŚâ Heâs masked, but you know him well enough to understand why heâs stopped.Â
âItâs okay,â you say.Â
âItâs not, actually.âÂ
âSpider-Man.â You take a step toward him. âItâs fine.â
He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. âDo you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?âÂ
âYeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. Itâs not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.âÂ
âI know you were,â he says, emphasis on know, like itâs a different word entirely.Â
âBut meeting you really helped. If it werenât for you, for Peter,â âyou give him a searching lookâ âI wouldnât feel better at all.âÂ
âIt wasnât his fault?â he asks. âHe was your friend, and you were lonely.âÂ
âNoââ
âHe didnât know what was going on with you, he didnât have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldnât tell anybody, and I know it wasnât an accident, so what was his excuse?â His voice burns with anger. âItâs his fault.âÂ
âOf course it wasnât your fault. Is that what you think?â You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. âYes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I donât know many people and Iâ Iâ I hurt myself, and it wasnât as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?âÂ
âPeterâs fault,â he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesnât bother enthusing it with much gusto.Â
âPeter, none of it was your fault.â You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, donât let me ruin this. âI was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasnât your fault, thatâs just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasnât as bad as you think it was and it wasnât your fault.âÂ
âI wasnât there for you,â he says. âAnd Iâve been lying to you for a long time.âÂ
âYou couldnât tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.âÂ
ââŚI didnât even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.âÂ
You hold your hands behind your back. âWell, he was a familiar one.âÂ
Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms arenât in his reach. âItâs not because I didnât want you.âÂ
âPeter,â you say, squirming.Â
He steps back.Â
âI have to go,â he says.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âI have toâ I donât want to go,â he says earnestly, âsweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But Iâll come back, Iâllâ Iâll come back,â he promises.Â
And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.
â
You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isnât there. You check your phone but he hasnât texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasnât been seen.Â
You arenât sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said heâd come back, but he didnât, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what youâd say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?
Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? Itâs different for him. It isnât like heâs in love with you⌠youâd just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache youâd suffered before.Â
But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.Â
â
You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and youâd found yourself attached to the Modeâs beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that itâs your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.Â
You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you canât stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. Itâs served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.Â
The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time youâve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you.Â
Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon youâll be ready to talk about it. Â
The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, youâre supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.Â
You put your face in your hand. Next year, youâll avoid the insect-based electives.Â
Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes.Â
You donât raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.Â
âDid you eat breakfast?â Peter asks quietly.Â
His voice is gentle, but hoarse.Â
You tense.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. âYou donât look like yourself. Your eyes are red.âÂ
You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.Â
âWhat are you reading?â He frowns at you. âPlease donât cry.âÂ
You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. âIâm okay.âÂ
He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. âCan you tell me you didnât wait long for me?âÂ
âTen minutes,â you lie.Â
âOkay. Iâm sorry. There was a fire.â He rubs your arm where heâs holding you. âIâm sorry.âÂ
âWill you go half?â you ask, nodding to the sandwich heâs brought you. Itâs tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. Youâve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.Â
âI know youâre hungry,â you say, tapping his elbow, âjust eat.âÂ
You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peterâs here, you donât feel so sick âheâs not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach wonât be ignored.Â
Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. Youâve never seen him stop before heâs done.
âIt was in the apartments on Vernon. Iâ I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.âÂ
You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. âAre you hurt?â you ask, coughing.Â
He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. âHow long have you known it was me?â he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.Â
You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. âThe night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ârunning girlâ. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,â âyou whisper, weary of the quiet cafeâ âSpider-Man, and I realised itâs him that sounds like you. That he is you.âÂ
âWas that disappointing?âÂ
âPeter, youâre, like, my favourite person in the world,â you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. âWhy would that be disappointing?âÂ
âI thought maybe you think heâs cooler than me.âÂ
âHe is cooler than you, Peter.â You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. âI guess youâre the same person, right? So heâs just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.âÂ
âYou flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.â
âWell, he flirted with me first.âÂ
You chance a look at his face. From that moment you canât look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way heâs looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didnât get it then, but youâre starting to understand now.
âIâve made a mess of everything,â he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. âI havenât been honest with you.âÂ
âI havenât, either.âÂ
âI want to ask you for something,â Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. âYou can say no.âÂ
âYouâre hard to say no to.âÂ
âI need you to talk to me more,â âand here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your spaceâ ânot just because I love your voice, or because you think so much Iâm scared youâll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.â
We do, you think morosely.Â
âItâs not your fault,â he adds, the hand that isnât holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, âitâs mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldnât have let it be a secret for so long.âÂ
âNo, I doubt theyâre stupid,â you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. âItâs not easy to tell someone youâre a hero.â
His palm smells like smoke.Â
âThatâs not the secret I meant,â he says.Â
You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
âSo tell me.â
The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. âYou want to trade secrets again?â he asks.Â
âPlease.âÂ
âOkay. Okay, but I donât have as many as you do,â he warns.Â
âI find that hard to believe.âÂ
âI donât. Itâs not a real secret, is it? Iâve been trying to show you for weeks, weâŚâ
He tilts his head invitingly.Â
All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isnât a secret.
âIâll go first,â he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. âIâve wanted to kiss you for weeks.â He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. âWhatâs your secret?âÂ
âSometime I want you to kiss me so badly I canât sleep. It makes me feel sickââ
âSick?â he asks worriedly.Â
You touch the tip of your nose to his. âItâs likeâ like jealousy, butâŚâÂ
âYou have no one to be jealous of,â he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, âPlease, can I kiss you?âÂ
You say, âYes,â very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldnât be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.
It isnât the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesnât hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. Itâs so warm you donât know what to make of him beyond kissing him back âkissing his smile, though itâs catching. Kissing the line of his Cupidâs bow as he leans down.Â
âIâm sorry about everything,â he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.Â
You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. Itâs still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peterâs hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.Â
Peter drops his hand. âOh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didnât snow, weâd be blind.â
âI canât be cold much longer,â you confess. âIâm sick of the shitty weather.âÂ
âI can keep you warm.âÂ
He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.Â
âDid you want my meskouta?â you ask.Â
Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.Â
You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if youâd thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, youâd tease.
âYou never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.âÂ
You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. âThey could make a novella of things I havenât told you about,â you murmur wryly.Â
Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, weâll work on that.Â
â
Spring
âSorry!â
âNo, itâsââ
âSorry, sorry, Iâmâ shit!â
ââokay! All legs inside the ride?â
âI couldnât find my purseââ
âYou donât need it!â Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. âYou donât have to rush.âÂ
âAre you sure you can drive this thing?âÂ
âHarry doesnât mind.âÂ
âI donât mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?âÂ
âThatâs not funny.âÂ
You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. âNothing ever is with us.âÂ
Peter grabs you behind the neck âwhich might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thingâ and pulls you forward for a kiss you donât have time for. âIf we donât check in,â âyou begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lipsâ âby three, they said they wonât keep the roomââ He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. âAnd then weâll have to drive home like losers.âÂ
Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. Youâre rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. âSorry, am I the one who lost her purse?âÂ
âPeter!âÂ
âI canât make us un-late,â he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.Â
âAlright,â you warn.Â
He reaches for your knee. âItâs a forty minute drive. Youâre panicking over nothing.âÂ
âItâs an hour.âÂ
Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peterâs hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesnât question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. Thereâs so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8.Â
Itâs been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. Itâs not that Lenox Hill isnât one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), itâs that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. Youâre a little less scared of the future everyday.Â
You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8.Â
The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasnât anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you.Â
It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, heâd looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, youâre cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what heâd done when youâd curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.Â
Heâd hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.
The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, heâs a treasure. Thereâs no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, youâll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. Itâs like when you talk to one another, you canât stop.Â
There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel heâs reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when youâre sleeping.Â
There are hectic, aching moments âvigilante boyfriends become blasĂŠ with their lives and precious faces. Youâve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. Itâs easier when Peterâs careful, but Spider-Man isnât careful. You ask him to take care of himself and heâs gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets.Â
He hadnât patrolled last night in preparation for today.Â
âDid you know,â he says, pulling Harryâs borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, âthat todayâs the last day of spring?âÂ
âAlready?âÂ
âTonightâs the June equinox.âÂ
âWho told you that?âÂ
âAunt May. She said itâs time to get a summer job.âÂ
You laugh loudly. âOur federal loans wonât last forever.âÂ
âHarryâs gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.âÂ
You nod emphatically. Itâs barely a thought. âObviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?âÂ
Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. âBetter than the Bugle.âÂ
You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. Itâs not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. Thereâs a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel heâs ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.Â
âThere it is, sweetheart,â he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, âthatâs what dreams are made of.âÂ
The blue and white tiled pool. It hasnât changed.Â
Itâs about as hot as itâs going to get in June today, and, not knowing if itâll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. Thereâs nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.Â
Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. âItâs cold,â he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.Â
âI can feel it,â you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.Â
âYou wonât come in and warm me up?â he asks.Â
You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.Â
âIâm trying to prepare myself.âÂ
âMm, you have to get used to it.â He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that heâd want one still makes you dizzy. âThank you,â he says.Â
âYouâll have to move.âÂ
Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling âheâs so strong, the water so cold.Â
Peter doesnât often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. Heâll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when youâre on his side to force you sideways.Â
âOh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!â he says.Â
âHow will I run?â you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.Â
Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that heâs precious with you, too. Thereâs devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. âI donât need you to do a running start, sweetheart,â he says, tilting his head to the side, âIâll just lift you.âÂ
âLast time I laughed so much you dropped me.âÂ
âExactly, you laughed, and this is serious.âÂ
The world isnât mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8âs parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peterâs breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River.Â
Heâs a beholden thing in the sun; you canât not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up.Â
âYouâre beautiful,â he says.Â
You rest an arm behind his head. âThe rash guard is a good look?âÂ
âSweetheart, you couldnât look cuter,â he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. âI wish youâd mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I wouldâve prepared to be a more decent man.âÂ
âYouâre decent enough, Parker.âÂ
âMaybe now.âÂ
âWell, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,â you say.Â
Youâre teasing, but Peterâs eyes light up with mischief as he calls, âOh, great idea!â and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You canât avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.Â
He shakes himself off like a dog.Â
âPete!â you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.Â
âIt just didnât help,â he says, pulling you back into his arms, âyou know, the water is cold, but youâre so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and youâre just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds agoââ
âPeter,â you say, tempted to roll your eyes.Â
Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile heâs sporting, they look like anything but tears. âTell me a secret?â he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.Â
A soft smile takes your lips. âNo,â you say, tipping up your chin, âyou tell me one first.â
âWhat kind of secret?âÂ
âA real one,â you insist.Â
âOhâŚâ He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. âOkay, I have one. Ask me again.âÂ
You raise a single brow. âTell me a secret, Peter.âÂ
He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. âI love you,â he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.Â
Youâre lucky heâs already holding you. âI love you too,â you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. âI love you.âÂ
Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You canât know what heâs thinking, but you can feel it. His hands canât seem to stay still on your skin.Â
The sun warms your back for a time.Â
Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist.Â
âThatâs another one to let go of,â he suggests.Â
He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.Â
You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face.Â
âIâll start the shower for you,â he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands.Â
âDonât fall asleep standing up,â he murmurs.Â
Your eyes close unbidden to you both. âI wonât.âÂ
He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed.Â
・đŚšÂ°â§â.á
please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat âthank you for readingâ¤ď¸
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman fanfiction
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đŹđđ˘đđ¤đ˛ đ°đđđŹ
â premise: peter needed to test how strong the new formula for his web shooters is so why not get his gfâs help, and have a little fun with it. its not like he had millions of other more scientific ways to test its strength.
â pairing: tasm!peter x fem!reader
â warnings: smut | 18+, bondage [with peters webs], fingering, small edging, peter possibly ooc, nicknames [baby, princess]
â a/n: kinktober 04
Sure Peter had plenty of other ways he could test out the strength of his newly formulated web fluid. But you were just so eager to help your boyfriend out, always asking him if there was something you could do. Sewing up gashes and holes in his spider suit, patching him up after a fight, etc. So why not enlist the help of his pretty girlfriend instead of testing it out the same old boring way he always did. Of course being unaware of his little scheme you innocently and sweetly said yes when he asked if you'd help him out with an experiment. That was how you ended up in Peter's bed, hands restrained together and stuck to the headboard with his webs.
His body was currently nestled between your spread legs, eyes roaming your body before fixing on your face. Your lower half is entirely exposed, the breeze from his open window nipping at your skin making you squirm. âThis wasn't what I thought you meant when you asked for help, and I said yes Peterâ you whine and buck your hips into his touch as his hands roam up your sides, rubbing and caressing your body. You can feel the cool metal of the singular web shooter strapped to his left wrist. âOh this is fully what I intended when I asked baby, tug all you want, squirm all you wantâ he coos as he uncovers your breasts by pushing your shirt up to reveal them. âNeed to test how strong the new formula isâ he explains softly as his right hand falls between your open thighs, middle and ring fingers nudging open your slit and rubbing through your folds. Slick immediately collecting on the tips of his slender fingers.
With a sharp intake of breath you twist your body and try shifting your hips away from his hands. His free hand that has the web shooter aims towards your writhing leg and shoots webs that wrap your ankle tethering it to his foot board. âYou sure this wasnât what you intended, princess? You're so wet for meâ he emphasizes his tease with a tilt of his head, smirking softly as his two fingers push at your hole.
You whine and push your hips back on his hand trying to get them inside you, your hole clenching at the small intrusion. âI missed you Pete, you've been so busyâ you explain and look through your lashes at your boyfriend hovering over you, your eyes full of longing and love. âAwww well i'm here now babyâ he leans down and presses his lips to yours just as his two fingers push knuckle deep inside you. You let out a short surprised moan against his lips as you kiss back greedily. You tug at the webs around your wrists, hands desperate and itching to touch Peter. âKeep tugging baby, try your hardest, you can do itâ he mumbles into your mouth, his words both encouraging and mocking before humming when you whine in response. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the pleasure, his free hand coming to pin your hips down holding them still.
Pumping his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt, a sloppy squelching sound filling the room along with your muffled whimpers and moans. âFuck!~â you let out a plaintive cry and pull away from peters mouth when his thumb is added in, stimulating your clit. Rubbing small circles on your bundle of nerves as his fingers speed up their movement, making your mouth fall open and your head fall back against his pillows. Your hands tug as well as your leg at his webbing, the action doing nothing to tear or unstick it. A heat spreading through your body, you liked this idea of him tying you up with his webs more than you couldâve guessed, the heat settling and growing in the pit of your stomach.
âCome on baby, i don't think your tryinâ hard enough to break outâ he taunts as his long fingers find that spongy spot deep inside you and start abusing it, the rough pad of his tongue speeding up its circles. âGonna have you cumming before you break the webs princessâ he chuckles softly and leans down to kiss along the exposed column of your neck. Your head goes fuzzy from his mouth on you, his fingers ruthlessly thrusting inside you, the feeling of him all over you. âCanât- I canât do it Pete, i cant break emâ fuck- please baby im gonna cum!â you whine and cry out, your eyes squeezed shut as you teeter on the edge of your climax.
He grabs ahold of your chin and moves your head up the movement forces your eyes open, you stare into his deep brown eyes, his pupils blown.
âNot yet baby, the experiment hasn't gone on long enough, need to see if they breakâ his voice comes out sweet yet concedesing as he crashes his lips against yours to muffle your wanton moan.
Truthfully Peter had gotten enough information from all your squirming and pulling that he figured it was strong enough, he was just having far too much fun playing with his pretty girlfriend.
â a/n: i havent written for tasm!peter in a bit so I feel like heâs possibly out of character ? Idk I felt rusty when writing him
#lostalioth kinktober#smut#fem!reader#kinktober day 4#kinktober prompts#kinktober 2024#tasm!peter parker#tasm fic#tasm fanfiction#tasm peter parker#tasm andrew garfield#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter smut#tasm!peter fanfiction#peter 3#andrew garfield spiderman#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter x you#tasm peter imagines#tasm spiderman#the amazing spiderman#peter parker scenario#peter parker blurb#peter parker smut#spiderman fanfiction#spiderman smut#spiderman fic
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pairing: bf!peter x reader
synopsis: peter likes having you close to him. all the time
wc: 630 ish
a/n: surprise! another one oops. im rlly bored can u tell? cuddling prompt with peter. reader is a cheeky and annoying lil shit. one office reference. i saw a tiktok about this a long time ago and thought this would be a cute idea to write about. also does anyone know how cuddling works tho?? if ur laying on ur side, do u just lay on top of the arm ur crushing on? under a pillow? idk lol. anyways i hope u like :D
there's an ache settling in your right side that wakes you up from your sweet slumber. your head lays atop peterâs soft chest, his steady heartbeat against your ears. it was what lulled you to sleep in the first place. but with peterâs body practically being your own personal heater, the warm air filling the room, and the prominent soreness resting on your side, you began to feel uncomfortable.
âpete,â you whisper.
peter is entirely unfazed. his hold on you is strong. his face is towards you, mouth slightly ajar, letting out the softest of snores and drool out the corner of his mouth. although you love your cuddles with peter, you think he could actually suffocate you in your sleep. the boy loved to sleep, especially on top of you.
your limbs are tangled together. your left leg slung around his waist, arms around his torso, while his buff arms embrace your shoulders protectively.
ever so slightly, you begin to move your leg, retreating it back to your side as you push against his body and establish a more comfortable position. you snuggle further into peter as sleep wins you over once again.
it only lasts for a second when you wake from your boyfriendâs murmurs, he seems to talk in his sleep when he whispers your name. he huffs loudly and smacks his lips a couple of times with his brows furrowed. you feel his warm hand reach for the back of your knee to bring it over his crotch.
a confused look paints your face as you gaze up toward him. heâs asleep as dead. did he really just do that? you almost laugh out loud. his quirky behavior never fails to amuse you and has your stomach going in flips. he just wants you close to him. :(
but you think youâre funny, so you test out that theory one more time, this time blatantly stripping your leg away from him.
this gets a reaction out of peter. he seems to wake when he gusts an impatient breath, ânoâ and grabs your knee again, forcefully holding it against him.
in disbelief, youâre unable to contain your burst of laughter as you hold yourself up with one arm and stare at him wide-eyed, âwhat is wrong with you?â
âphâshhhâ peter knits his brows together, his eyes shut tight with a cute pout, as he blindly brings a hand to your face and gently shoves your head back against your pillow.
âpeter-â âshut up.â he feels you lick the palm of his hand, âyuck,â but he doesnât care to move it away from you. itâs only when you swat his hand away and settle back down against him to give him peace of mind. only for a moment, though. you have fun annoying peter, almost like a hobby. heâs halfway asleep when he feels you aggressively snatch your leg away from his hold.
ây/n!â peter groans, âstop it.â this time, your boyfriend pushes you on top of him, your entire body weight lays over his while he keeps a tight grasp on you, making sure to keep your leg over his waist and your head upon his chest.
his irritation riles you up, and youâre giggling through it all.
peterâs not having it though, not at all. he heaves another deep breath through his mouth, with the same grumpy look on his face, âwhy are you the way you are?â
you gasp, âme?!â âyes, you.â
not done yet, you flick his forehead, âyou know, youâre so annoying sometimes, pete.â
he scoffs, âoh yea?â
âyea. a total pain in the-â
peter shoves his hand against your face and into his chest one last time, âass.â
you decided youâve had your fun but youâre too delighted to go back to sleep. too delighted to know that the boy you love and cherish always wants to be impossibly close to you all the time, conscious or not.
#m's clubhouse! đ§#m writes â.ŕłŕż*:シ#this was fun writing#enjoy#peter parker#peter parker x y/n#mcu!peter x reader#peter parker fluff#peter parker imagine#tom!peter parker x reader#tom!spiderman#peter parker x reader#peter x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker fanfiction#spiderman#spider-man#spiderman x reader#peter parker smut#peter parker blurb#peter parker oneshot#peter parker fic#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland smut#tom holland peter parker#peter parker angst#peter parker writing#college peter parker
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ŕź*ÂˇË pretty boy | peter parker
main masterlist
for you, peter is the literally definition of pretty. his big brown puppy eyes and his perfectly structured face, his lean but muscular built, his cute little pout when you donât give him a kiss before he goes patrolling.
he is just so so very pretty.
you don't know know how long you have been staring at him for, but he didn't seem to notice. too busy focusing on his science project, and his concentration is very hot.
his long slender fingers moving carefully and slowly to put the pieces together and your attention only zeroed on them. such, such pretty hands.
the weight of your stare was starting to make peter nervous. peter gets flustered very easily. and with you? you didn't even have to try.
peter suddenly put down the components for his project and turned to you, âi know i'm hot but can you please stop staring at me like that?â he mumbled, as a soft blush appear on his face. his tone was confident but you can sense his nervousness.
he tried focusing on his project again as you chuckled, the kind of chuckle that sends tingles all over peter's body, âsorry pete, but you are just so very pretty.â
wow. okay he didn't expect that.
peter chocked on his saliva, his body hot all over, nearly dropping the pieces of his homework.
âbaby, you can't just say things like that.â he looked at you, eyes wide and soft. and it makes you grin.
âit's the truth.â you shrugged, âyou're my pretty boy.â you know you're testing his limits, but it was fun teasing peter.
peter's mind malfunctioned. he's trying to ignore you, but the way you said my pretty boy is replaying over and over in his head.
âdamn it.â he quietly swore, putting down whatever left of his project and turning to you.
your eyebrows rose in a teasing manner as a smirk finds its way to your face. âwhat?â you innocently asked, but you know exactly what you're doing, and he knows it too.
peter chuckled as he walks to where your laying at the bed. the sound send a shiver up your spine and now you're the one who's nervous.
he leaned closer to you, you could feel his breath on your lips as you both took a moment to admire each other. peter was staring at your eyes to your nose and your soft lips, bringing his eyes to connect with yours again and you could feel your stomach doing flips.
âand you're my pretty baby.â he whispered softly before cutting off a whine that rose up your throat with his lips.
his lips were a little chapped, but it fits your perfectly. your hands move to tangle on his hair, giving it a little pull making peter groan into the kiss. he leaned back, his warm hands move to find comfort on your waist as he brings you onto his lap.
peter felt like his heart was about to burst. every single sense of his is override and all he can focus on is you. you. you.
his home.
reblog for a kiss <3
#ââ
â hanaâs writing!#i don't know if i wanted to go with nervous peter or confident peter so i kinda combined the two <3#i just wanna make out with him dude#is that too much to ask for?#peter parker x you#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker imagine#peter parker fluff#peter parker fanfic#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#tasm fic#tasm!peter fluff#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm fanfiction
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peter parker and âis that my shirt?â prompt would be so cute!
congrats on 6k
thank u angel! hope u like this!! join the celebration
tasm!peter parker x fem!reader
Peterâs missed you so much he actually feels kind of sick. Heâs practically buzzing as he unlocks the apartment door and lugs his suitcase inside.
âAngel?â
Thereâs a loud and very cute squeal from down the hall. Rapid footsteps, and then you appear in your pyjamas, beaming bright as the sun, looking like the prettiest thing Peterâs ever seen.
âPeter!â You squeal, a ball of excitement. âBaby. Oh my gosh.â You cross the room and throw your arms around his neck. Peter laughs, his chest flooding with warmth, and hugs you back twice as strong.
âHi, honey,â he says, lovelorn. You smell amazing. You look like an angel. Youâre squeezing him to death. Heâs missed you so much he could cry. âHoly moly, I missed you so much.â
You giggle, turn your face into the side of his head and drag your nose along his jaw. âI missed you more,â you say, lips hot on his skin.
A shiver runs down Peterâs spine. Heâs only had you back for a half a minute and youâve already got him shivering? Typical. âImpossible,â he tell you. He runs his hands down your back and up again as if to prove to himself youâre really there.
You laugh and pull back, bouncing on your toes, to look him in the eye. Youâre so, so beautiful. Somehow prettier than when he left you, which seemed impossible but apparently isnât, not for you.
You reach up and push a lock of hair from his eyes. Peterâs hypnotised. He doesnât get how one girl can be so achingly lovely, so pretty and so sweet, but you manage it. He slides his hands down to your waist, feeling like he might explode if he doesnât touch every inch of you. Itâs then that he recognises the familiar fabric of your shirt. He looks down.
âHey, is that my shirt?â He asks, raising his eyebrows. He nudges you backwards with his hips to get a better look. It is his shirt. His favourite one, which he didnât pack for his trip because it suspiciously went missing the day before he left. âIt is!â He exclaims, pinching at your side. âYou had it this whole time?â
You giggle at his prodding, and try twisting yourself out of the way. Peter keeps a firm grip on you, hand spread over your ribs, his glare full of accusatory heat.
âIâm sorry!â You say, giggling like an idiot when he pinches you some more. âI missed you, okay? Is that such a crime?â
Peter makes a face at you but his heartâs soaring. âWell, if you count theft as crime then yeah, I would say so.â
You huff. âYouâre so dramatic!â
âIâm dramatic?â Peter feigns offence, pulling his head back incredulously. âYouâre the one who stole myâ!â
Your lips land on his before he can finish his sentence. His words are lost to your mouth. You push up into the kiss, fervent and hot. Your fingers curl into his collar and brush over the column of his throat, and Peter forgets everything else. He kisses you back just as hard, one arm hooked around your waist and the other bent between your chests to hold your jaw.
âNever mind,â he says between kisses. âYou can keep the shirt, baby.â
You laugh against his mouth.
#â
mal writes!#malâs 6k!#6k celly blurbs#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker drabble#tasm peter parker#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fic#peter parker fanfic#tasm!peter parker#tasm x reader#tasm!peter#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm x you#tasm spiderman#tasm x y/n#tasm!peter parker x y/n#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter parker blurb#tasm!peter parker drabble#tasm!peter parker imagine#tasm!peter parker oneshot
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3 with my boy peter from the fluff list please ily
â° . ŕ â đđđđđđđđ đđđđđ'đ đđđđđđ Ë. áľáľ
âhey, baby. iâm so sorry for running late,â peter rushes his words as he enters the apartment, racing straight to his room, but not before quickly pressing a kiss on the back of your head as you lay on the couch.
âitâs okay. may let me in and we had a fun little chat before she had to head out,â you say loud enough for him to still hear you.
it wasnât unusual for you to be left alone in the apartment, and it was kind of endearing to know that may trusted you enough to do so. you were over there enough that it was practically your second home and peter didnât mind having you hang out while you waited for him to come home from his internship at stark industries. well, the nights you made plans anyway.
besides, it was a lot easier for you to head straight to his apartment after school than to lug yourself all the way home and then back. plus, may enjoyed having the female company whenever she was there, especially after it being just her and peter for so long, but mostly, she liked hearing from you that peter was doing okay balancing everything.
âyou did? about what?â peter calls out from his bedroom.
âoh, yâknow, just girl stuff.â
âyeah, that doesnât make me worried at all,â you hear him laugh, followed by the scuffling of him getting changed and the sound of his closet opening. âhey, you havenât seen my blue hoodie around, have you?â
the second he asks, your eyes grow wide as you look down to see that you were in fact wearing the hoodie in question. itâs not like peter was going to be mad, you always stole his hoodies, but you knew that he liked this one in particular. and, so did you.
you clear your throat, and as steady as you can, you say, ânoooo.â
âyouâre wearing it, arenât you?â you donât answer him, and a second later he pops around the corner with a knowing smirk on his face. he hadnât noticed it when he walked in, being in a rush and all, but he also enjoyed the thought of you finding comfort in his clothes.
âiâm sorry. itâs just so soft and you know this is my favourite one of your sweaters,â you try to justify your means, but peter just shakes his head, letting out a hearty chuckle.
you watch as he slowly rounds the couch and leans towards you, hovering just above your face. âyouâre lucky i love you,â he whispers and places a kiss on your lips before nuzzling kisses onto your neck, causing you to squeal.
once he stops and you calm yourself down, he sits on the couch next to you, letting your legs drape across him as he rubs them gently.
âso, can i keep it?â you smile cheekily, knowing damn well that he wasnât going to say no to you.
âyeah,â he smiles, winking. âit looks better on you anyway.â
#â đŻđđ đđđ˛đđŤđđđŚđŹ .á ᥣđŠ#â đŠđđđđŤ đŠđđŤđ¤đđŤ ᥣđŠ#peter parker x reader#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#peter parker imagine#peter parker concept#peter parker fluff#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fanfic#peter parker fic#peter parker blurb#mcu!peter parker x reader#mcu fanfiction
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hi mei, i was curious if you could write about reader hiding like their childhood stuffed animal or comfort item like a baby blanket from maybe hotch or peter parker the first time they come over cuz they r embarrassed
this is not age regression shit, just to justify LOL
this works with any peter (hopefully) - the first time my bf came into my room i hurled my decrepit old childhood teddy bear into a corner and when he left i grabbed him like i'm so sorry man i couldn't let him know about you and me.
It's a testament to Peter's natural curiosity that you've been sprawled out over your bed for twenty minutes and he hasn't taken the bait and kissed you yet. Instead he's walking around your room inspecting every nook and cranny, peering into picture frames and opening drawers to paw through their contents.
"Peter!" You laugh, watching him duck beneath your desk, "The only things under there are cords; what are you doing?"
"I'm just looking around!" He insists, "My aunt always tells me you can find a lot out about a person by the space they keep."
"Oh? What are you finding out about me?"
"You have terrible cable management," His nose wrinkles as he ducks out from beneath your desk, "But that's better than what May says about me. She says my room tells her that I'm a pig person with no standards for cleanliness."
"Ouch," You snicker, "May doesn't hold back, does she?"
"Never," Peter grins, and does a final lap around your room before finally succumbing to the call of your mattress. He flattens himself out beside you and sighs, "Your room is boring."
"Hey!" You jab him in the ribs, "What do you mean?"
"I mean it's so clean!" He groans, rubbing his side, "There's no- there's no personality here, there's no trash on the desk, there's no clothes on the ground, there's no comfort blanket on the bed."
"I don't have a comfort blanket," Your cheeks rouge, and Peter zeroes in on it with an eagle's eye.
"Yes you do," He accuses, leaning up on one hand to tower over you, "Where is it? Show me!"
"It's not a blanket!" You insist, but you've implicated yourself, "It's- it's a teddy bear, okay? And I put him away because he's... fragile."
"Mhm. Fragile." Peter nods, "I'll be careful. Show me."
"He's kind of hard to get to."
"Show me."
"He's- uh, he's falling apart, too, not pretty to look at."
"Show me."
"He needs to be washed."
"Show me."
"No!"
"Come on!" Peter groans, "I'm not gonna make fun of you! I've got a stuffed animal too."
Your glare is perhaps made less effective by the way that your cheeks are on fire. Peter isn't deterred in the slightest, and the second you grumble, 'He's under the bed,' Peter's swinging himself over the side and jamming a hand beneath it.
"Got him," Peter laughs, peering at the plushie that he's dragged from beneath the bed, "This is your special one?"
"Mhm," You nod, watching warily as Peter surveys him, "Like I said, he's- he's kind of worn out and he needs to be washed, and-"
"He's great." Peter smiles, tucking the bear to his chest as he gazes fondly up at you, disarming the nerves bundled tightly in your chest, "You can meet mine the next time you come to my place."
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker imagine#peter parker scenario#peter parker oneshot#peter parker one-shot#peter parker one shot#peter parker headcanons#peter parker headcanon#peter parker hc#peter parker hcs#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fanfic#peter parker blurb#peter parker drabble#peter parker dialogue#peter parker fic#peter parker fluff#peter parker x reader fanfiction#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter fanfiction
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SPIDER-BOY
Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader
Summary - Thinking he has no chance with y/n as himself, Peter begins approaching them as Spider-Man.
friendly reminder - the best way to support writers on Tumblr is to reblog their work or comment <3:)
// masterlist // send me your thoughts //
Two months.Â
That was how long it had been since Peter first indulged in his ridiculous idea of talking to you under the guise of Spider-Man. Of course he hadnât meant for it to last this long, promising himself that it was just to help him build his confidenceâmaybe even learn a bit about what kind of things you likedâso that he could actually ask you out as himself. Unfortunately, though, things hadnât gone quite as he had planned.Â
Spider-Man offered him a type of courage that he just wasnât able to muster as Peter Parker. Under the cover of his mask he was able to come across as easy-going and flirtatious, never failing to leave your cheeks a deep crimson from the playful banter. Yet, when he did manage to speak to you as plain oleâ Peter, all of that was suddenly lost on him, leaving him a complete and total bumbling mess. As far as he was concerned, Peter Parker had no chance to be what any girl wanted, especially you. But Spider-Man was a different story.
And so he continued to exploit Spider-Man, using the masked hero as a means to continue getting closer to you, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that he wouldnât be able to hide behind his secret identity forever. To be fair, he would rationalize to himself, Spider-Man had taken a lot from him, it was only fair that he got something in return.Â
Plus, the interactions had been mostly innocent. Or at least thatâs what he kept telling himself, opting to ignore the many times that coy attitudes began to border on actual sexual attraction. He tried not to think about those times (though there had been many nights where he purposely let those interactions slip into his mind, reliving them from the privacy of his bedroom), instead just promising himself that he wouldnât let his romantic escapades as Spidey go too far.Â
âSo,â your voice filled his ears, his heart skipping a few beats at the sound, âat what point should I start to wonder if youâre stalking me?âÂ
Peter chuckled at the question, his fingers gripping the railing of the balcony to your apartment, effortlessly hanging from it. âDo you feel like Iâm stalking you?âÂ
âHm,â you placed a finger against your chin, pretending to be deep in thought, evoking even more laughter from the boy. âMaybe a bit.âÂ
âOh yeah? What did I do to give that impression?âÂ
âWell, to be fair, youâre currently dangling a couple hundred feet in the air off the side of my balcony.â You told him matter-of-factly, gesturing to where he was still hanging from the railing.Â
His brows furrowed beneath his mask, an expression that was barely noticeable due to the fabric covering his face. âAnd that makes me a stalker? I thought youâd find it romantic, a sort of Romeo-and-Juliet moment.âÂ
âRomeo threw pebbles at her window, he didnât scale an entire apartment building dressed in spandex.â You reminded him, âBut, actually, itâs more so that I donât remember ever giving you my address.âÂ
Peter froze for a moment, having not thought about the fact that your previous run-ins with Spider-Man had always been in public spacesâcatching you after work or just happening to bump into you on the street while patrollingânever at your home. He only knew where you lived because you had told him, but as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, when the two of you were assigned to a project together last week. He mentally face-palmed at his own ignorance.Â
âSuperheroes keep up with where all the pretty girls live. One of the lesser-known parts of the job.â He quipped, hoping that flattery would keep you from thinking too much into it. You only rolled your eyes at the comment, luckily not pressing any further.Â
âSo what did I do to deserve a surprise Spidey visit this time?â You hummed, leaning back against the cold brick of your apartment building. Â
Peter hoisted himself over the edge of the balcony so that he was standing across from you, his arms finally beginning to ache from holding up his bodyweight for so long. âWhat, Iâve gotta have a reason to stop by and see my favorite civilian?âÂ
âCivilian?â You snorted. âAnd here I was thinking you and I were friends.âÂ
He dramatically placed his hands on either side of his face, feigning shock at your words, âOh God no! You and me? Friends?â he let his hands fall to his waist, an exaggerated breath leaving his mouth, âNo, not at all. I think that would be a conflict of interest.âÂ
You cocked a brow at him, âHow so?âÂ
âI meanâI just think it would really interfere with our whole superhero slash damsel-in-distress routine, ya know?âÂ
âDamsel-in-distress?â You gasped incredulously at the claim, though the corners of your mouth were still quirked up in a smile.Â
Peter nodded, âUh, yeah. Thatâs literally our whole thing, isnât it? You constantly running into trouble, me swinging in and saving your life.âÂ
âYou havenât had to save my life once Spider-Boy.â Peter scoffed at the name, acting like he was insulted.Â
âOh câmon!â Peter dragged the word out, practically whining as he took a fraction of a step towards you, the movement enough to leave only a few inches between the both of you due to how small the balcony was. âYou are literally always getting yourself into danger.âÂ
âOkay,â You crossed your arms over your chest, craning your neck so that you could actually look up at him, the masked vigilante having several inches on you, âgive me an example then.âÂ
Peter rolled his eyes, a gesture only evident by the dramatic way his head moved along with them. He reached a gloved hand to your face, letting his fingertip gently brush against the semi-healed cut along your forehead. âYou literally got this by tripping over your own shoes and banging your head against the counter at a coffee shop. Not to mention the fact that you spilled your entire coffee on yourself in the process.â He trailed away from the cut, moving to brush a stray hair behind your ear. He didnât take his hand away, though, letting it rest against the side of your face. âYou are always in danger because you are the danger.âÂ
Your eyes widened for a moment, so quick that he didnât even notice the reaction. He was right, you had done that, an unfortunate consequence of being the clumsiest person alive. But, still, his words left you confused; remaining silent for just a moment as you turned them over in your head. When you finally opened your mouth to speak you were cut off by the sound of distant sirens, a groan immediately coming from him, knowing that your interaction would now be cut short.Â
His thumb brushed against your cheek, acting as an unnecessary silent apology.Â
âSounds like somebody needs Spider-Man.â You told him as he let his hand fall from your skin, forcing himself to the railing. If he didnât go now, he wouldnât leave at all. âYou better hurry, it could be one of those pretty girls you keep tabs on.â You shot a teasing grin in his direction, referencing his earlier comment.Â
âUgh, they just never give me a day off.â He joked, swinging his feet over the balcony railing before gripping onto it and allowing himself to once again hang from it. âTry not to trip into anything dangerous until Iâm back.âÂ
He turned his head and reached one hand out, likely to shoot a web at the building across from yours, but hesitated when he heard you speak again, a sudden panic filling his body at your words, âBe safe, Parker.âÂ
The sirens continued blaring, growing closer with each second, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heart wildly thumping against his chest. âWhat?â He sounded completely dumbfounded, his head slowly turning back to look at you, only to find you standing with your own finger pointing to the cut he had traced on your forehead, a wide grin on your face.Â
âSpider-Man wasnât there the day that I fell.â You shot a knowing glance in his direction, one that had his cheeks heating up. He had never been more thankful to be wearing a mask, aware that his face was likely beet red. âI asked Peter to meet me there so I could borrow his biology notes.âÂ
Peter didnât speak, too stunned by his own stupidity for slipping up and not thinking about how he was there that day as himself, not Spider-Man. This time you were the one to take a step forward and close the gap between you, having to lean down just a bit in order to be face-to-face as he dangled from the railing.Â
âYouâre a lot more confident in the suit.â You mused, your hands finding the base of his mask, lightly tugging the material up to reveal his face. Even though it was dark out you could still see that he was blushing. âBut I prefer you without it.âÂ
His jaw fell slack, words getting caught in his throat as a million thoughts raced through his mind, though one thought in particular was a lot louder than the rest: I prefer you without it.Â
âYou should definitely go.â The sirens were now close enough that you could actually see the faint red-and-blue lights a few streets over. He looked in the direction of them but still didnât make a single move to leave. You seemed to recognize his hesitation, tugging the mask back down over his face. âIf you ever remember how to talk then you can come back when youâre done. But ditch the mask.âÂ
Peter nodded at your words, his eyes remaining glued to you as you straightened back up, turning your back to him to go back inside your apartmentâleaving him to go off and be a hero. Once you were inside he couldnât help but laugh, shaking his head as he forced himself to get into motion, swinging in the direction of the police lights.Â
Turns out Peter Parker did have a chance.
#peter parker imagine#peter parker blurb#peter parker headcanons#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter x reader#andrew!peter fanfiction#peter parker fluff#andrew!peter fluff#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#spiderman imagine#spiderman fanfiction#tasm fanfiction#tasm fic#spiderman fic#mcu imagine#peter parker fic#peter parker fanfiction
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roommate!peter parker nsfw pt.2
minors DNI +18
pt.1
a/n this is slowly turning into perv peter seriesđ
roommate!peter who got hard every time you bend over to take something from the drawers or the ground after that faithful night
roommate!peter who got so jealous when you told him you had a date that he gave you the silent treatment for the whole day
roommate!peter whoâs duty was the laundry, used the opportunity to steal a pair of your panties
roommate!peter who got so fucking aroused when he found out that your scent was still left on the small cotton material
roommate!peter who panicked after you almost caught him staring at your ass, just because the little shorts you were with were so tiny that they barely covered your panty line
roommate!peter who started stuttering every time that you two talked, and could barely get his words out
roommate!peter whoâs cheeks got so red when you told him that a few pairs of your underwear were missing, that he was sure that you already knew about his scandalous behaviour
roommate!peter who felt like he creamed his pants when you walked out of the bathroom only in your bathrobe, saying not so innocently âi thought you werenât home yetâ leaving peter with a raging boner and flushed face
roommate!peter who got wasted with you because you insisted that fridays should be happy days
roommate!peter who felt like he could die right there and then when you sloppily kissed him and was so starstruck when you took him to your room
roommate!peter who felt like he was in heaven when he could finally have his head between your legs
roommate!peter who was so into it that he stopped lapping at your juices from your third orgasm only because your nails were digging in his scalp too hard
roommate!peter who so happily took his time in kissing every inch of your body and finding your sweet spots, until you softly told him that you couldnât wait any longer
roommate!peter who was pistoning in and out of you so fast, thanks to his spider sense, that he brought you to two more orgasms before he came
roommate!peter who looked at you with his big brown doe eyes so sweetly when he asked if youâre okay that you couldnât just say no to another round
#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x reader#peter parker smut#peter parker#tasm peter parker#tasm!peter x reader#spiderman blurb#spiderman x reader#spiderman smut#đŤ§bubbles writes
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stay still
kinktober, day five
warnings:Â peter parker x reader, smut, established relationship, bondage (but it's with his webs, grrrrr), oral, dirty talk, orgasm denial
âź gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here â˝
masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023
âStay still.âÂ
Peterâs voice vibrated against your soppy folds, unfortunately only having the opposite effect on your bucking hips as the added tingle caused your buzzy form to lose control.Â
âStop,â he spoke a little firmer this time, clasping his strong forearm over your frantic pelvis in an attempt to keep you still against his tongue.Â
âFuck, Pete,â you panted, eyes rolling in your skull from how close you were to the edge, âplease donât stop, that feels so good-â
But your sentence abruptly morphed into a shrill yelp as ivory webs suddenly clung to your middle and twisted you around 180 degrees as it flung you up off the bed. Hovering just over a foot off the mattress, hair falling down around your face, your wide eyes trained on your boyfriend as he got up and shot a few more latticed restraints in your direction, effectively hog-tying the rest of your limbs to the single cord that clung to the ceiling.Â
âPeter-,â he sent one last web out to engulf your lips.
Grazing his fingers through your tousled hair, his dark eyes then twinkled, âI told you to stay still, baby.âÂ
Š 2023 thyme-in-a-bubbleÂ
#leaâs writing#kinktober 2023#peter parker smut#spiderman smut#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker imagine#mcu!peter parker smut#tasm!peter smut#tasm!peter parker smut#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker request#peter parker blurb#peter parker drabble#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter imagine#spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter parker x reader#mcu!peter x reader#mcu!peter parker#mcu!peter parker x reader#mcu!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker imagine#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker fanfiction
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Hi can I ask for a blurb where Peter accidently hits the reader while playing or something like he sometimes forgets about his super strength but fluff at the end please đĽş.
this got away from me but this was so fun and cute to write!
âI kinda want a black eye.âÂ
Your boyfriend slowly lowered the bag of peas on his left eye, his elbow dropped daringly, forcing you to look at the dark purple hue.Â
âOh, really?âÂ
You nod, âit looks gnarly but itâd be cool to have one.âÂ
âBaby, my heartbeat is currently taking place from my eyeball. You donât want one.âÂ
Stretching across the space on the couch you raise Peterâs hand back up so he can ice the bruise some more, it does look painful.Â
âI think if you loved me youâd give me one.âÂ
Peter took a second to see if that sentence would resonate with you but it hadnât.Â
âWe should go to the women's shelter and spread that knowledge.âÂ
You scoff, âthey weren't asking for it, Peter. I am.âÂ
Your boyfriend lowered his temporary ice pack and reached a hand out, his thumb rubbed under your eye, you almost thought he was thinking about it. Almost.Â
âIâd never. I would, however, patch you up if you ever got one.âÂ
âDo you have a friend that could-âÂ
âNo.âÂ
â------------------------------------
Oh FUCK did your eye HURT.Â
It was on a level ten throb level, it felt like a ring stretching to your eyebrow and nose. You couldnât even open it, all you could do was press your hand to it and try and stop the pressure from building, it didnât work.Â
You were able to blink it open just enough to be blinded by the living room light, youâve never been so light sensitive. Squeezing it shut you winced, you tried to be understanding and calm; it was an accident after all. But the pain was spreading all over your face and you had a target right on the corner of your right eye, and it hurt.Â
If your right eye could open itâd be shedding tears too, you had one continuance stream coming from your left eye.Â
Your voice bubbles with pain, âpetey, it hurts.âÂ
Your boyfriend couldnât even breathe right now, he had hurt you. The one thing he swore he would never, could never do, and he did it. Panic flooded his body, panicked heâs caused serious damage, panicked youâd be scared of him, panicked youâd dump him, panicked your dad would come curbstomp him.Â
âIt hurts so bad,â he knows youâre calling out for him, he knows you need him, but all he could replay was the âwhack!â in his head. It wasnât gentle in the slightest, you whipped away from him with a hiss, your hand immediately covering your eye. You had been okay at first but after a minute had passed it became nearly unbearable.
Peter knows how bad a black eye hurts, and he just gave you one.Â
His short, barely there breaths start to stutter. Â
And suddenly Peter couldnât see because his vision was muddled by tears, he tried to blink them back but they ran. He canât remember the last time heâs cried, but this brought him to his knees. He never wanted to punish himself more than in that second. He shouldâve been quicker, he shouldâve known you were behind him, he has those goddamn senses and they did nothing in that moment.Â
âPeter!â A desperate cry for attention, you donât know what to do, it hurts more than you could imagine.Â
You look up at your boyfriend still standing in shock where he jumped away from you after hitting you directly in your eye. A wrestling battle, you had tried to take him down after heâd pinned you three times. In an effort of a sneak attack you crawled up the couch and tried to jump on his back where he sat on the floor. You dived and at the last moment his hand⌠well you donât know what he was trying to do but it connected hard to your cheekbone.Â
Your back hit the couch and you held your hand as you hissed and groaned in hurt, Peter scrambled up and backed up behind the coffee table, as if he was scared to be around you. Â
Heâs crying, your boyfriendâs crying. Youâve been punched and heâs crying.Â
âIâm.. Iâm sorr.. Fuck.â Peter snaps out of it, you need him. He crosses to the couch in two steps, his hand cupping your cheek. It makes everything in him deflate when you flinch as he touches you, he bites his bottom lip to stop a sob. âBaby, Iâm so sorry. Iâm so, so sorry.âÂ
His heart hurts as you cry, his thumb taps at your hand covering the damaged eye. The one he caused.Â
âLet me see it, please?â Peter said it like a question, like heâd ever be lucky enough to have that privilege.Â
You sob, âit hurts.âÂ
Peter blinks, more tears. He canât believe heâs crying over this, he also canât believe he hit his fucking girlfriend.Â
âI know, I know it does, baby. Please let me see it.âÂ
You choke in air to stop your crying, it works. You slowly lift your hand off your eye, itâs not throbbing as much but the pressure has inflated tenfold and you couldnât open it if you tried, it was swollen shut. You tried to gauge a reaction out of him, to see how bad it is. You forgot your boyfriend had the worldâs best poker face.Â
Peter wanted to curl up into a ball when he saw the damage.Â
It was bruising, and swollen and you couldnât open your eye and it was all his fault.Â
His fault, his fault, his fault.Â
If he was normal, if he was a normal boyfriend, this wouldnât have happened. A normal teenager doesnât have the strength to hold a ferry or stop a runaway bus, he does. And he used that strength on you.Â
His powers, his abilities, his strength.
His fault, his fault, his fault.Â
âYou need ice.â Is all that could come out. A wince wraps over your face when you nod, you try to sit up and groan. âEverything hurts. How do you do this? Pain has to affect you differently, right?â Peter ignored you as he backed away, you donât think heâs ever been so aware of his surroundings and actions.Â
He shouldnât be getting ice, he shouldnât be putting it in a plastic bag and wrapping a rag around it, he shouldnât be grabbing you tylenol extra strength, he shouldnât be icing your black eye he caused.Â
His fault, his fault, his fault.Â
It scared you how quiet he was, the accidental punch was just that. You werenât upset at him or scared he would do it again, you were scared how odd he was acting. He was strangely quiet and standoffish, when he came back to you with ice and pills you watched him think about holding the bag to your eye but stopped and put it in your hand.Â
He shifted his weight and looked at the couch, he stepped back and sat on the coffee table.Â
Peter cried and was quiet and standoffish and scared to touch you. He was terrified of himself, you may be physically hurt but he was emotionally broken, his one major thing washed down the drain. Accident or not he gave you a black eye, and it was tearing him up inside.Â
You hummed when ice hit the hot skin, suddenly it didnât hurt.Â
âAm I right, super high pain tolerance?âÂ
Itâs like you broke through a wall, Peter looked up at you like he just found out you were in the room.Â
âI hit you.âÂ
You wouldâve rolled your eyes if you couldâve.Â
âThatâs a little dramatic.âÂ
Peter shook his head, upset you werenât upset.Â
âI hit you hard, I hurt you. IâŚâ His hand pulled at his curls so hard you grit your teeth. âI fucking hit you,â he whispered it, like his own mind couldnât wrap it around.Â
He doesnât pull out the fuck word often.Â
You thought about reaching out for his hand, but you think thatâd made things worse.Â
âIâm not scared of you, petey. It was an accident.âÂ
âI swore iâd never hurt you, that I would never hit you and I didnât-âÂ
âMean it.â You cut him off, âyou didnât mean it.âÂ
Peter rubbed at his jaw and blinked, you saw tears puddling and you wanted to do nothing more than hold him. He couldnât stop thinking about it, you lowered the bag of ice from your eye prepared to switch seats. He wouldnât let you.Â
âIce.â Cold and hard, like you had no other option. You didnât question him, you followed instructions.Â
âRemember when you asked me to give you a black eye months ago?âÂ
It was a joke. Sure, you saw a tiktok with a girl who had one and you couldnât deny it looked a little cool. Then seeing one on Peter the same night you couldnât shake it. You were just playing around, itâs not like it was that serious.Â
âI was joki-âÂ
âI told you I'd never, and I did. I hit my girlfriend and gave her a black eye.âÂ
Disgust. Thatâs what it was. He was disgusted with himself.Â
You sat up straight, your lip curled up.Â
A black eye? Sick.
âWait, really?âÂ
Peter looked up at your excitement, it came from nowhere.Â
âYou gave me a black eye? I have a black eye right now? For real, for real?âÂ
This wasnât a cute or funny thing, and he wonât let you make it be one.Â
He hit you.
âThis isnât funny, I hit you and youâre happy you got a black eye?âÂ
âPete, I forgive you. And not just cause you gave me a black eye, because it was an accident and you didnât mean to and youâre obviously extremely remorseful.âÂ
âBut I-âÂ
You reached out for his hand, âforgive yourself. You forgive yourself.âÂ
It wouldnât be instant, until your eye healed, which would be at a much slower rate than him, he wouldnât be able to fully forgive himself.Â
âNo more wrestling.âÂ
You scoff, âno more sneak attacks, how about that?âÂ
He shook his head, âI donât want this happening again.âÂ
âIf the situation was reversed would you want me to hold it against myself?âÂ
Peter scoffed, âabsolutely not, but it wouldnât hurt me like it does you.âÂ
âSo you do have a super high pain tolerance.âÂ
He snapped and ripped his hand from yours, âyes, I do have a super high pain tolerance. I also have super strength and give my girlfriend black eyes.âÂ
You held your hand up, the other one slightly freezing from the cold but you were too scared to take it off.Â
âFirst off, plural. Second, please stop. Youâre making me feel bad, Iâm really okay and Iâm not mad and I forgive you a thousand million percent.âÂ
Peter inhaled sharply, he has to believe you. Heâs more shook up than you are and he guesses he should agree with you, you were the hurt one. If you forgive him he could try and do the same.
âI think you need to give me a black eye to even it out.âÂ
You gasp like your offended at his words, your hand lays over your heart.Â
âIâd never!âÂ
Your boyfriend ran his tongue over his teeth and gave you a dead stare, his hands pushed him off the coffee table. His words grumbled, âtoxic.âÂ
#peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#peter parker blurb#peter parker angst#tasm!peter x reader#peter parker fluff#my writing
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hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and sheâs all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over againđđ
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/
thank you for your request! ⥠fem, 1k
"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter."Â
"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor.Â
Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare.Â
"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you."Â
You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind âthe second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal.Â
You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur.Â
"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase.Â
"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak.Â
"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to."Â
You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost."Â
"You're Peter?" you ask.Â
Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you offâ"Â
Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask.Â
"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."
"What do I usually look like?"Â
"Not so, you know. Daunted."Â
"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye.Â
"Oh, you think so?"Â
You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap.Â
"Let's get you to the car, baby."Â
"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up.Â
"Home."Â
"Together?"Â
"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy."Â
"Thank you," you say shyly.Â
You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again?Â
He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?"Â
"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly.Â
"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty."Â
"You're my boyfriend?"Â
"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting marriedâ"Â
"You want to get married? To me?"Â
Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowersâ"Â
"We did?"Â
He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it."Â
"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.
"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me."Â
"I love you," you say quietly.Â
Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession.Â
"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," âhe points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder bladesâ "let's go home now. Yeah?"Â
You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober.Â
Which reminds him.Â
"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat.Â
"What is it?" you ask.Â
Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.
"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!"Â
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman fanfiction
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⪠â oh em gee what about â this is a good look for you. â with peter parker
stained
summary â peter spills a drink on your top at a party.
content â tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader, mentions of nudity
note â sorry this is super short! more of a baby blurb!
You sit on the edge of the toilet, naked from the waist up, while Peter is hunched over the bathroom sink, scrubbing at your shirt.
"Peter, just leave it, I'll wash it at home," you say softly. He looks really determined.
He'd spilt his drink all over your top downstairs at the party you're at. He'd felt horrible and insisted that he could get the stain out in the sink. The green stain out of your white top.
Turns out dawn soap and lukewarm water don't do the job. "I'm sorry, baby, really," he frets, holding the top up where it drips into the sink. You're not sure if he's made it better or worse. You appreciate him nonetheless.
"Pete, thank you, really," you start, shifting uncomfortably over the plastic lid. You cross your arms over your chest, where your bra digs into your skin, and look at the wet mess Peter holds in his hands. "It's okay. But now I have no top."
Peter drops the shirt looking really guilty. He feels horrible because he's ruined one of your favourite tops and he's also the reason you're half-naked in some random condo.
"Shit," he curses to himself.
He doesn't think twice. Peeling his jacket off, he stands at your knees and holds it out. "Here," he says bashfully. It's a thin jacket, made of nothing really. It's all you've got and you're not about to start complaining.
You stand to slip it on and hate it when you realise it has no zipper. Or any buttons. You pull it taut over your front and start to feel anxious. "Can you see anything?"
He pulls the collar forwards over your collarbones and smooths it out over your shoulders. "You're safe," he smiles. You watch his throat bob under the skin of his lightly stubbled neck. "It, uh, it looks really good."
"Pete," you groan while tipping your head back. "I'm naked, in the middle of the city, wearing my clumsy boyfriend's jacket, and you're getting turned on?"
"What?" he gawps, clearing his throat, "I am not! You just suit it, that's all."
You pull it tight around your middle and roll your eyes. "You're unbelievable."
He plays with the hem between his fingers, keeping his eyes planted to the floor momentarily. "It's a good look on you."
You straighten your back and ignore the way he's making you feel. Time and place you remember. "Right, we're going outside unnoticed and you're gonna hail a cab with those long arms of yours."
"You don't wanna swing home?" he asks.
"You don't have your shit," you grumble. It'd be convenient, but also reckless.
"My shit? You mean my suit?" he laughs, wrapping a hand around the hinge of your elbow. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that because I deserve it."
Peter makes sure you're decent before he opens the door to the bathroom. You stand behind him, hanging off his arm, hoping his broad shoulders will do you a favour and hide you well.
There's a drunk guy on the other side for the toilet presumably. Peter moves to the side to shield you on instinct when you squeak out a surprised noise. You push your chest against him to cover the slip of skin that struggles to be covered by the jacket, and let Peter guide you down the hall.
You lean in to whisper in his ear, "You owe me, Parker."
You get out onto the street when he says, "I'll show you how sorry I am when we get home."
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x you#peter parker blurb#peter parker x y/n#peter parker headcanon#peter parker drabble#peter parker imagine#peter parker headcanons#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter fluff#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm x reader#tasm peter parker#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker imagine#tasm!peter parker fluff#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker x y/n#tasm!peter parker drabble
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hi m!!! what do you think about bf!pete getting his wisdom teeth out? and the reader taking care of him?? hed be so funny lmao xxD
-đ§¸
pairing: bf!peter parker x reader w/c: 750 a/n: hi anon!! thnk u for requesting i had sm fun writing this! :)
youâre sat at the dentist's office, cooped up in those uncomfortable chairs while you anxiously waited for your boyfriendâs surgery to finish. Â
when peter ranted and moaned nonstop over his constant toothache, may decided enough was enough, and took it upon herself to set an appointment for her nephew. he wasnât too keen on the idea. peter wasnât afraid of anything ninety-nine percent of the time. dentists, however, wasnât one of them.Â
âcanât you stay here with me?âÂ
âstay? baby, no theyâre gonna be drilling in your teeth.â
âbut i-â
âand itâs gonna be bloody and nasty and i donât wanna have to see all that.â
you turn towards him, only to come face to face with the boyâs horrified look, his eyes are wide and skin pale, mouth open in shock. you cringe at your response.
âbut,â you stand, âyouâre gonna do amazing, youâre gonna sit here and let the dentist do his magic.â you smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead.
ây/n/n, wait but-â you drop his hand on the way out, âbye, love you baby! be good!â
ây/n!â
two hours later swing by when a woman in navy scrubs comes to get you, announcing that peter is out of surgery.Â
you knew that he would be high out of his mind on laughing gas, you just didnât think it would be this bad.Â
when you enter, the dentist is off to the side, looking over charts, packing a care bag for his patient.
peterâs head lulls towards your touch on his shoulder and slowly blinks at your presence.Â
âhi baby, how you feeling?â you give him a beaming smile.
your boyfriend does his best to muster the same grin, but the amount of gauze in his mouth makes his rosy cheeks puff out, drool dripping down the corner of his mouth.
peter takes a moment to stare at you, âwoaahhâ he languidly slurs his words, âyouâre so pretty.âÂ
you giggle at the comment when the boy gasps in horror, âwait, wait, i have a girlfriend, and sheâs-â he looks up at you worriedly and slaps his forehead, âiâm in trouble.â
you canât help but let out a laugh, heâs so dopey.Â
your fingers touch the bottom of his chin gently and lift his head, âiâm your girlfriend, silly.âÂ
a loud gasp escapes peter as his face turns ecstatic, âget out!â you giggle at his reaction, the dentist glances over at you two and offers an admiring smile.
âso do we have sex?â
the awkward silence in the room kills you.Â
your face blushes, as you shake your head and clear your throat, âpeter, no.â
âno?!â he sighs in disappointment, âaw man.â your boyfriend pouts at the floor, âwhat have i been doing with my life.â
âoh my god, pete,â when the dentist turns away, you whisper and offer him a shrug, âsometimes we do.â
the delight on his face returns and his eyes go wide, âreally?!â
the boy seriously has no filter.
as youâre packing his things, peter pauses and pokes his cheeks, âwait y/n,â he pauses, âmy face kinda feels weird.â
you look around and hand him a mirror from the counter, âoh my godâŚâ peter gingerly touches his face as you kneel down at him, âwhatâs wrong, baby?â
âmy face⌠itâs so fat!â heâs got tears in his eyes and whining with a jutted bottom lip, ây/n,â sniffle. âwill-â sniffle. âwill you still love me if my face is so fat?âÂ
you roll your eyes and smile at his antics, âof course, i would.â
he seems pleased with your answer because heâs back to smiling. you go back to packing his things. âhey, mr dentist,â he woozily slurs, the gauze is practically spilling out his mouth, âdâyou know iâm spider-man?â
you mentally facepalm at his obliviousness and mutter, âjesus christ.â
you turn to the older man whoâs chuckling at his mental state and shrug, âhe also thinks heâs luke skywalker from star wars.â
âbut i am!-â âokay bug boy, lets go.â
âwhere we going?â
âhome, sweetie.â
he gasps eagerly and raises his eyebrows at you, âto have sex?â
âoh my god.â
soon after the dentist explains and hands you everything he needs to recover, you guide peter to the car.Â
heâs extremely dramatic.Â
heâs got his hands around your shoulders, dragging himself on the floor, acting like he canât walk - which he definitely can.
âpeter, i know you can walk. câmon help me out,â you beg.
âno, i canât" he moans, "carry me,â he demands.
âwhat? no,â
âwhy not?â
âbecause youâre too heavy.â
and heâs crying all over again, âi knew it! you hate me 'cause you think my face is too fat!â
#m's clubhouse! đ§#m writes â.ŕłŕż*:シ#𧸠anon#peter parker#peter parker x y/n#mcu!peter parker x reader#peter parker fluff#peter parker imagine#tom!peter parker x reader#tom!spiderman#peter parker x reader#peter x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker fanfiction#spiderman#spider-man#spiderman x reader#peter parker smut#peter parker blurb#peter parker oneshot#peter parker fic#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland smut#tom holland peter parker#peter parker angst#peter parker writing#college peter parker#mandy's clubhouse! đ§
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hey! could you write something where tony accidentally finds out the reader, his daughter, and peter are dating? theyâre both scared for his reaction but then heâs actually super cool about it :)
I LOVE STARK!READER !!
i got saucy w this one :,) my b
!!! 18+ MDNI !!!
content warnings â steamy peter make outs, light swearing, sexual content, suggestive dialogue.
â¨masterlistâ¨.
2.1k.
Nothing could beat lazy Sundays at the compound. The whole team was either MIA, on a mission, or training, so every room fell still with serenity. It was the perfect time for you to stick your nose in a book, and lounge around the empty estate. Your father was off somewhere across the complex working on some gadget, which left you free to roam around wherever you wanted.
Your hair gently tickled your bare shoulders as you tied it up, laying your book faceâopen on the kitchen island so that you could keep reading and grab a snack. The air conditioning nipped at the skin exposed from your minimal clothing; your blackâcropped tank top and favorite pair of shorts didnât protect you from the artificial frost in the air, but it certainly helped with the heat when you stepped outside.
Just before your hands fell back to your book, arms wrapped around your waist from behind. Their shape and placement was something so familiar, the touch brought you more comfort than startle. Cedarwood and bergamot were quick to fill your nose whilst your boyfriendâs head craned into the base of your neck. His fingers locked to the belt loops of your shorts, tugging you back into him so that he could feel more of you.
âIâve been looking for you..â His voice was throaty. Needy. The pads of his thumbs traced tiny circles into either of your hips, gently pressing further into your skin when your hand stretched up to comb through his fluffy brown curls. His affection and body heat were a welcomed company in the cold of the kitchen.
A smile found your face, even though Peter couldnât see it from where he was. âI missed you too, baby.â Humming, your fingers scratched his scalp. âDâyou know whoâs here right now?â Your voice grew hushed, heart racing with the small adrenaline rush infiltrated your system.
âYour dadâs in his lab, Steve and Natasha are in the gym, and Visionâs with Wanda in the meeting room, but otherwise.. Everyone elseâs out..â Peterâs voice dropped an octave as he spoke just above a whisper, his lips finding your collarbone. âSam, Bucky, Thor..â In between each name, he placed another kiss on your neck, only inching higher. The more skin he nipped at, the more your fingers curled around his hair, curving your neck so that he had more access to you. âBruce, Clint, Rhodey, PepperâŚâ His whispers sent shivers down your spine, especially as his left hand slid under the fabric of your shirt.
As Peter trailed kissed up to your jaw, a shuttered moan caught between your lips. You fought the urge to roll your hips back into his, knowing that you couldnât finish what you were starting. If anybody found you two, your secret relationship would be out, and your dad would give you hell for it. âPeter.. We canâtâŚâ You spoke breathlessly, tugging at his hair; it was an attempt to pull him from your body, but you didnât try too hard.
His lips hovered over his favorite soft spot in the crevasse of your jawline, brushing his teeth along the surface of it just to rile you. It certainly didnât help that he aimed his breathy chuckle right at it, but god did it feel good. âWhy not?â
You huffed impatiently, eyes half lidded whilst your entire body anticipated the gentle brushing of his lips against your neck. His cooling fingers teased at the bottom of your left breast, testing waters you two hadnât touched before. Sure, youâd let Peter Parker touch you like this plenty of times before, but never in the open like this. Never in the open where your secret could be outed.
âCause Iââ You felt the tug of Peterâs smirk against your skin at how worked up you were already getting. âIâm readingâŚâ You knew that Peter was well aware of how secretive you needed to be. âReadingâ was merely just to give him a hard time.
He let out a quiet sigh, pressing a lingered kiss to your cheek. His thumb lightly rubbed at your rib cage beneath your shirt, but otherwise, he gave up his attempt. âYouâre sure I canât even get one kiss?â He asked, pouty even in his tone of voice.
You turned your head to look at him. Your eyes glanced at his lips just to tease him, âOver my dead body, Parker.â Your voice still sang out low, wanting nothing more than to taste him right then and there.
Peterâs face inched closer to yours, snickering quietly at your stubborn response. âNot if your dad kills me first..â He mused, voice still just as groveled as before. His lips nearly brushed against yours, but the sound of the floorboards outside of the kitchen made you both add three feet between you.
âWhy would I kill you?â Your dadâs voice hummed nonchalant, as if he wasnât interrupting such an intimate moment. He walked right through the thickening tension like it wasnât the weight that it was. Tonyâs focus seemed to be glued to his holographic wrist watch, completely oblivious to Peterâs hand slyly slipping out from under your black camisole.
You and Peter glanced at each other, astonished that he seemed so unfazed and unaware. Perhaps, your father didnât hear as much of the conversation as you assumed he did. Maybe he truly was clueless to the blush coating your cheeks, and the timid bulge poking at the fly of Peterâs jeans.
âUhh..â Peter lost every thought that occupied his brian. âBecause I ate the last Pop Tart. IâI just figured youâd be upset.â Even he didnât sound convinced about the excuse.
Finally, Tony looked up from his watch, eyeing you first, then Peter. This was the closest you two were to getting caught, and even though the AC was cranked fairly high, it felt like the air suddenly ran much cooler. Your heart was in your throat, easing a little when your father walked over and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek.
Tony leaned back on the kitchen island beside you, crossing his arms over his Nirvana bandâtee. âLucky for you, kid, Iâve got a whole secret stash in my lab.â He spoke with his typical Tony tone, âIâll let you off the hook this time.â
Little did you or Peter know that your father actually heard most of your conversation. How much of it? Heâd never tell you. Tony Stark knew that you and Peter had the hots for each other for a long time. He was just waiting for both of you to come clean about the relationship, or for the perfect time for him to address it. Heâd known for a while, but the longer it took, the more entertaining it was to act like he was oblivious to it. Now, how he found out about the relationship, heâd never tell that to you either.
âAre you calling my daughter a liar, Rogers?â Tony asked the blonde from across the pool table, watching as the captain missed the shot with no reaction.
Steve stood upright, stepping back so that Tony had room to make his turn. âNo. No, Tony.â He started, âAll Iâm saying is that if Peter were chivalrous, he would ask you for your permission first. Thatâs all.â
The topic of the evening was why you and Peter both flaked out of game night. Ever since Sam joked that you couldâve been bailing to go out together, every conversation Tony had was directed on how likely the possibility truly was.
His eyes squinted at Steve, readjusting his cue and stance in one swift movement. He knew Steve was traditional, but sometimes, Tony forgot just how traditional he really was. âThey donât need my permission. Theyâre teenagers.â Tony creased his hips, focusing on the pool table for a second. âBesides,â with a faint clank, Tony knocked two balls in with one hit, âMaybe she asked him out. Itâs the twentyâfirst century.â
Steve sighed with a slight twinge of annoyance, both at Tonyâs coyness and his success in their game. He leaned on his cue like a cane, watching the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist walk around the table again. âAlright, fine.â Steve huffed. âBut if they are out canoodling tonight, what are you going to do about it?â
A focused glare glistened in Tonyâs eyes as he bent over to take the shot. He pulled the cue back a few times, pondering on both his turn and the question. If he made this shot correctly, he could win the whole game; if you and Peter were really out on a date, what would he do?
Tony shoved the wooden rod in his hand, acing the shot just like he calculated. He subtly smirked to himself, looking back at Steve to answer his question. âIâll find a way to give them hell for it.â
And that, he was. Ever since he caught you and Peter getting frisky on the security system later that night. That conversation happened months ago, and Tony still managed to make both of you incredibly jittery. He wasnât entirely sure why it was such a big deal to tell him, or why youâd kept it a secret for so long, but he knew sooner than later youâd find a way to tell him.
Little did he know, Peter Parker was finding his way onto your bedroom in the thick of night after patrols.
You unlocked the door to your balcony, welcoming him in with the kiss you meant to give him hours earlier. Hungrily, your lips clasped with his, getting drunk on his taste, and lacing your fingers in his hair. âGod, I missed you..â You spoke between kisses.
âMissed you too, baby..â Peter let out a breath he didnât know he was holding, finally able to relax in your presence.
Both of you took steps towards your bed, slow and steady to avoid the lack of contact. Peterâs mask was lost somewhere on your bedroom floor, and you wasted no time to press the button on his chest and strip him from the suit heâd been wearing.
Peter got to your bed first, sitting back on it and quickly helping you climb on top of him. His hands grasped every inch of you that they could â grazing your neck, squeezing at your hips, grabbing your ass, and now inching up your inner thigh as you straddled his lap. His hips arched up to meet yours, pressing up against you in a delicious way.
Tongues greeting each other, you both moaned into each otherâs mouth. You couldnât get enough of each other, and the foreplay only reminded you of how little patience you had for it. You didnât just want Peter right now, you needed him. Inside you. The ache in your lower stomach felt throbbing, and you were confident that your arousal was already coating the fingers Peter had at your upper thigh.
Just as you both parted the kiss to catch your breath, your bedroom door abruptly opened, light invading the room. Your blood ran cold as your head snapped toward the door in time with Peterâs; you both met the casual stare of your father. Tony Stark stood in the doorframe, unfazed, in pajamas, toothbrush in his mouth.
The room fell quiet, apart from the sounds of the bristles cleaning Tonyâs pearly whites, and the faint heavy breaths that you and Peter tried to catch.
Taking the toothbrush out of his mouth, Tony was the first to break the awkward, deafening, silence. âHey, Kid.â Tonyâs head nodded upwards, as though he were greeting Peter in public. Not like he was speaking nonchalantly to Peter, flushed, in boxers, sat beneath his daughterâs thighs. âNext time, can you use the front door so that I donât have to disarm the security system?â Even if little he knew, little was still more than nothing.
Peter stared blankly at him, sure as hell that this had to be some nightmare he just hadnât woken up from yet. He glanced at you, then swallowed the frog stuck in his throat. âUhâ uh, yep! Yeah, Iâuh, I can do that!â He wasnât sure why his voice always raised two octaves when he was nervous, but it definitely made this moment that much more amusing for Tony.
With a small smile, your dad grabbed the doorknob with his freehand. âThanks.â He then put the toothbrush back in his mouth, slowly shutting the door. âHave fun! Use protection.â His words were muffled and spat due to having his mouth full, but he shut the door after that.
As awkward as it mustâve been for you and Peter, Tony found that moment to be as satisfying as he pictured it to be. Boy, he would give Peter the talking to of a lifetime in the morning, but it thrilled him to know that youâd found someone who made you so happy.
He didnât see need to kill Peter either, after all.
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