nyx

When you heard no reply something stirred in your stomach, resting the book on your lap and looking at the empty hallway behind the open door.

In the distance, a plate clicked carefully against marble, refuting the idea of the jangling keys having been a figment of your imagination. It was 1 am after all.

The book would have to wait.

You blew out the candle and placed the paperback by its side, getting up from your bed to stop by your bedroom's door.

From there you could see the kitchen light, brows furrowing at the lack of greeting. The soles of your feet brushed against the wooden floor with every step, digits holding onto the kitchen doorframe as you looked in.

Carmy had just turned to his left to open a cupboard, stopping in his tracks when he saw you.

"Oh hi, thought you'd be asleep by now." His eyes found yours for only a second, still the tiredness in his expression was as clear as ever. Carmy closed the cupboard once he had the jar in his hand, turning his attention back to the half-made sandwich.

"Hey." It was softer this time, your gaze mindlessly fixing on how he busied himself by unscrewing the peanut butter jar. How ironic was it that Carmy, who had worked in the best restaurants of the world, found pleasure in the simplicity of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

If only it didn't worry you that it could have been his second meal in the entire day.

"So, did lighting finally strike The Bear?" You rested your side on the edge of the counter, arms crossing.

Carmy's deep breath echoed against the tiled walls, shaking his head to keep the chaotic memories at bay.

"It was fucking horrible today, at one point I just stopped counting the times I wanted to put my head in the oven." Letting out a dry chuckle Carm turned his body to face yours, leaving the knife balanced on the plate.

Out of habit his hands rested on his hips, he missed having a spoon to nervously tap against his fingers.

"Hm, wasn't aware I was dating Sylvia Plath." You took a step closer, encasing his face in your hands as they slowly slid up until they found themselves in his unruly hair.

He had the nervous habit of endlessly threading his hands through it, which only made it look crazier as the day went on. It was endearing to a point, not so much when it started looking like a bird was one second away from building a nest.

Carmy hummed at the touch, eyes fluttering close as he leaned in. The kiss was gentle, lips grazing each other softly. His hands instinctively found themselves around the small of your back, bringing you in closer.

Mint and some rich sauce reached your tongue, the coincidental pair matching nicely. You knew the mint was because of the gum he chewed now that he decided to quit smoking and the sauce must have come from his cooking at The Bear. Always taste testing everything as many times as possible to reach perfection.

You pulled away slowly, grounding yourself in the crashing oceans behind his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?" Carmy's brows knitted together, his tongue wetting his lips evidently displaying the thousand thoughts running wild in his mind after the day. "It might feel better to let it out rather than let it all build up here"

Soothingly you rubbed your hand in circles above his heart. He'd spoken about his panic attacks, how the pressure in his chest constricted his breathing and his heart felt like it might never beat normally again.

"Maybe I should, Sugar's been saying I share as much as her agoraphobic neighbor." His lip quirked up at the memory.

"She apologised right after and asked if she'd been too mean about a neighbor she's never even met"

You couldn't help but laugh at the statement, the comparison so evidently Sugar's. "Only if you want to."

"Y-yeah I do." His right hand left your hip to scratch his brows, another one of his many nervous habits. "But I need to eat something or my stomach's gonna start eating itself."

"Enjoy your two Michelin star pb&j." His other hand lowered, his feet taking two steps back to find the cupboard where the jam was stored. Breaking the comfortable silence you gasped, immediately feeling guilty when you saw his back tense at the sudden noise before he turned to look at you. "Oh! -sorry- I just remembered that there's leftovers from some duck dish you were trying out for the menu yesterday. I can heat it up if you want."

"That would be amazing, thank you." He spoke your name softly, almost in a pleading sigh at the prospect of a more filling meal. There were nights were he had no appetite, anxiety stripping it away to replace it with endless nausea; but other days, just like today, he felt like he could eat the entire pantry.

Before you knew it Carmy was ravaging the plate, one hand splayed on the bottom of it as the other held the fork. The sandwich hadn't even lasted until the duck was warm, the idea of it reaching the couch was laughable.

You sat at his side, legs resting over his in a familiar manner. Despite his hunger, he still made sure to offer a bite, relishing in the delighted hum that reverberated in your throat at the incredible taste.

On days like these your evident admiration for his cooking was the constant that kept him from wallowing in self doubt.

When he swallowed his last bite he began sharing the details, fingers mindlessly trailing up and down your calves. "Then Fak came in, fucking high on adrenaline, and started telling this- this story about some friend of his that thought it was smart to put a bath bomb up their ass. All of this while there's a stuck up couple bitching about their experience at another restaurant in the kitchen, but we can't kick them out because one of the chairs at their table is about to fucking break and Fak is supposed to be building the replacement- but he's playing puppeteer with pots and forks."

A part of you expected Carmy to finish and say it was all made up, that he was actually bored all shift and decided that inventing this ridiculous story was the best way to make time pass.

He spoke of a dead spider curled up in between tomatoes that Tina found and showered everyone with a flourished set of screamed insults, "Marcus went in all brave but came out two seconds later looking two shades paler, Syd called him a pussy but went back to cutting onions pretty fucking quick when he offered for her to go. I had to send Fak to go get Ebra, which at least kept him far away and much more quiet"

"Well, as quiet as Fak can get." You interjected with a scoff.

"Yeah," Carmy laughed, one of his hands passing through his hair and letting it become disheveled. Unable to restrain yourself your fingers itched towards the blonde curls to tidy them up, trying not to notice how his eyes were deeply staring at you as you leaned closer to reach better.

His shoulders were no longer tense, his breaths full and the corners of his lips remained in a small smile. The Carmy who would've spent the night pacing and worrying himself sick at the idea of The Bear never escaping mayhem long gone.

"You should write a book, I would read it." You shrugged, leaning into the sofa, left arm propped up and extended towards him.

"Fuck no, last thing I need is a book" Carmy shook his head, diving further into the joke. "I'd spend three years to write a shitty paragraph, I can't have another commitment"

The earnest confession made you chuckle, head tipped back.

Two black clock hands abruptly brought your feet back on the ground. Somehow 1 am bled into 2:30, you could almost hear the alarm clock blaring in the room to wake you up.

Carmy wore a knowing look in his face. He could read you like a book, his own gaze having followed yours to find the clock in the living room. Holding back a laugh you bit the inside of your cheek.

There was still something you couldn't get off your mind.

"Now, I'm gonna have to force you to wash your hair because it looks like a fucking bucket of cooking oil fell on it." It was tough love, but it definitely wasn't a lie.

"What? Come on I'm fucking exhausted." Carmy groaned, letting his head fall dramatically on the backrest.

Sitting up and standing in front of him you offered your hand, a knowing look on your face. "You'll thank me tomorrow, come on."

He feigned ignorance for a moment, but the tough act fell in a manner of seconds. His hand took yours and pulled you towards him with overwhelming strength, leaving you no choice but to fall forwards into him.

Your legs moved to either side of him, finding a comfortable position.

"Just five more minutes" Nuzzling his nose into the crevice of your neck you couldn't help the smile that crept up on your face.

"Yes, chef." You laughed.

Preparing for the sleep deprivation tomorrow would be hard, but you wouldn't change it for anything.

A/N

He was extremely hesitant at first, understandably so given what you knew now about the whole spiderman and everyone forgetting him thing, but after getting to know you and hearing about the barrage of troubles the universe had thrusted your way, he figured if there was anyone he could trust, it was you.

A year later, not much had changed in your lives. You were still two struggling adults in your twenties just trying to get by on the day-to-day, except now, at least you had each other to cope. At least you were able to find some reprieve and light, though the pain from your lives remained a low hum in the background. 

You weren't exactly sure when it began happening—maybe a few months in—but you noticed it randomly one day. Your heart started beating faster around him. Then, he began taking up extra space in your mind until eventually, the thoughts became too loud to ignore.

You chalked the feelings up to all the trauma bonding and hours you’d spent together trying to shut out and disappear from the real world. You tried to ignore the rush of joy you felt when he laughed, or the dizziness of your head whenever you caught a glimpse of him changing out of his suit, until you were drowning in a pool of affection that you weren't sure you could surface from. 

There’d been a few times the confession almost slipped from your tongue. The intimate nights sitting out on the fire escape with food and the sound of the city in the distance, or the times where he sat a little too close to you on the couch during movie nights.

But then he’d sigh, his gaze going foggy as he zoned out on some far off point, murmuring, “MJ would have hated this movie,” or “Ned used to love this burger place.”

And just like that the words would die on your tongue. How could you ever compete with the monument of love he carried for his past relationships? No, it was easier to suppress the feelings and toss them atop the mountain of other struggles you carried. You’d learn to manage with the extra weight simple because the alternative—a life absent of his presence—wasn’t something you could fathom.

Then things started changing.

First, he was suddenly busy on your sacred days off, days you would always spend together exploring new restaurants and coffee shops around the city. Then, he started turning you away on his patrol nights, nights where you’d kept him company and even helped patch up the nastier cuts he couldn't reach. Excuse after excuse came and the fear that he’d figured out your feelings twisted your gut with nerves.

It didn't take long for you to come to the conclusion that he was building a wall to preserve the sanctity of his memory with MJ. There could be no other reason for the sudden distance. You tried convincing yourself it was for the best. The perfect solution to help you cope with losing him, because if it wasn’t now, it would be later.

You lasted exactly three days. Three days of radio silence was what it took for you to realize that no, you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t stay away from him. Maybe it was the return to a forgotten loneliness, a deep, screaming void, that had you knocking on his door frantically that night, your fist nearly pounding through the paint-chipped wood.

The door cracked open an inch and before he could get the opportunity to reject you, you pushed your way through, bursting into his apartment with a temper he’d never seen.

“Hey, stranger,” you said with a hint of venom in your voice. You turned to face him, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of his pale, flushed skin, a fine sheen of sweat settled on his temples. His eyes looked unusually dark; you blinked your own a few times to clear them and make sure you weren’t seeing something that wasn’t there. 

He said your name through the rasp of his shaky voice. “I-I’m sorry, I’m busy right now… you should go.”

“Like hell I should,” you scoffed, any anxious thoughts replaced by an unwavering surge of protectiveness. “Is this why you’ve been ghosting me? Are you sick or something?”

His face suddenly scrunched up, his hand raising to hold his head as he whimpered in pain. “I’m n-not ghosting you… I just…”

You took a step closer to him, freezing when he flinched back and held out a hand to stop you. Your heart fell to your stomach as you watched his eyes darken further. “Pete, I don’t know what’s going on but, please, let me help you… Stop pushing me away.” 

You attempted another careful step forward until he pushed himself back against the wall.

“S-stop, stop! Please just… don’t come closer.”

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat that had risen, clenching your hands into fists to stop them from shaking. You waited patiently for him to speak, scared that the next words that left him were going to be the ones to shatter your world.

“I,” he paused, breathing in a deep breath before continuing. “I can’t… trust myself to be around you right now.”

Your brows pressed together in confusion. “Why not?”

His eyes bore into the ground as he tried to gather his thoughts over the multitude of senses that surged the moment you approached his door, but everything was fuzzy and melted together until all he could feel was you. Your presence, and it was driving him crazy.

“My systems are detecting an abnormally high heart rate, Peter,” Evie’s robotic voice rang out. “System overload is approaching.”

“Not now, Evie,” Peter choked out.

You shook your head in disbelief. “You can trust me, Peter. Please. Haven’t I proven that to you? After everything?”

“I-It’s not that—”

“Then what?” You approached him despite his protests, not stopping until you were a step away from touching.

His brain nearly short-circuited, any lasting restraint vanishing as he allowed you to fully flood his senses. The shampoo you used this morning, the perfume you’d applied a few hours ago, the fast thump thump of your heart, a beautiful rhythm that drowned out all rational thought to disarm him completely.

“Something is happening to me,” he gasped, the words tearing from his chest. “My arachnid DNA is… it’s evolving. Mutating. Everything is turned up to ten thousand a-and my impulses—” he cut himself off, slamming his head back against the door hard enough to make it rattle on its hinges. 

You shook your head, your hands reaching for him again. “If you’re scared you’ll hurt me, you won’t—”

“No!” he spat out desperately. “It’s not that I—I c-can’t—” He was practically shaking now, violent tremors racking his body.

Your heart ached as you watched him. Unable to control yourself, you lifted your hands to cup his flushed cheeks, his skin burning under your palms. “Peter,” you whispered softly, your voice reaching him over the storm raging within.

He stared at you, his pupils dilated so wide, only a thin ring of the soft brown you loved so much was present. Your lips parted with a pant at the hunger displayed in them as you got lost in their depths, a raw need you’d never seen before. “Woah…”

A low, tormented whimper escaped him when your thumbs rubbed along his skin, the sound shooting straight to pool low in your stomach, spreading a heat you scolded yourself for internally. Now was not the time.

“I can’t think straight when you’re near,” he confessed through a strained voice. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I can’t act normal. I can’t pretend like I usually do… not when all I want to do is—”

He groaned, tipping his head back against the door, a final sliver of restrain returning before he crossed the line.

“What, Peter?” you pressed, leaning closer to eliminate the last inch of space between your bodies, your chests brushing. You looked at him with such care, your gaze so gentle and understanding and comforting. “What do you want to do?”

In the split second before he moved you were able to catch the black swallowing the last fragment of brown, followed quickly by the entirety of the whites of his eyes. Then his lips were on yours.

It was all consuming as his mouth moved over yours, desperately kissing as if you were the very air that filled his lungs and it was being threatened away from him.

His hands dug into your sides, fisting your skin to pull you flush against his body until you could feel the taught muscle hidden beneath his shirt. You gasped into his mouth when he lifted you to wrap your legs around his waist, moaning when he took the opportunity to slide his tongue along yours.

He fell back onto the couch behind him, keeping you close as he continued to devour your lips, whimpering when your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging to pull him back so you could take a breath.

He fought against your grip, his eyes opening to lock onto yours when you pulled harder. Your chest heaved as you stared into the black pools with awe.

“I-I’m sorry,” he managed to say through clenched teeth, barely suppressing the desire to ravage you whole. “I tried to hide my feelings but it's harder like this.”

The smile that graced your lips had his head spinning all over again, his eyes burning as they turned glassy.

“Feelings?” you mumbled, leaning down to ghost your lips over his, the heat in your belly spreading further when he tried to chase them. You curve into him just enough to feel something poking you as he let out another strangled gasp. “You like me, Peter?”

A tear slips down his cheek when you say his name, the sound falling so beautifully from your lips, making his cock pulse harder in his sweatpants. The grip he has on you tightens, subconsciously pressing you down over his throbbing boner.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to ruin what we have, I just… can’t lose you, too.”

Your heart clenches when his voice cracks with agony. You want to scream at him and the world the depths of your feelings for him, how he could never lose you and how the same fear had been tormenting you for weeks. But words felt small, too insufficient. So you showed him by capturing his lips with yours once more.

He met them with relief, his arms wrapping fully around your torso to cage you against him in an attempt to get as close to fusing your bodies together as possible. You arched into him, fully dragging your core against his cock, the friction a sweet torture that had his mouth falling open in a broken moan. 

“Please,” he gasped against your cheek.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your lips latching onto the sensitive skin as you rocked your hips faster. You could feel every inch of his cock pressing against your heat, your aching clit pulsating in your soaked panties. His grip on you turned bruising, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he guided your movements to match how much he needed you.

“So g-good… you feel so—mngh—” he whined.

Just then a sharp blaring came from the other side of the room, a sound you recognized as his police scanner. You stilled your movements and removed your head from his neck. Before you could say anything, Peter’s arm flung out. A web whipped through the air and a second later it connected with the phone, striking it hard enough for a loud crack to sound out, silencing the alarm.

His black eyes shot back to find your surprised ones. He’d never, ever, ignored the call. But tonight he didn’t care. Tonight, all he wanted was you.

You could practically see the possession in his eyes as he stood up, holding you against him. Seconds later, your back met the soft mattress of his bed as he laid you down, quickly pressing himself back between your legs, his mouth finding your neck, kissing and nipping a trail of fire. Your mind, however, was still trying to comprehend what you’d just seen.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning your hands beside your head, his hips rutting shamelessly into you with a pressure that stole your breath. You turned to stare at his wrist, bare of the bulky web shooters.

“Peter,” you panted, arching into his thrust. “How did you… the web?”

His lips trailed up your cheek, messily kissing over your lips with a desperate fervor. 

“Arachnid DNA,” is all he mumbled.

“O-Oh.. cool,” you managed to say before he swallowed the word with his tongue.

He parted to sit back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his sweat slicked torso. Your mouth went dry when he pulled down his sweats and underwear in one go, kicking them off the rest of the way.

Your gaze dropped, a heady moan slipping at the sight of his thick cock flushed a deep red as it pulsed against his stomach, streams of precum dripping down the sides.

He climbed back over you, pressing his cock into your clothed heat to resume his rutting, panting little sounds of pleasure into your ear.

“Mnmh—ah! I can—fuck… I can feel how warm you are, can smell you." His hands slipped beneath your shirt, running up until they grazed the soft skin of your breasts.

Something new in him snapped when he realized you weren't wearing a bra. He started snapping his hips harder into you until your body was climbing up the bed. “I’m sorry—oh god… fuck, I’m so sorry—I can't stop—”

“It’s okay, Peter.”

“No,” he pleaded, his lips brushing your throat. “I can’t hold back anymore. Fuck—I need you to tell me—”

“I’m here for you, Peter,” you whispered, cupping his face to force his dazed eyes back to yours. His lids were blotchy with tears, his lips red and kiss-swollen. You could see the struggle in them, the fight against his depraved thoughts to make sure you were okay with this. It only made you want him more. “Use me.”

Any remaining tension in his face melted. His brows relaxed, the cute crinkles by his eyes smoothing over at your permission.

He shoved your shirt over your head, moaning at the sight of your chest, your nipples peaked and begging for his touch. He captured one in his mouth, laving it with his tongue before sucking hard. His other hand rolled the other between his fingers, flicking and pinching the sensitive bud, drawing out high pitched cries from your lips.

“Mmm, so pretty, taste so sweet.”

His free hand fumbled with your pants in an attempt to push them down, a frustrated, almost animalistic groan escaping him when they caught on your hips. He gave a small tug and tore the fabric away from your body, discarding it without a second thought.

“Hey!” you yelped, the protest dying when he pressed the hot head of his cock through your sodden folds, rubbing it through the slick mess. 

The slick sounds of your wet heat were enough to make his consciousness slip as he failed to suppress a sob.

He could hear every microscopic hitch of your breath in his heightened ears, every pulse at your clit against his shaft a divine torment, the rush of your blood beneath your skin. You watched, enamored, as his eyes fluttered weakly when his tip caught at your hole, and then he was pushing in.

“O-Oh fuu—” his eyes fluttered as your tight cunt clenched around the invasion.

“I’m sorry, so sorry—so tight, fuck, ‘M sorry—” he apologized in a continuous stream as he sank in, forcing himself deeper until he was fully bottomed out. Tears slipped from his eyes, cascading down his flushed cheeks, your walls clamping down to draw out more small cries from him, basking in the sight.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the stretch. It had been a while for you and Peter was so thick. You could feel every vein, every ridge of his cock dragging against your velvety walls as his hips met yours.

Before you could fully adjust and let the sting subside, he was pulling out and driving back into you with a punctured breath, stealing the air from your lungs. You dug your nails into the muscles of his back, biting your lip to suppress a yelp as he set a brutal pace, each thrust burying him just as deep.

The head of his cock kissed your cervix with an overwhelming, euphoric pressure. 

“Cunt feels so fucking good, squeezing me so tight.”

The pain began to fade, replaced by a pleasure so sharp it bordered on agony. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, locking your ankles, pushing him deeper inside you. “'M so full, Peter.”

He collapsed onto you, his lips leaving wet, sloppy kisses wherever he could reach as he fucked you mercilessly, his cock pistoning in and out of you.

The pressure in your belly snuck up on you, building and coiling tight like a live wire trapped beneath your skin.

“P-Peter—!” you cried out, your cunt fluttering around his cock. You bowed off the bed, your back arching as he fucked the orgasm out of you, wave after wave of white-hot ecstasy flowing through your nerves.

The foreign scent of your cum invaded his senses, something he could only describe as overwhelmingly you and all-consuming, causing his eyes to screw shut with a sob.

The violent constrictions of your walls around his cock only edged him on further. He fucked you through your climax with ragged, desperate bucks, his movements dissolving into a frenzy, the filthy sounds of wet skin slapping together filling the room.

You latched onto his wrists beside your head, feeling an intense heat radiating from the hypersensitive skin over his organic webbing. Before you were even aware of your actions, your head was turning, your lips pressing a soft kiss to his wrist.

Words were beyond him as your touch reduced him to incoherent, whimpering babbles. “Feels… s’good—mphm. C-Can’t… ‘M yours… all yours—”

His thrusts turned erratic, his gut tightening as he rested his forehead on your chest, nuzzling into your skin in an attempt to sink into you, to become one.

"It h- it hurts—can't stop... 'M sorry—"

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, his thrust faltering to shallow, uncoordinated thrusts. A sob wretched from him, wanton and broken, hot tears spilling from his clenched eyes, dripping onto your skin.

"Come for me, Peter."

He sank all the way in one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go as his body tensed.

Then his mind blanked.

His vision went black, speckled with stars. With a guttural cry, he came, his release a torrent, spilling deep into your cunt in thick, hot pulsing waves. He whined into your chest, his body spasming through each powerful jet.

You panted through each hard twitch of his cock, overwhelmed with the sheer volume of cum as he continued to fill you, the sensation so intense you struggled to catch your breath. It just kept going as he shook above you, his cum leaking out around the base of his cock still stuffed deep inside you.

He stayed there as your cunt milked every drop, creating a home for himself, content with living inside you for as long as you'd let him.

You carded a hand through his hair as tremors continued to wrack his oversensitive body. “Shh, you’re okay,” you whispered into his ear, your voice hoarse. “You did so good.”

He went boneless above you, a dead, spent weight. Eventually, his softened cock slipped from your used cunt, followed by a stream of his release dripping down to soak the sheets as you whimpered through it all.

A few moments later, the silence in the room was broken by Evie’s voice. “Heart rate regulated. Vitals have returned to baseline levels.”

It seemed to bring Peter back to earth. He lifted his head from your chest with a groggy moan, blinking blearily down at you. His eyes were back to their normal, warm brown, the black reduced to his pupils, though still glazed with wonder.

You guided him to his back, leaning over to wipe the tears from his cheek before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He sniffled, fresh tears welling in his bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I didn’t… I didn’t want it to happen like that. I wanted to be… better for you.”

You shushed him gently, kissing his cheek. “We’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he insisted, the vulnerability clear in his tone. “I am.”

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips. “Then never ignore me like that again.”

He sniffled with a nod, his lips squirking up into that boyish smile that made your heart ache. “Okay.”

“Do you feel better?” you asked, your hands smoothing down his chest.

He nodded, a dark blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. “I didn’t know I could feel that good,” he admitted with awe. 

“Has it been a while for you, too?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking away for a second before meeting yours again anxiously. ‘I’ve never, um…” he took a shaky, deep breath. “That was my uh, first time.”

Your hands froze on his chest. “What?”

He winced. “I told you I couldn’t control myself.”

You laughed at the surprising confession, leaning down to brush your nose against his. “Well, at least it was memorable.”

He smiled, all shy and genuine and so Peter-like, you couldn’t resist kissing him, tender and slow. Your hand continued rubbing, your thumb brushing over a nipple, circle it to a peak when he whimpered, his whole body jolting back away at your touch.

“Tsk, so sensitive.” Your hand trailed lower, grazing over the dips of muscle to rest just above where his cock was stirring back to life. “So how easy is it for that side of you to come out?”

His breath caught as your finger dug into the sensitive skin of his lower stomach. When you flicked your eyes back up to his, you saw it again.

The inky blackness had started to expand, swallowing the warm brown, once again drawn out by you. 

Don't be shy to leave a like comment or reblog, truly means the world to me :D

Or it is perfect until you feel a forceful tug on your purse. At first you thought you were just imagining it. Then you feel it again and realize You look to your right and see a person in a grey hoodie trying to get your purse from off your arm. And you freeze. Staring into the eye holes of the ski mask they were wearing. Time simultaneously seems to move at snail speed and lightning fast speed.

Your brain races with options, trying its hardest to come up with one, anything besides standing here and doing nothing. Pepper spray? Thats in the bag that's currently getting burglarized. Right. You think of the books you just bought and reach for one out of your newly acquired tote bag to hit him over the head with, but he yanks the tote off your shoulder and tosses it onto the sidewalk. Your eyes soften with despair, watching as some books spill out onto the concrete.

Another sharp tug pulls your attention from your books scattered across the sidewalk as he makes another attempt at the purse. And for a brief moment you consider just letting him take it. Fuck it. But shortly after that thought, another one pops into your head. Credit Card fraud. You've spent the past year paying down student loans, debts, and finally getting your credit score back into the green. It might be stupid, you decide that you're not letting this asshole tank your credit score, steal your I.D and ruin your life. Not without a bit of a fight.

You tug hard against your purse, trying to grab it back. "Hey! HELP! You shout, your mouth finally forming words. Trying to get anyone's attention to help you. Your grip on the strap loosens, slipping through your hand. Tears start to pool in the bottoms of your eyes at the thought of losing everything. Your ID, credit and debit cards, money, the new books you just bought. All of it going away.

Suddenly, a flash of red and blue passes by you. The assailant is sent flying backwards against the brick wall of the store on the street. The force of the man letting go of your purse sends you backwards in the opposite direction. One second you're standing, the next you're flat on your ass and back on the concrete. Purse in hand, though. One win at least.

The pain that shoots through your back is pushed aside as you finally see what the flash of red and blue was. Spider-Man. He grabs the man, landing a punch in his nose. Then he grabs the man and webs him against the brick wall to detain him. Removing the ski mask for a final cherry on top of apprehending the attempted burglar. You hear a crack or joke leave his mouth, but your brain is too busy processing to really make it out. Spider-Man was the one who saved you.

You've seen him online saving old ladies, stopping falling helicopters with his webs, and saving kids from broken bridges on the news and online. Sure, in the back of your mind, with the rate of end-of-the-world events that happen in New York, you expected to be saved by a vigilante sooner or later. But maybe under more exciting circumstances than a street mugging.

You're still on your butt when he walks over to you, extending a spandex-covered hand. You imagine a friendly, practiced smile under the mask. Maybe an attempt to humanize himself or come across as less terrifying because really a man who could move like that so easily was terrifying.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice filled with concern, his out to help you stand.

But you don't move. You can't move. It's as if your body is glued to the sidewalk, frozen. You assume he can sense your confusion and shock. It was probably written all over your face. He walks slowly towards your tote bag and spilled books, puts them back inside the bag, and holds it out for you again. Slowly you take his hand and stand up on your feet. You put the bag back onto your arm.

Again he asks, "Are you okay?"

This time your brain can work enough to tell your head to move. You give him a short nod. But nothing comes out of your mouth. That seemed like too much for your brain. Mouth dry as you just stare blankly, nodding.

"Are you sure?" He helps you stand, putting a hand around your waist to help stabilize you. But something about his voice seems familiar in a way you can't place. You can't, you can't tell if it really is or if it's your brain searching for something familiar amidst all the panic.

"You're positive. He didnt hurt you? I can swing you to a doctor?" Again, the voice is one you recognize. You know, but everything feels too confusing to be certain.

"No," You shake your head. "He didnt. I'm okay. Thanks to you."

"It's…" He starts but cuts himself off. "I can at least swing you home? Just to be safe."

Your head moves to nod. "Okay, just hold on tight."

Awkwardly, you climb onto Spider-Man's torso. As he wraps one arm around you to hold you get a weird sensation of deja vu creep up. Like you've been held by him before. But again your brain doesn't have a chance to linger on it for too long. In one swift movement your above ground. Way, way above the ground. As you look down, the people on the street get tiny.

"Holy shit! Oh my god." You cling to him tighter. The realization of being so high is threatening to have the breakfast sandwich you had earlier come back up. You dip your head down against his shoulders to cover your eyes from the view.

“You’re okay! You’re okay! I promise! I got you! I got you! It's almost there," He reassures. The last sentence comes out in a low whisper. Intimately. Again, it's familiar.

A few minutes pass, but it feels like hours when he sets you down in front of your apartment building. Which is strange since you swear you didn't tell him where it was. He asks again if you're hurt, but you can't l think about anything besides how he sounded familiar, like really familiar.

"I'm fine, really. Um, thank you for helping me." You thank him, looking at him through the mask. He steps back, looking at you, a wide, big white oval staring at you. You stare back, positive you know the voice.

“You swear you're okay? He didn't hurt you?” Again, his voice sounded very familiar. You nodded, unable to look away from the white ovals. 

Suddenly it clicks whose voice is behind the mask. “I know you,” you say quietly, realizing why it was so familiar. Because you heard it a few days ago when you accidentally burned your hand getting brownies out of the oven. Your boyfriend asked when you insisted that you didnt need to go to the E.R and that it wasn't that bad. That was the voice behind it.

The oval of the mask widens, before narrowing. “What! I mean,” He deepens his voice poorly before speaking again. “No, ma’am, I'm sure you don't.”

You smile, laughing because any doubts you had were gone. You definitely know who it was now. You knew your boyfriend’s voice from anywhere. You’ve been dating for three years, took the same classes in college a few times, and stayed on the phone with him for hours. You knew his voice. 

“Peter?” You see the whites of his mask widen before squinting as he shakes his head. 

“W-w-what? I'm….I'm not this….Peter,” he says again, deepening his voice badly. You can't help but laugh.

"Are you serious?"

Spider-Man backs away slowly. "I… I think you have me mistaken, ma'am." He asserts, his voice still fakingly deep. It would be comical if it weren't your boyfriend lying to you.

You can't help but to narrow your eyes at him, glaring at the mask.

"I.. uh..have to go. Ma'am. Gotta save… someone…" That is all he says vaguely before shooting a web and swinging away from you. Leaving you staring in his direction, baffled and annoyed for a few minutes, trying to believe everything that had just happened.

Inside your apartment, you're sitting on the couch. Laptop in front of you, studying for your exams. Trying to at least, but you could not focus on anything except your run-in with "Spider-Man." Every time you think about it, you can't help but laugh at everything. Especially his poor attempt at lying to you. And only one person came to mind when you pieced everything together.

The sound of keys jiggling in the door tells you that your boyfriend was coming inside. Or was trying to. The knob turns a few times, but instead of opening the door fully, it only opens slightly. The old chain lock that you had fixed hinders him from opening it fully. You hear him struggle before muttering a "what?"

You stand and meet in the door, smiling at him through the small opening. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"

"What? Baby, what is this?" He tries to open it more, sticking his head through a bit. But you have to bite the inside of your cheek so you don't laugh. Then his hand comes through, trying to reach the latch, but you swat it away.

"Baby, when did the chain lock get fixed?"

“I'm sorry. Do I know you?” Putting on your best, confused face as Peter stares back at you, still trying to open it.

“Babe? Come on, let me in.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “I don’t think I know you, sorry. You must've gotten confused with another famous vigilante….red and blue suit. And white, almost translucent webbing.” You taunt, and finally, Peter realizes. His face gets a shade redder. He looks and then sighs.

"Really, that made you go get the chain lock fixed? How fast did maintenance come over? That was only 3 hours ago." He pokes the chain with a finger in disbelief.

"With all these bad guys in spandex…I mean, I can't be too safe. Besides, if you can carry a bus but can't break open a door. Oh wait, sorry, that's not you," you taunt again, smiling.

Peter rolls his eyes slightly, glancing in the hallway to make sure it was empty, then easily grabs the small chain in his hands and bends it until it snaps. He pushes the door slightly, causing you to take a step back.

"I didn't think you were actually gonna do it."

He closes the door behind him, locking it, and sets his backpack down. "Look, I'm sorry I lied and didn't tell you I was Spider-Man. But I didnt want you to be an accomplice or an accessory if I got in trouble with the law. And if I got in the other kind of trouble and pissed people off, I didn't want you to get caught up in it. I didnt want to put you in danger." His brown eyes soften, silently pleading with you not to be too mad. And fuck, it is working.

Your arms slowly fall from being crossed over your chest. Your anger dissipating. "I…get that. But you still pretended that it wasn't you. You even did the terrible fake voice thing. Seriously!"

"I panicked! And didnt want to admit that you knew me! You never know who could be listening. But I'm sorry. I will never ever lie to you like that again." He steps closes apprehensivly. Still trying to gauge how mad you are.

You let him approach you until his hands are on your waist and he's pulling you into an embrace. Resting his head against you. "Don't hate me? Please." He says quietly.

"I don't hate you."

"Are you pissed?"

You nod.

"I deserve that. I'm really sorry for not telling you." He pauses for a second. "Wait, are you pissed it's the fact that I didn't tell you about it or because I lied?"

"I think the fake voice and the ma'am pissed me off more than you being Spider-Man and not telling me."

He laughs. But you're serious. "Ma'am Parker! Ma'am! You sounded like you were speaking to the principal or something."

"Fair enough. I will never ever call you ma'am either."

His words are enough to placate you. And the way he softly rubs your back dispels any lingering resentment you had. "Fine. Okay. I forgive you."

He kisses you softly, and when he pulls away is when you finally take in the bruises starting to form on his jaw and face. You take his chin between your fingers and tilt his head to get a better look.

"What did you do after saving me? Break up a brawl?"

He gives an awkward grin that goes with the way he's nervously scratching the back of his neck. "I ran into a pole after. I was distracted." He laughs at the end, but you don't find it funny.

"At least there's an explanation for all the bruises you had." You walk with him into the kitchen, grabbing an ice pack.

"And what did you think the bruises were from?"

"Honestly? I thought it was a BDSM thing you were too scared to tell me about."

Peter hums both in relief at the feeling of the ice pack on his face and also at your response. Unfazed. "Well, It's not a kink thing. And I would tell you if it was"

The two of you go to the couch. You sit down on one end while he lies down, his legs spread onto the other cushions and resting his head in your lap. Holding the ice pack up to his face. You run your fingers through his brown curls, habitually something you do now, almost extinct. It soothes both of you.

"I understand what you do, and that it's important. I would never ask you to stop or give it up, or even put me first." You start. He shifts his head to look at you while remaining lying on your lap. "Just…" You trail off, struggling to find the words. "Just don't make me watch you die… Or something"

Peter sits up, taking your hands in his. "Hey. I won't." He kisses the side of your head, an extra reassurance.

"Good."

"Cause I can't afford this place alone, and trying to find a roommate is hell." You break the too serious and honestly terrifying subject of the conversation. Not able to think about it any longer than you had been.

"Nah. My life insurance would at least cover maybe four months. Then you're on your own." He lays his head back in your lap. "But seriously. Thank you for getting why I have to do this."

"Unfortunately, it's one of the things I love about you. So I can't complain too much."

"Aww? It's more than I pay my half of the rent?"

"Yeah, but that's the biggest reason. And now I know how strong you really are, I can ask you to lift all the heavy furniture."

He takes the hand that was massaging his scalp and brings it to his lips, kissing it in a knight-like manner. "M'lady. I will move all the heavy furniture thee possesses." Which makes you laugh. "Is M'lady better than Ma'am?"

peter's brows pull together, still unsure, and then he's throwing his head back in ecstasy, sputtering a string of 'baby's that echo off the walls. your mouth latches onto the flap of skin where his organic webs spurt from, and you watch him intently as he comes undone beneath you, a mischievous smile forming on your lips.

"that nice?" you ask, pulling away briefly, hand still tugging and squeezing.

then, a second later, breathless and strained, "god, this is so weird," he chokes out, gripping the sheet. "but 's g-good... sososo good. don't stop."

you giggle against him, and the vibration shoots up the length of his arm. your tongue dances across his skin, alternates between flicking and sucking the flap, and you can feel his forearm pulsing. throbbing. shifting under your tongue like it's preparing for release.

when you glance up at peter, he's already looking up at you, leaning back on his elbow. his jaw is slack, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, and his eyes flicker from white to black intermittently. you quicken your pace, sucking his wrist and stroking him in tandem, all while holding his gaze.

briefly, you pull off to encourage his release. "you're so close, baby. let go for me."

a few more licks and tugs later, peter comes violently. he releases all over your hand. wet and thick and warm. his wrist follows next, shoots out webbing in quick succession, and lands all over the room before covering you in one final spurt.

peter falls against the sheets with a huff, too far gone to be embarrassed by the state of the room. you pump him a few more times before you retract your hand, then settle on top of him, straddling his waist.

"how do you feel?" you ask, licking the spend off your hands.

he blinks an eye open, still panting. "used," is all he says.

you laugh, lean in close to his ear. "well, get ready to be 'used' again because i wanna try something else," you say, voice low and teasing, "and... i can already feel you getting harder. you liked that, admit it, pervert."

peter turns his head, rolls his eyes. "no comment."

he'll never admit it, but you know.