bea writes fic

people always noticed jackie first.

it had been that way your entire life.

she was brighter, louder in the way that drew people in without trying. she filled spaces easily, like she belonged in them the second she stepped in. conversations found her. people gravitated toward her.

and you.

you stayed a step behind.

not invisible. never that.

just… quieter.

watching instead of speaking. listening instead of leading. noticing the things other people didn’t.

it didn’t bother you.

not really.

you liked it that way.

when you and jackie arrived at the walters’ house, everything felt too big.

too loud.

too much.

voices overlapped before you even made it fully inside, footsteps echoing, someone shouting from upstairs, laughter bursting from somewhere down the hall. it felt like stepping into a storm. warm, chaotic, impossible to fully take in.

you instinctively moved closer to jackie.

not because you needed to be protected, but because she grounded you.

“this is insane,” she whispered, half-laughing, half-overwhelmed.

you nodded slightly.

insane felt like an understatement.

boys, so many boys, moving around like they owned the place, bumping into each other, arguing, joking, barely noticing the two of you at first.

and then… they did.

introductions blurred together.

names you tried to memorize. faces you quietly studied. personalities that filled the room before you could even process them.

you didn’t say much.

just soft “hi”s and small smiles.

you didn’t need to.

you were already paying attention.

that's when you noticed him.

he wasn’t the loudest.

wasn’t trying to be.

while the others talked over each other, he stood slightly off to the side. present, but not pushing himself forward.

observing. just like you.

your eyes caught on him for half a second longer than the others.

he noticed, you knew he did.

because his gaze flickered toward you. quick, subtle, but intentional and for a moment, everything else blurred.

you looked away first.

his name was alex.

you learned that a few minutes later, when someone said it too loudly across the room.

you stored it away quietly.

alex.

you didn’t expect him to notice you again.

people usually didn’t.

not when jackie was there. laughing, talking, naturally becoming part of everything and you were okay with that.

you had always been okay with that, but alex…

alex noticed everything.

it started small.

a glance when no one else was looking.

a chair pulled out next to you at dinner, even when there were other spots.

a quiet “you good?” when things got too loud.

he never made a big deal out of it.

never put you on the spot.

he just… made space for you and somehow, you found yourself stepping into it.

the first time he asked you to step outside, you almost thought he meant jackie.

he appeared beside you in the living room, where the noise was starting to press in on your chest, your fingers curled tightly in the sleeves of your sweater.

“hey,” he said softly.

you looked up, startled for a second. “hi.”

he glanced around, then back at you. “wanna get some air?”

you blinked. “me?”

he smiled. small, reassuring. “yeah. you.”

your heart did something strange. “okay,” you said quietly.

the porch became your place after that.

not officially.

not in a way anyone talked about.

but somehow, whenever things got too loud, too overwhelming…

you’d both end up there.

together.

you didn’t talk much at first.

that was the thing about alex. he didn’t rush you, didn’t fill the silence just because it was there, he let it exist and for you, that meant everything.

you could sit beside him, listening to the distant noise from inside, feeling the cool air against your skin, and not feel like you had to perform.

not like you had to be more than you were.

you could just… be.

“you notice everything, don’t you?”

his voice broke the quiet one evening.

you turned your head slightly. “what?”

he was already looking at you. not intensely. just… steadily.

“you don’t say much,” he continued, “but you’re always paying attention.”

your fingers tightened slightly in your sleeves. most people didn’t see that.

“i guess,” you said softly. he smiled a little. “i like that.”

your breath caught, just a little.

“why?”

he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “i don’t know. makes things feel… real. like someone’s actually seeing what’s going on.”

you looked down, processing that. then, quieter:  “i see you.”

the words slipped out before you could stop them.

his expression shifted. something softer. something warmer.

“yeah?” he asked. you nodded, barely.

“yeah.”

after that, things changed.

not all at once.

but enough that you felt it.

he started seeking you out, not in a way that drew attention, but in the small, quiet ways that mattered.

standing beside you instead of across the room, asking you questions he actually waited for answers to, not interrupting when you spoke, even if it took you longer to find the words.

you started opening up.

you told him things you didn’t usually say out loud.

small thoughts. observations. feelings you normally kept tucked away and he listened.

like it mattered, like you mattered.

one night, the house felt louder than usual. too many voices. too much movement.

you found yourself retreating to the hallway, pressing your back lightly against the wall, trying to steady your breathing.

you didn’t even notice him approaching at first. “hey.” you looked up.

alex, of course. 

“hi,” you said quietly. he studied you for a second. “too much?”

you nodded. he didn’t ask anything else.

just tilted his head slightly toward the door. “come on.”

outside, the air felt cooler. calmer.

you exhaled slowly, your shoulders relaxing.

“better?” he asked. “yeah.”

you sat beside him, pulling your knees up slightly, your hands tucked into your sleeves.

he glanced at you, then “i’m glad you came here.”

you frowned faintly. “with jackie?”

“no,” he said softly. “you.”

your heart skipped. “oh.” he smiled a little, like he could tell you weren’t used to hearing that.

“you’re… easy to be around,” he added. “in a good way.”

you looked down, your cheeks warming. “i’m not very… interesting.”

“that’s not true.” you glanced up at him. his expression was steady. certain.

“you just don’t try to be loud about it,” he continued. “but you are.”

your chest tightened. no one had ever said that before.

the silence that followed felt different. full. your fingers fidgeted slightly in your sleeves.

“alex…”

“yeah? you hesitated a bit before speaking again.

“do you ever feel like… you’re just kind of there? like people don’t really see you?”

the words came out quieter than you intended. he didn’t answer right away.

“sometimes,” he said eventually. “but not with you.”

you blinked. “what do you mean?” he turned slightly, facing you more fully.

“i mean, when i’m with you, things feel… clearer. like i’m not just background noise.”

your breath caught. “you’re the best part of my day, everyday.”

the words were soft, but they hit harder than anything loud ever could.

you stared at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “alex…”

“i mean it,” he said quickly, like he was worried you wouldn’t believe him. “i know you don’t like a lot of attention, and i’m not trying to make this a big thing, i just-” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “you matter. a lot. to me.”

your chest felt tight. too full.

“you’re… my favorite part too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

his expression softened instantly. “yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

he reached for your hand slowly.

like he was giving you time to pull away.

you didn’t. your fingers slipped into his, tentative at first, then steadier.

his hand was warm.

grounding.

“i’d do anything for you, you know.”

you looked at him, your brows knitting slightly.

“anything?” he nodded.

his voice wasn’t teasing, not even a little.

“i’d kill for you and you know it.”

your eyes widened just slightly.

“that’s… a lot.” he huffed a quiet laugh. “okay, maybe not literally.”

“good,” you murmured. “but i mean it,” he continued, softer now. “i’ve got you. always. you don’t have to say everything out loud for me to understand. i’m still here.”

your throat tightened, because that…

that meant more than anything.

“i know,” you said quietly. “and i’ve got you too,” you added after a second.

he smiled. gentle. “good.”

inside, jackie’s laughter echoed faintly through the door. familiar. warm.

you loved her for how easily she fit into the world, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were standing in her shadow.

out here you felt seen. not for being loud, not for being bright, but for being you.

and alex, he saw all of it. every quiet piece. every small detail. every unspoken thought.

you leaned your head lightly against his shoulder.

he stilled for half a second.

then relaxed into it.

his fingers tightened just slightly around yours.

steady and certain.

“hey,” you whispered. “yeah?”

“don’t… stop noticing me. please” he didn’t hesitate. “never.”

and this time, you didn’t doubt it for a second…

a week later, the porch was a bit quieter than usual.

not because the house had changed. jackie was still laughing somewhere inside, music still faintly pulsing from the living room, but outside, with the cool night settling over the yard, it was just you and alex.

you shifted a little closer in your chair, letting your knees brush his. he didn’t pull away. instead, he tilted his head, letting a small smile curl at the corner of his lips.

“you know,” he said softly, eyes tracing the outline of your face in the dim porch light, “i like it when you do that.”

“do what?” you whispered, heart thudding before you even realized why.

“lean in,” he said. “like i’m the only person you need to be near.”

you looked down, cheeks heating. “i just… like being out here. with you.”

his hand found yours, warm and steady, thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a way that made your stomach flip. “i like it too. more than anything.”

you didn’t say anything, because words would ruin it. he understood anyway.

after a beat, he tilted his head, letting his forehead brush against yours. you tilted toward him instinctively, nose touching nose, the faintest laugh escaping you.

“you’re ridiculous,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

“yeah,” he whispered back, voice low, “but i’m your ridiculous. and i’m not letting you go.”

you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “good. because i’m not going anywhere either.”

alex laughed softly, then leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. just a gentle touch, but it made your chest ache in all the right ways.

“you’re really something, you know that?” he said quietly. “quiet, soft, paying attention to everything and yet somehow you’re the most important thing i see.”

you blinked, heart soaring. “alex…”

“yeah?”

“i… like you,” you admitted, finally letting the words out. “a lot... it's kind of scary.”

his grin widened, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “i’d hoped you’d say that. because i like you too. way too much.”

and then, because words weren’t enough, he leaned closer, hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you. soft, lingering, nothing rushed. you melted into it, letting yourself finally be seen completely, not just in the quiet moments, but in the kiss, in the laughter that followed, in the gentle touches that felt like home.

when you pulled back, noses still touching, you whispered, “you’re the best part of my day, alex.”

he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours. “and you’re mine. always.”

the night stretched on, full of small touches, quiet laughter, hand-holding, and the kind of warmth that only comes when someone finally sees you, all of you, and decides they’re staying.

Peter and you had been together for about two years, and he had been very supportive of your career. Not everyone would be thrilled that their girlfriend is a camgirl, but he honestly didn’t care. Peter was even open to helping you film videos, and even during your livestream. All he asked was that his face wasn’t shown, which was no problem because your identity was hidden. 

“I’m really excited about today’s stream.” Behind the mask, you’re smiling widely, unable to help your excitement. Peter’s birthday was a couple of days prior, and this stream was going to be his last birthday gift. Picking up your phone, you text Peter to come into your streaming room. 

When you hear the door handle turn, you back away from the camera, allowing both the stream and Peter to see your outfit. A sexy Spiderman bodysuit covers your frame, and you give both parties a twirl so they can see the whole outfit. 

Peter approaches you cautiously, not wanting his face to be seen. You snatch a horrible quality Spiderman mask off your desk and tug it over his face. “Can you see?” His hands find their way around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

Making sure you're not in the frame, he pulls off the mask to see your beautiful face. “This for me?” His deep voice sends shivers down your spine and heat into your core. Nodding, he kisses you once more, moving down your neck and towards the fabric of the bodysuit. 

Hands rub over your ass, kneading the flesh, tongue working its way into your mouth. 

Freeing yourself from his grasp, you put the mask back on your face so you can talk to your viewers. Peter adjusts the mask on his face and stands next to you as you read the comments. “Be nice to him, you guys he’s a little shy.” Your subscribers were well aware of your boyfriend, whom they often talked about on streams. 

They had asked him to join in multiple times, but you declined on the account that he was shy. In reality, you didn’t want them goggling at your boyfriend. Peter’s reading the comments over your shoulder when he points one out. 

“This one is asking what’s underneath your little costume.” His finger catches onto the thin fabric, snapping it back into place. His hands trail over your breasts making sure to tug on your nipples on his way down. 

Slightly flinching into his hold, you fix your hair, pulling more hair back. His hands continue to roam your body, briefly stopping a couple of inches above your mound. For a second, it seems like he’s going lower, but instead, he stops and leaves you completely. 

“Baby!” You whine, turning around to see where he’s gone. Peter’s pushing your chair back into view, and sits down. The chat goes crazy, thirsting over your masked lover. You can’t lie, it’s a very attractive sight, long white t-shirt covering, a jacked torso, grey sweats complete the look, and you can’t forget about the bulging biceps. 

Your mouth runs dry as he smacks his thigh, demanding you sit down on his lap. Moving quickly, you take your spot, leaning forward a little bit so you can read what they’re asking. “How long have you guy’s been together? Two years!” 

As you answer their questions, you shift on his lap, purposefully grinding into him. His frustration is felt through how he grips your thighs. “Sweetheart, tell the viewers what you want to do.” Something you’ve come to learn about the sexual part of your relationship with Peter is that most of the time, he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t beg, he expects and demands. You play into the natural submissive role so well, but sometimes you want to push his buttons. 

“I really wanted to see the Avatar movie, without being spoiled for it, but then I went on twitter.” sighing deeply. You’re thankful that you’re wearing a mask, because it’s hiding the huge smirk you’ve got on your face. 

You can’t see his face, but you know he’s probably irritated. His hands feel hot on your skin, skimming the parts of you not covered by the bodysuit. Hands trace the outside of your thighs, often gently ghosting your clit. 

Letting out a slight breath, you lean back, letting your head fall on his shoulder. Peter takes the initiative, spreading your legs for the camera, making your viewers go crazy. Multiple comments erupt in the chat about how hot it was that you gave him total control so easily. 

Peter’s hands leave you suddenly, and his voice can be heard in your ear. “Get on the floor beautiful.” Without hesitation, you move to the carpeted ground, sitting in front of his lap. Peter doesn’t say anything, no instructions or anything—just pure silence. 

Thoroughly annoyed at him, you stand to read your comments properly, “When will he fuck her?” You shrug and turn back to face Peter. “I don’t know you guys, maybe he hates me?” Pouting, you cross your arms, wanting him to give you a reaction.

Peter gently grabs you by the waist, forcing you to your knees, “I wanted you to show the viewers how good you suck a real dick, since they’re so used to seeing a fake one.” Angling the camera down so your viewers can see the full picture. 

You slowly pull his sweats down to his ankles, his large, engorged cock springing free. “No boxers?” Your teasing voice asks. Peter shakes his head no, groaning as you cup his balls. Gingerly licking a stripe up the side of the shaft, placing butterfly kisses along as you do. 

His hand rests against the back of your head, not pushing just yet. Peter’s not one for foreplay, at least not with him. Guiding his cock into your mouth, groaning as you take it all. He savors the way your mouth warms his cock, and he can feel your tongue pulsing under the heavy inches. 

Peter’s dick is so big that the viewers can see it from the side of your mouth, and they’re eating this up. Comments and donations roll in, requesting that he go harder and face fuck you. He glances at the screen momentarily and laughs, “I won’t be facefucking this spider tonight. She doesn’t enjoy it.” 

Comments range from disappointment to understanding, and praise him for being a good boyfriend. You’re lost in your own dick-sucking world, speeding up the pace and lathering his head in spit. You jerk him off fervently, not focusing on the pace, but on his groans and whimpers. Suddenly, he pulls you back, slapping the head against your cheek. 

Peter helps you up and pulls the chair back so you can both sit comfortably. Slightly dazed, you turn your attention back to the computer, responding to requests. “Ride him please? Well since you asked nicely.” You smile. 

Peter’s hands slowly move the fabric at your crotch to the side, “All this time and you still get so wet from sucking dick, my love.” His deep voice tickles your ear. Peter hooks your legs over his, letting the viewers see the full picture. Deep brown legs spread wide, allowing them to see your dripping pussy. 

His fingers glide over your folds, getting them drenched in your wetness. Peter’s free hand falls on your jaw, forcing it open. Tongue lolls out, ready to take what he's trying to give you. Two digits fill your mouth as you hum around them. 

Peter can fill your tongue, swirling around, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out with a pop. His hand moves from your jaw to his throbbing member, which has been leaking a copious amount of precum ever since you sucked him off. 

He carefully guides his member into your tight entrance, both of your heads falling back as his full length settles in your walls. “You guys like the way she takes me all in one go. My perfect pocket pussy.” Giving the viewers a real show. Peter’s cock thrusts in and out of your tight pussy, your moans filling the room. 

peter couldn’t fathom you—his best friend—having a crush on him. on his superhero persona.

he even felt guilty the more times the spider-hero was brought up, since you would get all cute and shy. he felt like it was a major invasion of your privacy—unknowingly confessing to him almost everyday.

everyday.

it was both very ego-boosting and humbling at the same time. he couldn't even be happy about his crush of who knows how long admiring him because the guilt ate at his conscience.

tony even noticed, how he acted different and less focused. he was too busy thinking about you, your face, and most importantly—how angry you would be if when you found out.

he had no doubt you would either figure it out or he would end up spilling his guts to you.

you had that effect on him.

poor boy was in a chokehold and you had no idea.

however that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own habit that started the same week. one that he couldn’t bring himself to give up, even if it made his chest feel physically painful at night when it was the only thing in his head as he stared at the ceiling above his new bed. the guilt of you not knowing hurt.

peter—spiderman—started patrolling the streets near your apartment building more frequently at night.

it started as him just making sure you were safe. he knew it seemed creepy, but god forbid a boy wants to make sure his best friend was safe.

then, he couldn’t help glancing at the window he knew belonged to you. he’d been in there, he recognized the delicate lace of your curtains. he would swing by or walk around the building at an angle that he couldn’t resist tilting his head just enough to see the window and think of you.

at some point he’d had enough of teasing himself, and he would sit on the fire escape next to your window.

he never saw more than he should, but he was certain he would have the self control to look away if that situation came about. it was bad enough for him to watch you read in the dim candle light next to your bedside table, or lay in your ruffly sheets as you attempted sleep.

if you ever found out, he wasn’t sure of how you would react—that was the scariest part.

that night was extra hard to pull himself away from you. he knew you would be pissed, him watching you curl up on your bed while silently sobbing.

you sat back to the wall, wearing soft looking socks and a large hoodie peter found himself recognizing as his own. the one he let you borrow after it started raining at one of your hangouts. the one you let him borrow your favorite book—he should probably return that... after he reads it.

“y/n...” he found himself murmuring into the night, wishing he could be there to comfort you. wishing you wanted him there to comfort you.

he didn’t realize he (in a way) was.

you weren’t stupid. obviously you knew that most friends didn’t wear their best friend’s hoodies just to be able to smell their cologne. they didn’t find comfort in imagining their closest friend holding them until they felt okay.

but their best friend wasn’t peter parker. and their best friend wasn’t secretly a superhero who watched them through their window every night without fail.

you never mentioned it. partially because you weren’t 100% sure—you didn’t want to throw spiderman under the bus if it wasn’t peter. but mostly because you wanted him to tell you.

maybe while standing in the rain, or after being saved by spiderman, or anything like any movie was unrealistic to hope for, but so was your best friend being a superhero. you wanted him to tell you his secret identity, tell you that he watched you for hours not for your safety, but because he liked you back.

but that wasn’t realistic, either.

the hurt from him was never really sharp, more like a dull, heavy, lingering pain in your chest. it eased when you spent hours together—without ned, where you could pretend he was more than just your friend—and hurt extra when he left. when you got the reality check you needed.

peter went home that night wishing he could have done something for you. you fell asleep, letting yourself imagine he was out there watching for his own selfish wants. you let him see you cry. maybe that was evil, but you wanted him to worry. to care.

“hi, peter.” you greeted him the next day, taking a seat next to him with your usual smile. the worried crease in his forehead didn’t go unnoticed.

he blinked, slowly. “hey.” he feigned nonchalance.

you smiled, tight-lipped and barely reaching the eyes.

peter snapped his head in ned’s direction the second you turned your focus to your notebook. ned furrowed his eyebrows and had a fully silent conversation with peter. across the room.

’what’s up with y/n?’

’no clue, i’m not seeing stuff right? she’s acting weird?’

’i dunno, dude. probably. girl’s are always upset about something.’

’shut up, ned. this isn’t normal for her.’

peter chose to leave watching you cry last night out of the conversation. he decided that wasn’t something he was particularly proud of.

“so, y/n..” peter started, checking his wrist to see he had two minutes to do this, before class really started. “hm?” you hummed in answer, still doodling on your paper.

peter’s brown eyes glanced down to see a cartoonish drawing of... spiderman with his mask half-off..?

“uh, i was—” he cleared his throat, “i was thinking—wondering if you would want to hang out today. maybe finish the batman movie we started last week... please?”

the please didn’t sound like himself from the moment it came out, but he didn’t backtrack. he could play it off as his usual awkwardness.

you looked up from your drawing with a smile, subtle, barely present on your lips—but your eyes were lit up with a genuine happiness that made peter smile before you even answered.

“yeah, we can do that.” you pursed your lips, “your house?”

peter nodded too quickly, “yeah, sure.”

“okay.”

now, as much as you were guessing peter was spiderman, you weren’t exactly knowing what to expect from that.

him being super late—eh, he could be helping somebody who really needed him right now. may had to let you in, where she ended up baking a batch of (only semi-burnt) cookies with you. you ate them and talked with her for around half an hour.

then, you waited in his room. you walked in and just looked. his desk and dresser were littered with random things. things most people normally wouldn’t look twice at.

but you? you recognized some of the clutter.

random drawings that you drew and gave him after deciding you didn’t like it, or wanted him to have it. he had a cork board on his wall filled with pictures of you and him together, him and ned, your drawings, tickets from a movie you saw together, etc.

one stood out specifically. a photobooth picture of you and him, when he took you out to the movies after you called him crying—upset about your parents and school—he showed up within minutes. that was the first time you thought he might’ve been spiderman. not only because of his speed but because he was there to save you.

in the picture you could clearly see the adoration in your eyes, past the red-rims and glossy sheen. peter’s hand had spiderwebs on it, where you held it up to your mouth like you would eat it. stupid pictures, but the memory meant a lot.

you hadn’t even realized you were beginning to tear up until you heard yourself sniffle. you glanced at his mirror and wiped away the unshed tears, deciding to put on a comedy movie while you waited for him.

with the sounds of the tv, your unusually soft breathing, and his bed hiding your body from the view, peter had no idea you were over.

he assumed he fumbled, taking too long after getting caught in conversation with mr. stark. god knows he couldn’t walk out of that situation. but you’d stayed.

it was like deja vu—from when ned found out—when he crawled across the ceiling to close the door. he dropped to the floor, briefly glancing at the tv he could’ve swore he turned off that morning, and ripped his mask off.

taking a deep, relaxing breath worked only for a second when he opened his eyes to you on his bed.

“ah—shit.”

peter parker—your peter, just crawled into his own house, clad in a bright red and blue latex suit. spiderman’s suit. peter was spiderman.

peter parker.

the nerdy boy you’d befriended in the third grade, was spiderman.

“peter?”

instinctually—not that peter was proud of it—he slapped a hand to his chest, releasing the suit from where it was suctioned to his every curve. the suit fell to the floor in a pile, almost completely forgotten about.

“uh, no! i was—uh—dressing up for a, um, convention?”

peter was never good at lying, not really. not when he already knew he was caught. and especially not to you.

“that would’ve been more believable, had you not taken it off the way you did just now.” you deadpanned, but didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed with a gulp. “or crawled across the ceiling—you’re spiderman?”

peter recognized your tone. confusion, exhaustion, hurt.

“look i—i wanted to tell you. but first there was mr. stark, then, y’know, the whole putting you in danger thing. then, you confessed how much you liked him—me?—spiderman, and i felt like i totally invaded your privacy. and i didn’t even mean to!” peter ranted, oblivious to the multiple moments of surprise evident on your face. “i didn’t want to hurt you.”

you gaped at him, unknowing of what to really do.

of course you were hurt he didn’t tell you, but he’d clearly thought about it. and his reasons were all so sweet. plus, you knew. even if he didn’t tell you, or crawl onto his ceiling, you knew. you just wanted him to tell you.

make you worry less about the random cuts and bruises he thinks he hides so well.

“peter—”

“i’m so, so sorry. please, believe me.” peter looked down at you with his wide brown eyes, glistening with unadulterated panic. “i wanted you to know.”

“peter, you’re fine. just—put a shirt on before may comes in and you’re practically naked.” you mumbled, almost silent.

peter glanced down at his own body, then noticed your unusually taut posture, fidgeting fingers, and eyes practically glued to his ceiling. “oh. right.”

you did want him to cover himself, but only because your self-restraint could only do so much.

as peter pulled on a pair of pants, you met his eyes again. they barely blinked, never strayed, but he just watched you. softly, like he was scared if he said more you would suddenly get mad and run off.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, a part of you wanting nothing but to tell him you didn’t care. to get him to stop looking at you with a kicked puppy look.

peter’s body flinched, you could see the shiver run down his body. unfortunately that meant your eyes ran down his very refined stomach muscles. his abs were taut, like his stomach physically hurt from this conversation.

“i wanted to. i just, never figured out how to tell you.” he admitted, breaking eye contact. he grabbed a shirt and threw it on while you thought of what to say.

“well, i don’t care.” you tried to sound casual, not mad or hurt. but peter heard it from a place of anger—one he created in his head. he started to nod when you continued. “i don’t care if you’re spiderman, if you didn’t tell me, whatever. you’re still peter parker to me. and i figured it out a few months ago, so..”

“oh.”

“sound good?” peter nodded, clearly weary. “what movie should we watch tonight? or, would you rather i go home? i can go. or we could talk about it. or—just, whatever.”

peter noticed it then, your usually hidden emotions coming out. the way you started rambling, your voice tight and higher than normal. anxious, maybe.

really, you couldn’t get the thought of him out of your head.

yes, you’ve admitted that spiderman is hot. yes, you knew you had a hopeless crush on yor best friend. and yes, you had the thought that they could be the same person.

but seeing it in person was frankly better than you could have ever imagined. when his mask was thrown off, and for a second all you could think about was the way his brown curls fell when he closed his eyes, breathing deep breaths.

when he fully removed his suit, leaving himself as not spiderman—but peter parker—in solely his boxers. and your every thought rolled out of your head when you looked at his trail of hair leading to his boxers. his abs, slightly damp and glistening with sweat.

you really needed him to stop being so, him. it wasn’t good for your heart.

“so, you’ve been sitting outside my window, why?”

peter never realized you noticed, the thought of you knowing he watched you every day not even crossing his mind.

“making sure you’re safe.”

“mhm.”

you stole a glance at him, tearing your eyes away from the tv playing an old batman movie. he was already watching you though, and pink heat crawled up his neck when he realized he was caught.

“and, right now, why?”

“making sure you didn’t fall asleep on me again.”

“i was just talking to you.”

“sleep talking—just, watch the movie.”

“alright, spiderman.”

the silence only lasted a few minutes when you asked another question.

“so, you’re spiderman now. not spider-boy?”

“i can still be spider-boy to you, if you’d rather.”

“sounds more like you, anyway. spider-boy.”

“it makes me sound like a kid. not very manly.”

“you are a kid, peter.”

“a kid that’s been to space.”

There was no way Peter was going to let himself be late for class.

Not only was he desperate to prove to you that he was capable of being on time, responsible and dependable, he also knew any progress he had made with you would be right down the drain if he didn’t hand the stupid doll in.

He had set four alarms, packed his bag the day before, and had even gone so far as to text Happy and alert him to the fact that he wouldn’t be free until after class ended at 10:30 am. Happy hadn’t replied, so Peter made sure he sent the same message to Tony Stark as well. Just in case there was an emergency, so they’d know Spiderman would not be available.

After an embarrassing tram ride filled with the baby’s incessant robotic cries, Peter arrived at school. He felt surprisingly nervous. He really wasn’t sure what to expect when he saw you.

You guys never actually addressed the fact that you kissed. Weirdly enough, you basically went straight back to normal afterwards and acted just as you had before. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was a good or bad sign. Where was he even meant to go from here? Ask you on a date? Ask if you were already dating? Kiss you again?

Biting his lip and holding onto the doll tightly, he braced himself to enter the classroom.

“Peter!” Ms Belluva sang out. “You’re on time!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for being late last lesson,” Peter winced.

“That’s alright, dear, great to see you early today,” Ms Belluva waved him off. “A whole five minutes!”

“Er, yes, I just wanted to make sure I was on time.”

“How considerate!”

Peter gave her a tight smile and walked to the front of the classroom where the teacher was writing on the whiteboard.

“Here’s the baby,” He said, holding it out to her.

“Ah, thank you, Peter.” She smiled warmly, taking the doll from his hands and taking the chip out. “I’m sure you and your partner did a good job! Who was your partner again?”

“Y/n.”

“Oh! How lovely, did you two work well together?”

“Yeah, yeah, really well,” Peter nodded, blushing slightly. “She’s very nice, good worker, y’know.”

“That’s great to hear.”

Peter nodded with a smile, turning to sit at one of the desks in the front row – the one that you usually sat on. As he sat down, other students began to file in, lining up to give the fake babies back to the teacher in a muddle of laughter and chatter.

Peter quickly grew to hate sitting at the front as soon as he realised he had to turn around each time he wanted to check whether you had arrived. Which is exactly what he had been doing for the five minutes until you finally walked in, and it was just that all the air had been sucked out of the room.

You glided into the room, and Peter quickly turned back to the front before you could catch him staring. He could feel his ears burning and his palms beginning to sweat. He forced himself to sit up straighter, pushing his shoulders back to try to seem confident.

He didn’t even know if you’d dare sit with him. You hadn’t sat with him in class before. There wasn’t exactly a reason why you would sit with him now.

He bounced his leg, tapping his pen on the notebook in front of him.

“Hey, Peter.”

He almost sighed with relief.

“Hi, Y/n,” Peter smiled at you, stilling his leg.

“I’m surprised you’re on time,” you mused.

“Of course I am,” Peter blinked. “I needed to give in the baby. I couldn’t let you down.”

“Thanks, Pete,” you grinned, giving him a small nudge.

Before he could say anything more, the teacher clapped her hands together and called everyone’s attention to the front.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

“Alright, guys, good job handing in your babies! You’ll get your grades back in a week,” Ms Belluva called out. “I’ll see you next class.”

Chairs scraped the floor, and the classroom erupted with conversation. Suddenly, the pressure and stress of figuring out what to do hit Peter all over again. You stood up from your chair and already started collecting your books, and he realised he had to say something fast before you left.

“Heywhatclassdoyouhavenext?” Peter hurried, his words slurring together, causing him to wince.

“Pardon?”

“Sorry, I uh meant to ask what class you had next.”

“Oh, right. I’ve got Maths now,” you said as Peter picked his books up. “What about you?”

“Chem.”

“Oh, cool,” you smiled as the two of you began to walk out of the classroom. “I’ve got that after lunch.”

“Oh, neat.”

He groaned.

Neat? Who says ‘neat’?

The two of you walked out of the classroom, awkwardly stopping by the doorway.

“So…” Peter started, desperately trying to think of what to say.

“I guess I’ll see you next class, then.” You said, slightly rocking back and forth as you searched for something to say.

Peter stayed quiet for a moment, and you took that as your cue to walk away. Before you could, Peter gently held onto your forearm.

“Wait.”

“Yeah?” You looked at him earnestly.

Peter felt his heart tug. He had his chance. He could ask you where the two of you stood, he could ask you out, he could ask any of the million questions pounding in his head. All he had to do was speak.

“Nothing, never mind,” Peter shook his head. “I’ll see you around.”

“Alright,” you hesitated, looking at him suspiciously. “Later, Peter.”

Peter groaned. He had missed his chance, and he had no way of knowing when he would get another.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

Turns out, Peter had the chance much sooner than expected.

Scrunched up in the corner of his room, between his wall and the end of his bed, was the grey jacket you had worn to his house yesterday. He almost cheered in joy. The excuse to see you because of the assignment may be gone, but at the very least, he had this, which meant he had another reason to see you.

Hey, you left your jacket at mine :) I can drop it off at yours if you’re home?

Peter was delighted to see you were already typing.

oh sorry i didnt realise i left it there! im home but u dont have to drop it off or anythgin i dont wanna hassle you and we have school tmr anyway

Peter frowned, tapping his foot on the ground as he tried to think of a non-desperate, non-pushy and non-annoying way to drop the jacket off at your apartment.

It’s really not a problem! Anyway, I actually have to go past your apartment anyway so it would be on my way anyway

He was sure he sounded unbelievably desperate (especially with his triple use of ‘anyway’), but he was far beyond playing it cool now and was instead set on doing absolutely anything he could to see you again.

okk well its up to u dont feel pressured or nything

Okay! Is it alright if I drop it off in like fifteen minutes? i’m meant to be at Ned’s by 6pm

He felt guilty for lying about seeing Ned, but he didn’t want to seem too pathetic by going all the way to your apartment just to return a jacket, which is something he could easily have done tomorrow.

sure !!

Peter grinned at his phone, texting you a smiley face before grabbing your jacket and hurrying out the door.

“Going to Neds, I’ll be back soon!” He called out to his Aunt before shutting the door behind him.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

When he finally reached your apartment, Peter had already rehearsed four different ways to greet you, each of which was worse than the other. If he hadn’t lied to you about needing to be at Ned’s house in the next ten minutes, he would’ve had more time to linger outside your apartment (like a loser) and prepare himself better.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t an option. Feeling sick with guilt over lying to you, Peter ended up texting Ned and asking to actually hang out. Now, he was expected at Ned’s shortly and didn’t have time to hover by your door.

So there he stood, clutching onto your jacket for dear life as he nervously knocked on the door.

“Hey, Peter,” you opened the door with a smile. “Thank you so much for dropping it off.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all, really.” Peter handed the jacket to you, desperately trying to think of anything he could say to keep the conversation going. “How do you think we did on the assignment?”

“Honestly, no clue,” you shrugged with a small laugh. “Could’ve been better, but surely we weren’t that bad.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard babies like freezers.”

Squinting, you cocked your head, looking as if you were trying very hard not to burst out laughing in his face.

“Joke,” Peter weakly mumbled.

He was not a smooth man.

“Right,” you grinned. “Do you wanna come in? I know you have to meet Ned, so it doesn’t have to be for long.”

Peter could’ve cheered.

“Sure! Thanks, that’s so kind of you to offer.”

“Yeah, well, I feel a bit rude chatting in the doorway. Especially after you’ve come here to drop off my jacket.” You said as you ushered him inside.

“It’s no problem, really.”

“Do you want water or anything to drink?” You asked as you and Peter walked past the kitchen.

“Sure, water’s perfect, thanks.”

His inability to succeed in any social interaction with you never failed to astound Peter. I mean, perfect? Who described water that way?!

You slid a glass of water on the kitchen counter towards Peter’s direction.

“Thanks!”

“Of course, thank you for dropping my jacket off, you really didn’t have to.” You smiled, walking to sit at the barstools lined up by your kitchen counter.

“It’s no big deal,” Peter smiled, pausing before daring to breach the small talk with a deeper question. “I mean, we’re friends… right?”

He looked over to you sitting next to him, feeling as though his heart was in his throat at this point. Suddenly, you found yourself deeply interested in the countertop, not brave enough to look him in the eyes.

“Friends?” You repeated, slightly frowning.

Peter stilled, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath.

Maybe he was presumptuous to have assumed you guys were friends. After all, it had only been four days. And you didn’t even like him at the start. He shouldn’t be so surprised that you guys might not be friends.

“I mean, acquaintances or close or… I dunno,” Peter hung his head in shame. “We are something, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, we are something,” you just about scoffed. “I just didn’t think friends were it.”

Suddenly, everything realisation struck and Peter felt dizzy.

Maybe you were disappointed to be just his friend.

He hadn’t thought that was possible. He was obviously far inferior to you. You were beautiful. Caring and kind – slightly mean sometimes, but it wasn’t like he didn’t like that. He had thought there was no way he could expect you to want anything more than friendship with him. He had already been set on the idea that he would have to build up to anything more than a friendship with you.

“What did you think it was then?” Peter asked, his voice small and his eyes wide.

“Do you kiss all your friends, Peter?”

Peter stilled. He stopped bouncing his legs, tapping his fingers, and blinking rapidly. He didn’t dare move. So you were acknowledging the kiss. Part of him was convinced that the two of you would just ignore it forever.

“No, I don’t.”

“Who do you kiss like that then?” You asked, finally turning your head to face him.

“Only you.”

“So what, we’re not friends, we’re not… dating, we’re just some weird third option?” You frowned.

“I don’t know – I didn’t think so,” Peter flusteredly huffed. “I don’t want us to be that.”

“What do you want us to be then?” You asked, your stare unwavering.

Peter looked into your eyes, surprised to find that rather than mad, you seemed genuinely confused. You were seeking an answer just like he was. You were seeking more.

“I don’t know,” Peter forced the words out, scared he might be reading everything completely wrong. “More than friends.”

To his surprise, you began to laugh.

“Peter, you’re kidding.”

“What?” Peter gaped, shocked that you would tell him to open up and then laugh right in his face.

“You came in here talking about friendship and acquantainces but you want to be more than friends?”

“Well– I wasn’t sure how you’d react,” Peter protested, eyeing you nervously.

“So, if I hadn’t said anything, you would’ve just ignored anything that happened last night and acted like my friend?”

“If that’s what you wanted.”

“Well, it’s not what I want, Peter.” You shook your head.

“So we’re more than friends?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Peter winced.

“It’s fine, Peter.”

“Okay, so we are more than friends?” Peter clarified with an eager smile.

“Sounds like it,” you replied with a teasing smirk.

Peter could be unbelievably awkward sometimes.

“Should we go on a date then?”

“That would be nice.”

“Cool,” Peter grinned, nodding his head. “I’ll plan something then. And text you. Or tell you about it next time I see you.”

“Sounds good, Pete,” you returned his smile, feeling better now that the awkward tension had faded between you two. “I’m sorry for laughing at you.”

“Right in my face!” Peter shook his head.

“I’m sorry! The whole situation was just ridiculous!” You grinned. “You strutted in here talking about friendship, then started talking about how you wanted more.”

“I don’t strut.” Peter protested, trying to frown but sorely failing to wipe the smile off his face.

“Well, whatever it was, you sure seemed fine claiming the title of being my friend.”

“I would’ve worked my way up.”

“Right.”

“I would’ve!”

“Okay, Peter, if you say so.”

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

peter tag list: @hoax-of-light @lucy-loaf

series tag list: @wondergotham @oliverstarksbae @leysol @keilahhhsstuff @viannasthings @sela-gypsy @withgreatpowercomesgreatfics @poorlittlerichgirll @kat-887

However, one thing was certain, Bakugou thinks daily about how you would look pregnant, struggling to walk further into the pregnancy, asking for his help constantly. Taking care of you is all he wants to do, it is something he craves deeply, so deeply it's getting annoying. The thought is prying in his mind so much that he gets agitated, to the point where he can't think straight. 

Katsuki is more than amazing towards you, he's cooks bomb food, his aftercare is absolutely beautiful, and he cares for you so much, you're beautiful husband. But this isn't about you, this is about him. Bakugou cums to the thought of you being filled with his seed, your belly swelling with his child. This leads you to stay at home and be his pretty little housewife, catering to his children. He knows you're a hero, a strong one but even you've said, he remembers it clear as day when you uttered the words, 'this hero stuff, I don't think I can do it anymore Kats', I wanna stay at home.'

So, this is where sex leads to again.

Your body folded into a tight mating press under Bakugou's body. And, god, you were sobbing, fat tears falling from your eyes from the pleasure and stimulation. Bakugou's cock was nuzzled perfectly up against your cervix, resting there and he kept all his cum up in your silky walls.

"'Kats'," you mewl out through sobs. "Please, wait, it's too much." Even though you were pleading for him to slow down, you couldn't help but relish in how overstimulated he was making you feel, it felt so good you never wanted it to end. 

It's been three rounds already, in the same position, and your poor body is getting folded into that position. Your back and knees were beginning to ache, but you loved how his dick trusted so perfectly up into your cunt. Bakugou's lowers down to your trembling body, peppering soft and gentle kisses all over your face. 

"You're doing so good for me," he hums agasint your skin, inhaling your naturally sweet scent along with his caramel glycerin sweat. "You can take a little more from me, my love, please?" he begs.

"Feels so full though, Kats'. I don't think I can take another one," you hiccup, but you can, you need it so much, you crave it so badly. 

He presses his lips to yours, his tongue entangling with your own, and you both moan into each other's mouths. You let out a wince when Bakugou helped you lower your legs down from the sides of your head, allowing your legs to wrap tightly around his hips, his thick and still erect length still in your cunt.

Bakugou drags his length out, a breathless sigh emitting from your mouth into his own, relief crossing your features, thinking that the two of you were done. But then, all of a sudden your head was thrown back in overstimulation, and a moan strung from your mouth as his cock slides right back into your cum filled walls.

"Love, please, for me," Bakugou whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin. "Need to fill you so bad, fill you more."

"Fuck," you breathily sigh, suddenly all your stamina has been revived, you beg, "Please. Promise, I can take it."

"Thank you," he replies, smirking agasint your lips, aching to be closer to you. 

Bakugou slips out of your walls and gently flips your body onto its stomach, and your eyes were wide with surprise, not expecting a sudden change of position once again. You could feel him lift your hips and place a soft and fluffy pillow under your lower abdomen before letting your body rest fully down on it.

You then felt Bakugou's mass press down against your back, and you let out a soft huff at the sudden weight. His abs were flush against your back, hands gripping the backs of your own, pressing them into the bed. He was about to go insane, you looked, no, are so small compared to him and it makes him go feral. Bakugou's breath tickled your ear and you wiggled your head at the warm sensation, your core getting wetter, your body trying to squirm away from the imposing hold that he had on you.

Bakugou's hands moved slowly, changing his grip so that one of his hands held both of you over your head, being cautious not to get your hair entangled within the movement. A content sigh leaves your mouth when Bakugou raises his body ever so slightly, trailing his free hand down the expanse of your smooth back before his fingers meet your slick entrance, filled with his cum from previous rounds.

"I'll make you feel so good," he mutters against your ear before taking a nibble at the collagen, you let out a gasp at the sudden action. Then you felt a heavy, throbbing tip press against your clit and you moaned from the small touch. You tried to squirm away from the pleasurable cause but couldn't as Bakugou knew your body more than you did yourself, he knew you were gonna try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight against you once more.

You held your breath when Bakugou sank his throbbing cock into your spongey walls, his length getting squeezed by every ridge within your soaked cunt. A moan left both of your mouths as Bakugou's length nudged the deepest spot within you.

"That's it," Bakugou groans, relishing in the way your walls clench him, how could he not want to cum inside, you feel so good. "There you go, pretty girl. Taking me so damn well."

You sigh in pleasure at the praise, he knew that you loved to be worshipped, you savoured his words, loving how he praised you, taking his length. But he didn't move, he wanted to relish in how you desired to cause friction, desired to move against his touch, but couldn't. Bakugou's cock, prodded so deep in your gummy walls that you whimpered in pleasure, but that didn't stop him from not moving. He was still snug inside.

Hot and heavy kisses trail down from your ear down to the dip of your neck to shoulder and a breathless sigh escaped your parted lips before Bakugou rolled his hips into yours. A moan slips out of your mouth, his thick length scraping all the sensitive parts of your warm insides.

Bakugou's knees spread your legs apart so that any advances from you ensured that they would be shut down, so that you remained situated below him, your pretty body that paled in comparison to his frame. As he expected, you couldn't move from his trapping embrace.

His movements became faster, his cock thrusting into the depths of you needy hole as strained moans and whines left your throat. Bakugou was breathily sighing in your ear and an occasional deep groan slipped past his lips, the sounds which made your cunt flutter tightly around his length.

Bakugou was filling you up to the hilt, his throbbing pink tip hitting that soft, gummy spot in your cunt that caused you to scream out in fulfilment. "I know, my love," He breathed, causing you to let out a moan and sigh, your body shaking with pleasure.

Your body tried to arch away from the pleasure, not being able to take the strong rolls of Bakugo's hips, but as you arched your back away, his thrusts only aimed deeper, harder into your G spot. You sobbed out, tears filling your lash line. 

He smirked, his hips moving now at a faster pace, loving how your cunt squeezed his cock even though you wanted him to slow down, "It's alright, pretty, you can hold out," he coos.

Repetitive moans left your mouth while he pounded into your tight heat. You suddenly had the instinctive urge to press yourself into his length, but you couldn't, his weight was too heavy for you to move against him, and you were utterly hopeless as his thrusts became faster.

"Please, I wanna come," you cry out mewling. 

Your body trembled beneath him, and the hold he had on your hands loosened. Your hips were getting held, then, the strength he possessed lifted you onto your knees before a bicep wrapped around your throat, lifting your head. It wasn't a tight grip, but the power lifted your head from the futon while you shakily rested your weight on your elbows.

Your back arched heavily, finally being able to sink more into him. Bakugou hunched over you, pulling you closer to him and connected your mouth in a sloppy, wet kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth, grunting into you while he swallowed your moans. "Good girl, taking me so deep," Bakugou groaned, pulling away from your mouth and pushing this arch into your back deeper.

He watched your ass ripping again his lower abdomen, watching your cunt with vermilion iris'. Observing how your walks sucked him in, leaving a creamy white rind of arousal around the base of his cock.

"Making you feel so good, aren't I?" Bakgou groaned his head tilted forward, sweat beading on his forehead as we watched your fall apart and tremble from his dick, broken moans slipping past your plump lips.

"Gonna fill you up," Bakugou adds. "You're taking me so deep, deserve to have my cum."

"'Wanna come, please," you beg, wanting to feel the release, desperate as the tears stream down your flushed cheeks. "Want it so bad."

You clench around his length as he increases his pace, instantly accommodating to the speed but your moans escalate. "Such a good girl," He leaned down and mumbled in your ear chased with a deep moan that stirred your insides clenching around his length.

"Want it so bad!" you whimper, unable to comprehend any thoughts that swelled into your head.

"C'mon, pretty," he growled and you spasmed around his length as your high washed over you, your legs shaking as his weight pressed down even more than it was. His thrusts didn't slow, causing you to whimper in overstimulation, but Bakugou helped it, his hips continuing to rut into yours, helping you ride out your orgasm as he chased his own.

With a groan, his lips planted against yours once again as his hips slammed into yours, hard, his cum spilling inside you causing you to moan into his kiss. And you felt more of his cum spill into your fertile womb, painting your insides white, you could almost feel your stomach bulging from how much you had of your man inside you.

Bakugou slipped his softening length out, and pulled away from the kiss as you slumped to the futon, his eyes chained to the white splotches of silky come that spilled from your gaping cunt, watching with a slight frown as the cum spilled from your cunt. he pushes his fingers in and you immediately lean forward but that doesn't make his fingers leave, he only pushes them deeper in response.

"Katsuki!" you moan out. "Give me a sec, babe."

"Sorry, pretty," he apologised, placing kisses to your shoulder, his voice a soft grumble. "Let me just keep my fingers here for a while, have to make sure I've done my job right."

For the first time ever, Peter was on time.

At 10:00 am on the dot, you heard a knock on the door and the faint, muffled sound of crying. You had not missed that robotic cry.

You hovered by the door, trying to work up the courage to face Peter. Somehow, things between you and Peter were worse than when you hated him. At least then, you were so caught up on hating him that you didn’t care what he thought of you.

Now, you felt strangely compelled to make him like you.

Sure, he claimed to like you, but you weren’t too sure that was the truth. Peter was nice. He was polite and friendly to everyone. Everyone. Which was part of the reason why you had been so sure he might’ve secretly shared your hatred.

Not only were you now completely uncertain of how he felt about you, but you also felt completely uncertain about how you felt towards him.

All you knew was that you didn’t hate him, not anymore at least. You thought you liked him, you imagined that the two of you could be friends, even hang out with one another outside of this dumb babysitting project.

But Peter wasn’t acting like he saw this as a possibility.

He looked defeated when he left your apartment, and he hadn’t messaged you anything more than ‘Omw’ about ten minutes ago. And in comparison to the messages he sent you on Friday night, one certainly showed a lot more kindness than the other.

You shook your head. This spiralling needed to stop.

You and Peter just had to last until Monday morning. You didn’t need to be friends or civil with one another or anything of the sort. You just had to hand the baby back to the teacher, and from then on, you could just ignore one another for the rest of your life.

You hoped that wasn’t what Peter wanted.

It definitely wasn’t what you wanted.

And there you were going right back to spiralling.

Sick of overthinking and certain that Peter must be wondering why you took so long to answer the door, you opened the door with a forced smile.

“Hey, Peter.”

“Hey,” Peter gave you a tight smile. “Sorry, I did try making her happy before coming here, but she won’t stop crying.”

“That’s fine, part of the assignment, I guess,” you shrugged, taking the doll from his arms.

Caring for the baby together was also part of the assignment, but you didn’t dare say that.

“And here’s the rest of the stuff.” Peter handed you a small plastic bag filled with the baby’s limited supplies.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course.” Peter nodded, nervously shuffling his feet and not quite meeting your eyes. “Alright, I guess I’ll get going then.”

“Are you still fine taking her for the night?” You asked.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“I can just drop her off whenever you’d prefer,” you offered.

“Oh, thanks,” Peter frowned to himself.

He couldn’t have you wandering around to his apartment in the dark, so he knew he’d have to cut his patrol off early tonight.

“Would 7:00 pm be too late?” He asked, before quickly adding, “It’s alright if you can’t. I’ll understand, of course.”

“No, no, that’d be fine.” You shook your head dismissively. “I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Yeah, sure.” Peter gave you another tight-lipped smile. “Bye.”

And before you even had a chance to say bye to his face, he had already turned around and started speed walking away.

You shut your door with a frown.

All you wanted was for this assignment to be over.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

‘hey, im at urs now’

You clicked send, hovering hesitantly by Peter’s apartment door. You weren’t sure if you should knock on his door or not. You weren’t entirely sure who Peter lived with, and you were a bit nervous about who could answer the door if not him.

After a couple of minutes, your patience began to wear, and before you could knock on his door, the door swung open.

To your surprise, rather than finding Peter standing in front of you, you were met with an unfamiliar face.

“Hi, I’m May,” she spoke with a kind smile, soft brown eyes looking slightly surprised to see you at the door. “Peter’s Aunt.”

So this was May.

“Oh, hi i’m Y/n, I was just waiting for Peter,” you explained. “We’re partnered up fo-”

“For the babysitting assignment,” she nodded, finishing your sentence. “Peter’s just inside, you can go in and make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” you smiled.

“I’m just heading to a charity event, it shouldn’t be too long,” she said as she started zipping the purse she was clutching.

“Oh, that sounds nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, should be,” May nodded, still struggling with the zip. “Will be a lot of long speeches, but should be nice to see a few familiar faces.”

“Right,” you smiled again.

You felt a bit awkward and partially hoped that Peter would come and collect you. As nice as May seemed, you could tell that your part of the conversation sounded stilted and hesitant.

“Anyway, Peter’s room is just down the hallway, you’ll spot it easily,” she ushered you inside, waving her hand in the general direction behind her.

“Alright, that’s me off,” she said with a smile as she finally zipped her bag up.

“Have a nice time,” you said as May made her way out.

“Thank you,” she spoke, waving to you before gently shutting the door behind her.

With May gone, you realised how eerily quiet the apartment was. The only thing that you could hear was the faint sound of clattering coming from the direction of Peter’s room.

Following the sound, you tentatively approached what you suspected to be Peter’s room and knocked. The sound of rattling stopped, and you heard a small voice call out.

“May?”

“Uh, no… It’s Y/n, May let me in.”

“Y/n?” Peter repeated, sounding unsure.

“Uh, yeah. For the… group assignment?” You frowned to yourself.

He knew you were coming at this time, and he knew why you were, so you weren’t sure why he sounded so confused.

“Oh, oh! Right.” his eyes widened behind the closed door.

Surely it wasn’t time for you to come already.

“Uh, I’ll just be a second!” He called out

Hurriedly, he looked around the room in a desperate attempt to find himself some sort of clothes to change into. Despite just showering, the clothes he had changed into were already smeared with the blood still seeping out from his cuts. The blood was working as a glue, making his shirt uncomfortably stick to his skin and wounds. He winced as he tried to peel it away from him.

“Alright,” you said with an uncertain frown at the door.

After the brief moment of silence, the sound of doors slamming and objects falling returned. You rolled your eyes. Somehow, he still managed to be late despite already being at the meeting place.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter was desperately scrambling to try and find clothes that could cover his body and the injuries laid spread across his skin. Giving up on prying the shirt away, he threw a loose hoodie over his shirt and hastily sprayed himself with deodorant and cologne. Grabbing a tin of mints, he threw a couple in his mouth and turned to the mirror. He winced to himself.

An angry red bruise, lined with a slender cut covered in dried blood, decorated his cheek. He groaned. That wouldn’t be easy to cover up. He tried to flick his hair so it could cover his face, but his hair was far too short and only covered the slightest bit of the injury.

With nothing else to do, Peter resorted to flicking the light switch so the gash could be concealed in the darkness.

He shook his shoulders, trying to get a hold of himself. The fight was done. The arrests were made. He survived. All was well.

He had been hurt fighting before; this wasn’t new. Usually, he could get cleaned up by the medics with the Avengers, or sometimes even by May. It was never usually himself bandaging himself up. At least, not when it was this bad. But he could do it.

And with that, he pulled the hood over his head and swung the door open, trying to not to go too close to you.

“Hey- hi, what’s up?” His voice was garbled from the mints, and he awkwardly coughed in an attempt to avoid choking on them.

“Uhh, I’m just trying to pick the baby up for the assignment, remember?” You squinted at his room curiously. “Are you just hanging out in your room in the dark?”

“Well, yeah… I was uh… napping.”

“Loud napper.” You raised your eyebrow.

“What?”

“Heard a lot of noises coming from your room before,” you stared at him suspiciously.

“That’s just… street noises,” he hesitantly forced out, unsure of what else to say.

“Alright, then.”

You squinted, your eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness that he was still submerged in. Your eyes caught on his cheek. Something was glistening in the sliver of light peeking out from the hallway. You frowned and slightly stepped towards him.

Peter stepped back, very nearly flinching away from you.

“Is that a cut?” You asked, leaning back with a frown.

“What? No, no, it’s nothing.”

You sceptically eyed him, Peter looking away as he tried to think of an excuse.

“Just a shadow.” He said with an unconvincing nod.

You reached forward, stepping towards him. This time, Peter stayed still, getting the feeling that you were figuring out was inevitable.

Closer now, you realised the start of a cut was lined on Peter’s cheek and ran underneath the hoodie. Gently pushing his hood down, you inhaled sharply when you found the cut was much longer than you anticipated, and seemed to be surrounded by a bruise blooming on Peter’s skin.

“What happened?” You blinked your eyes in bewilderment.

Peter didn’t seem the type to get into fist fights. There was a real chance he was beaten up, though. Peter was a bit of a loser. You flicked the light switch and the two of you squinted at the harshness of the light. Taking in the sight all over again, you looked into his eyes.

“What happened, Peter?” You repeated slowly, your voice softer than before.

“Really, nothing happened, I just banged it on a cabinet,” Peter shrugged, his eyes fixed on your perplexed expression.

You frowned doubtfully, your eyes scanning his frame until your eyes caught on a small dark spot beginning to flower and bloom by the hem of his jumper. He followed your line of sight and sighed, realising he should’ve worn darker clothes.

“Y/n, please,” Peter whispered, his voice soft and slightly pained.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he was pleading for; whether it was for you to stop asking questions he couldn’t answer, or if it was for you only to look, if you could manage not to judge him.

Your hand went to the hem of his jumper, looking up at him with uncertain eyes, awaiting his approval. He gave you a hesitant nod, just the slightest tilt of his head as if he feared what would happen next. Following his permission, you lifted the end of his hoodie and shirt just enough to reveal a large bruise coloured red and purple stretched across his abdomen.

Blood was dripping from three cuts scattered across him, and you realised there could only be more injuries hidden under his clothes.

“Peter,” you started, your voice impossibly quiet.

“I know,” Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “I know it’s bad.”

He stepped back and pressed his hand to his forehead in frustration before sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“How could this even happen?” You looked over to him in shock. “Seriously, Peter. This is more than just some clumsy accident.”

“It’s fine, really.” He gave you a meaningful stare, as if pleading with his eyes for you to believe him. “You don’t have to worry about this; this isn’t your problem.

“I could help,” you said as you walked towards him.

He looked up at you, his brown eyes worn with worry.

“It’s okay, I can handle it.”

You gave him a doubtful stare, slowly moving to sit beside him on the side of his bed. The side of your leg was gently pressed against his.

“Let me help, Peter.” You nudged his leg with yours, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

He heaved a sigh, weighed down and wounded with guilt.

“Look, the baby’s on the couch, May’s been watching her while I was… out,” Peter insisted, desperate not to trouble you with his problems. “You can just take her.”

“You want me to leave?” You bit the inside of your cheek.

Your words hung in the air for a moment, as if Peter was deciding the most polite way to tell you to fuck off.

You almost felt offended, but you worked your hardest to conceal it. After all, Peter had made it clear last time you saw him that he didn’t want to spend any more time with you than required.

Of course, Peter didn’t want you to leave at all. He wanted to bed you to stay with him – help him, distract him, hug him, anything. He didn’t want to be alone. And your company was his favourite.

At least, it was his favourite until he realised that you barely liked him and everything came crashing down. He couldn’t help but still want you, though.

Want you to stay, want you to like him, want you to love him.

“No.” He finally replied, shaking his head with his eyes glued to the floor in shame. “I don’t want you to leave, Y/n.”

He felt crazy. Desperate.

He couldn’t believe he had even dared to utter the words.

“Then, I’ll stay.”

“Thank you.”

“And, I’ll help you.” You added.

“With your…” You gave him a pointed look. “Injuries.”

“You really don’t have to,” Peter shook his head.

“Just let me help, Peter.” You sighed.

“Alright.” Peter offered you a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s really okay. I don’t mind.”

He desperately wanted to hug you.

“Okay,” you started, trying to figure out how to approach the situation. “Do you have like medical supplies or anything?”

“Yeah, I should have some stuff in the bathroom.”

“Alright, that should be good.”

The two of you stood up, and you trailed behind him as he led the way to the bathroom.

“It’s sort of cramped in here, sorry,” Peter bit his lip with an embarrassed frown.

“It’s okay, looks like a perfectly normal bathroom to me.”

And it was, the walls were lined with white tiles with blue swirls decorated across them and had one of those baths that had a showerhead built in. Underneath a small set of drawers was a sink facing the door. It had a small, rectangular mirror above it that showed you and Peter in the reflection. His face looked worn, exhausted and beaten in a way that made you feel a deep sense of pity.

“It’d just be in those drawers,” he said, pointing to beneath the sink.

You walked in and knelt to rifle through the drawers while Peter awkwardly sat at the edge of the bathtub. It didn’t take long for you to find the supplies you needed: a small, navy hand towel, disinfectant ointments, bandages and a few Band-Aids.

You placed the items on the sink’s counter and dragged a nearby footstool in front of Peter. Moving back to the sink, you quickly washed your hands before running the hand towel under the water.

“I think it’s actually supposed to be running water that you run injuries under, but I don’t really want to… bathe you,” you scrunched up your nose.

“It should be fine, I showered just before you got here.” Peter offered, ducking his head so you couldn’t see how red he got at you mentioning bathing him.

“That’s good then,” you said as you sat on the step stool in front of him. The seat levelled the two of you out so you were nearly the same height at this point.

“Hey,” you murmured, looking into his eyes. “I can’t really do anything if you keep all those layers on.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” he looked taken aback. “I’ll… undress?”

You raised an eyebrow in his direction. Peter sure had a way of making things that could be normal into an incredibly awkward situation.

“Only if you don’t mind.”

“No, no, of course not,” Peter waved you off.

Hesitantly, he began to tug at his hoodie, bringing his shirt up with him. In a weak attempt to make him feel less awkward, you looked away and focused your attention on the floor.

He felt a bit self-conscious sitting there in front of you. It was embarrassing enough that he was shirtless, but he was also hyperaware of the various injuries littering his skin. He was sure the sight of his body, beaten and bruised, was not attractive to you in the slightest, and he felt annoyed that these were the circumstances for the first time you saw him shirtless.

Hesitantly, you looked up at him, your eyes flickering across his body. A pit formed in your stomach at the sight of his injuries. It still worried you how he possibly could have gotten himself so injured, but you knew he wasn’t about to admit anything anytime soon.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, catching the way your eyes couldn’t quite land on his body. “This is probably gross; you don’t have to help.”

“It’s not.” You shook your head, apprehensively bringing the towel up towards his body. “This might sting a bit.”

“That’s okay,” he replied.

To Peter’s surprise, you place one hand on his jaw, holding his head in place as you bring the towel to the cut on his cheekbone. Your faces were impossibly close; you could smell the lingering mintiness on Peter’s breath from the ones he had popped in his mouth before greeting you.

Your touch didn’t stay long, though, and you soon pulled away to clean the towel at the sink before returning to the stool in front of him.

You put your free hand on his shoulder to stabilise yourself and lightly tapped the cloth across his abdomen. He flinched under your touch; you could feel his shoulder muscles tensing where your left hand was leaning.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, biting your lip. “I’m trying to be as gentle as possible.”

“It’s okay,” Peter shook his head as if your remark was unnecessary. “It doesn’t really hurt.”

You gave him a doubtful look but persisted, delicately squeezing the water from the towel so it could fall onto his skin and clear away the blood.

Feeling content that it was cleaned enough, you moved away from Peter to squeeze the blood clean from the towel. You ran it underwater again before going back to your stool in front of Peter.

There was another angry and jagged cut stretched across his chest, red blood seeping out. You placed your hand back on Peter’s right shoulder and leaned in closer so you were at a good angle.

You carefully pressed the towel back onto him, matching the red line across him. He hissed under his breath at your touch, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” you apologised, your thumb subconsciously rubbing against his shoulder.

“It’s fine, really,” Peter insisted.

He felt himself getting more and more flustered at the feeling of your thumb rubbing against his shoulder to the point that the pain was forgotten.

As you continued to clean any injury that produced blood, you gradually became closer and closer to Peter. The process of cleaning the cut, washing the towel, and then sitting back down quickly became familiar and more comfortable. Each time you went back to sit on your stool, you found yourself sitting closer to him than before. It reached the point he could feel your breath lightly against his chest, and he could sense each time you were nervous by the way your breath would still.

It all felt so… intimate.

Intimate in a way he would never have dared to dream of.

But now that he was experiencing it, he knew any dreams he could have had couldn’t possibly compare to this. Your touch was light and left his skin tingling each time you so much as brushed over his body. Each time you left to clean the towel, his shoulder felt cold and bare. Like he was missing a limb or a lung, and he wasn’t sure how to function until it returned.

When you were pretty sure each cut had been cleaned (including the ones he had hidden under his tracksuit pants), you leaned back and looked into his brown eyes.

“Any I missed?” You asked.

With the way you were looking at him, Peter felt like the air had been completely sucked out of his lungs. You were so close, and your eyes were staring at him so intently, for a moment, he was almost rendered speechless.

“I think you got everything,” he whispered.

“Okay, not too painful?” You raised your eyebrows.

“No, not at all.”

“That’s good.” You smiled, grabbing a spare towel nearby that you could use to dry the water away. “I’ve gotta sterilise them, this isn’t meant to hurt you, but there’s a chance, sorry.”

“It’s fine, I can handle it.” Peter insisted, his voice softer than his eyes trained on you.

When you finished drying his cuts, you reached for the nearby tube of Betadine. Squeezing a small bit on a cotton ball, you began applying it to the wound on his chest. After covering the cut, you reached for a nearby plaster. It was white and a larger one than the typical Band-Aids you’d tend to see. This, of course, was necessary given the cut was stretched across half his chest.

As with the washing, you quickly fell into a pattern with the sterilising. The only thing that wasn’t following a pattern was how you touched Peter in comfort.

With the washing, your hand was always on his shoulder. But you appeared more comfortable now, and instead, he’d have the pleasure of guessing where your hand would fall on him.

Sometimes it was his thigh, sometimes his forearm, sometimes it would even be his shoulder, like before.

He loved it.

He lived for it.

He couldn’t believe he had gone so long without it.

He felt so addicted to the butterflies that swarmed his stomach when you touched his skin that he felt disappointed when you leaned back and said you were nearly done.

“Really?” He asked.

“Yeah, I think there’s only one left. It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches.” You murmured, dabbing another cotton ball coated in Betadine on the cut on his forearm. “I would not be good at giving you stitches.”

You held his arm in your hand, your hands nearly holding onto one another. You tried not to take any notice of it – of how right it felt – but it was nearly impossible to ignore. You wondered if he thought of it that way as well. As perfect and right. Inevitable.

Throwing the cotton ball onto the bin near you, you reached for the pre-cut bandage to wrap around his arm. Which you neatly pinned together with a safety pin.

“Done,” you spoke, looking up to face Peter.

Your faces were close. Too close. As if something was going to happen that shouldn’t. Your breath hitched as Peter looked into your eyes, his own flickering from between your eyes to your lips.

Something that definitely shouldn’t happen.

It couldn’t.

This was Peter.

Peter, whom you didn’t even like as a friend until yesterday.

Yet here you were, breathing in the soft scent of his apple shampoo and holding his arm as you desperately hoped for him to lean in. Just a little bit more.

How desperately he wanted to.

And he might’ve if the baby hadn’t started to cry and pulled the two of you out of that moment.

With a shy laugh, you pulled away.

“It’s like she knew we were done,” you grinned as you pulled away. “I can go help her; it is my turn after all.”

“It’s okay, I can handle it,” Peter offered, reaching for your arm so he could stop you from walking out the door. “It’s a partner assignment anyway; there shouldn’t be turns.”

“You do remember that taking turns was your idea, right?” You looked at him with a bemused expression.

“Well, yes,” Peter spluttered, turning slightly red. “It was a dumb idea for… practicality.”

You hummed in response. You didn’t believe him, of course, it was because you had said you didn’t like him, and he rightfully stopped wanting to spend time with you. You really couldn’t blame him for that one.

“Well, I can tidy this stuff up in the meantime,” you offered, gesturing to the supplies spread across the counter.

“Thank you, that would be great,” Peter smiled as he pulled his shirt back on and turned to leave. “I’ll be quick.”

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

It didn’t take long for you to finish clearing up the bathroom, and Peter was quick to feed the baby, who soon after stopped crying. Now, the baby was sitting back on the couch of Peter’s living room, close enough to his room that if it cried, the two of you could hear.

The two of you had gone back into his bedroom, Peter clicking the door behind him. Yet again, the two of you were sitting side-by-side on the edge of his bed, Peter nervously trying to think of something to say. He wasn’t ready for you to leave yet.

“Thank you for helping,” he coughed slightly.

“Of course, Peter,” you said with a smile.

“No, it really means a lot to me,” he shyly insisted. “Not a lot of people would do this for me.”

His eyebrows were knitted, and his eyes on you were unwavering. You weren’t sure how to respond. Part of you wanted to tell him you’d do anything for him because this ridiculous assignment had actually made you grow quite fond of him. You couldn’t say that, though. That would be too much; he would probably never want to see you again if you came on that strongly.

“Maybe you should surround yourself with better people,” you paused. “You might want to get changed, you’ve got blood on your shirt and hoodie.”

“Oh, right, yeah. That’s a good point,” Peter said with a sheepish grin, looking down at the small marks of dried blood on his shirt.

Peter started sifting through his closet, his fingers slightly shaky with nerves. The two of you were alone. You were in his room. On his bed. Just like he had always wanted.

And on top of that, you were being nice.

He was so distracted thinking about how such a miracle occured he completely forgot that you were sitting right behind him as he pulled his old pants off to get changed.

This caught you unbelievably off guard.

Especially considering this was the boy who had just recently been so awkward about taking his shirt off. The shock (and slight attraction) was replaced with concern when he pulled his shirt off, and you caught sight of the bruises spread across his back. He was covered in red and angry marks, dipping into the curves of his muscles. He was quick to cover himself with the grey shirt that he pulled over himself before turning around to find you staring at him intently.

“Sorry,” you said, turning your head down to the floor in shame.

Peter winced, realising he definitely should have gotten changed without you there.

“Oh, no, don’t be. I’m sorry,” he mumbled ashamedly, his cheeks burning as he went back over to you.

“It’s fine,” you waved him off, taking a breath as you tried to recollect yourself.

With both of you sitting next to one another again, both of you were silently wondering where to go from here. While he desperately tried to come up with any reason to convince you not to leave, you were still hung up on the mass of damage his body had been subject to.

“Does it hurt?” You finally asked, turning to face him with curious eyes. “The cuts and bruises ‘nd stuff, I mean.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“Your back looks really painful, Peter.”

“It’s alright.” Peter shrugged with an unconvincing smile.

“Should I be worried, Peter?” You turned around to properly face him, pulling your legs into a criss-cross position that Peter quickly mimicked.

“No, no,” he said, his voice rising an octave. “I’m fine, Y/n, really.”

Looking at the bruises and bandages covering his skin, you raised your eyebrows with a doubtful frown. Clearly, you weren’t convinced.

“It’s okay,” Peter put his hand on your knee comfortingly. “I promise.”

You looked up at Peter’s face, his beautiful eyes were wide and meaningful, as if he was desperate for you to believe him. He looked so soft under the warm, slightly orange lighting of his room. His caramel-coloured hair was tussled, and his clothing hung loosely on him. The grey shirt he wore was clearly well-washed, the colour slightly fading in different parts.

The combination of his hand resting on your knee and his eyes fixed on you felt overpowering in the best way possible.

Tranquillity wrapped around the two of you like a blanket fresh from the dryer – familiar and warm. He almost didn’t trust himself to speak, fearful that he might break whatever this moment was.

“You’re a good person, Peter,” you murmured in a voice as soft as honey, gently seeping into the room’s serenity. “I’m really sorry I’ve been so mean to you.”

“You’re not mean at all,” Peter shook his head, trying to keep his voice as quiet as yours. “You’re so kind.”

“I have not been kind to you,” you almost laughed at the idea. “I’ve been awful.”

“Not true,” Peter squeezed your knee gently. “You’ve already apologised, anyway.”

“I know, but I was so unfair to you.” You looked down, shaking your head slightly. “I never gave you a real chance.”

Peter hesitated.

“What do you think of me now that you’ve given me a chance?”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Peter couldn’t bring himself to breathe – far too nervous in anticipation of your answer.

“You’re a lot…” You paused as you tried to find the right word. “kinder than I ever could have thought. Funnier too.”

A smile spread across his face, and Peter let out a relieved breath. The words were so simple yet so meaningful.

“You think I’m funny?”

“Of course,” you nodded with a smile.

“I don’t think anyone thinks of me as funny,” Peter admitted.

“I don’t mind being the first.”

Peter felt like he could combust with happiness. You liked him. You thought he was kind and funny.

“I think you’re funny as well,” Peter mumbled. “Kind too.”

“I don’t think so, but thank you.” You scrunched your nose slightly.

“What? How could you not?”

You shrugged.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Peter urged.

“Thank you.” You said with a bashful smile.

“Of course.”

The sight of you sitting on his bed with such a soft smile was unbelievably enticing. He had never felt so privileged as seeing you now.

Your eyes caught on the cut that ran over his cheek. The bleeding had stopped long ago, but the pain it was no doubt bringing him made your stomach churn with sympathy.

“What?” Peter asked with a concerned frown, sensing the small change in your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You moved in closer, reaching your hand out to cup his face so you could lightly run your thumb on the bruised skin under the cut.

“I don’t know what situation you were in that caused this, but you’ve gotta try very hard in the future to avoid it,” you spoke, eyes fixed on him.

Both of your knees were overlapping his, and your thumb felt like electricity sparking on his skin in an unbelievably perfect way. Peter could barely get himself to breathe.

He forced his eyes to meet yours, and suddenly something clicked, and everything stilled. Your thumb stopped stroking his cheek, and neither of you dared to so much as blink.

The two of you were close.

Unbelievably close.

Far too close for either of you to keep fooling yourselves into believing it was platonic.

Nothing about the entire night had been platonic.

And with that realisation in mind, Peter did something he never thought he would ever have the confidence to do. He gently dipped his head and pressed his lips onto yours.

The kiss was ever so soft but unbelievably tantalising. It was like up until now, the world had been tilted on its axis, and only just now was it brought upright.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, gently moving you closer towards him until your legs were completely resting over his. You could faintly feel his hands rhythmically moving against your back. All he could focus on was the feeling of you against him. Nothing had ever felt so right.

When you pulled away, you found yourself engulfed in a cloud of blissful dizziness. Your lips were buzzing, and the sight of Peter’s ruffled hair and pink lips was shockingly entrancing.

Peter desperately searched for something to say, but the sight of you in front of him made it hard to think of anything coherent.

Unsure of what to say, Peter blinked rapidly.

“Should we–,” Peter cleared his throat, the tips of his ears tingeing with pink with embarassment “Maybe we should go check on the baby. See if it wants anything”

“Sure,” you nodded slowly, still feeling slightly dazed.

The two of you pulled away and moved off the bed, walking from his room and into the living room. Despite Peter’s desperate prayers for the baby to be wailing so the two of you had something to do, the baby lay still on the couch just like how you’d left it.

“Guess it’s fine then,” Peter scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed grimace.

“Guess so.”

Peter awkwardly shuffled, his face tinted red and his fingers fiddling as he desperately tried to think of something to say.

“I guess I should probably head home,” you said with a sigh.

“Oh, yeah, okay. If you’d like,” Peter pursed his lips, feeling slightly disappointed.

“I can walk you home if you’d like.” He added on, suddenly perking up.

“What? I couldn’t ask you to do that?” You shook your head “Thank you, though.”

“It’s pitch black, it’s not safe for you to walk home alone,” Peter insisted.

“But then you’ll have to walk back alone.”

“I do that all the time when I come back from Ned’s house,” Peter lied.

He did actually go out at night alone, only it was usually swinging back from monitoring for a fight.

“Alright, well, it’s your choice, Peter,” you shrugged as you went to pick the baby up from the couch.

Suddenly possessed with the perfect idea to charm you, Peter reached out for your arm to stop you.

“You don’t have to take her; I can have her for the night.”

You cocked your head in bewilderment.

“What? That’s crazy, you just had her.”

“I don’t mind. It’ll be bad walking at night with her crying anyway – it’ll…” Peter paused to think. “Alert people that we’re there. Very dangerous.”

You frowned at him doubtfully.

“Really, it’s a matter of my safety as well,” Peter explained as he held his hand on the small of your back and walked you to the front door. “Hard to lurk in the shadows from some assaulters on the street with a crying baby screaming for everyone to hear.”

Based on the confused look on your face, Peter was pretty sure his attempt at a romantic gesture was not doing a whole lot to help him with you. But it was too late now; he had already made a fool of himself, and the two of you were already out the door.

“Alright, thanks, Pete.”

“Of course!” Peter squeaked.

Pete.

The nickname sounded so perfect coming from you.

He wanted to hear you say it again and again. It was something he couldn’t possibly get sick of.

He smiled to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets as the two of you walked to the elevator.

“So, do you hang out with Ned a lot after school then?” You asked, walking into the elevator and pressing the button for the ground floor.

“Yeah, sometimes, the internship gets in the way a bit, though,” Peter shrugged.

“Ah, right – your mysterious internship.

“Wha-?” Peter spluttered, scrunching his face up with an awkward and very forced laugh. “What’s so mysterious about it?”

“The entire thing,” you laughed.

The elevator pinged, and the doors opened, the two of you walking out to the lobby.

“The entire thing?” Peter repeated.

“I mean, what type of internship is that demanding? It borders on being unethical,” you reasoned as the two of you walked through the exit.

“No, no,” Peter nervously waved you off. “Not unethical.”

“Not normal at the least.”

Peter frowned to himself; his cover-up story of an internship might not have been the best.

“Does Stark even know how it’s been affecting your school?” You asked. “Or how it’s affected your friendships in the past?”

“Of course not, I wouldn’t want to complain to him.”

“You’d think he’d expect it, though. Given that he has you coming in in the middle of a school day.” You shrugged, then turned to Peter suspiciously. “That is, if you actually are doing internship stuff when you’re out of school.”

Peter almost tripped over.

“Where else would I be?” He asked, trying to seem casual (which wasn’t easy considering the high-pitched tone he was speaking in).

“Dunno, Peter,” you shrugged, lightly kicking a rock that was lying on the path in front of you. “You’re as mysterious as your internship.”

“You think I’m mysterious?”

Peter wasn’t sure if he should be offended that you were seemingly making up conspiracies about him, or if he should be flattered that you noticed him enough to sense the inconsistencies in his stories.

“Anyone who misses as much school as you without a very good explanation is gonna be mysterious,” you mused.

The two of you turned a corner. You were on your street now, which you were grateful for, given the cold night’s wind was beginning to hit you harder than you had anticipated.

“I have an explanation. A good explanation at that.”

“Sure, Pete.”

“I do.”

You hummed in response, not entirely convinced, but you knew pushing it would only make Peter spew some bullshit lie about how ‘the internship is really demanding’ or that ‘he gets sick easily’.

“How are you feeling?” You instead asked, gently nudging his arm with yours.

“About the internship?” Peter frowned.

“No,” you rolled your eyes with a laugh. “With all your injuries.”

“Oh, right,” Peter hated how dumb he came off sometimes. “They’re fine, nothing too bad.”

“That’s good,” you nodded, before faltering in your step and turning to him. “It’s not from walking home at night alone, is it?”

“No, no,” he shook his head firmly. “Just… other stuff.”

Well, that was relieving at the very least. You would’ve hated to know you were about to shove him into the situation that got him brutalised just a few hours ago.

“Please, be careful, Peter.”

The two of you had arrived at the front of your lobby, and you paused to swipe your key card to enter the building. You were half expecting Peter to bid you farewell here, but he seemed eager to walk you right to your front door.

“I am careful,” Peter assured you with a soft nudge as the two of you walked to the nearby staircase.

“If this is what happens when you’re careful, you need to reconsider whatever part of your life that entices this,” you said, the two of you walking up the few stairs to reach your level.

“Yeah,” Peter bit the inside of his cheek. “I know.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to lecture you,” you said, the two of you finally reaching your level and stepping out of the staircase to walk down your hallway. “It’s just… worrying.”

He didn’t like the idea of you feeling worried at all. But, he had to admit the thought of you worrying over him (of all people) made him feel a little bit flattered.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he smiled at you, the two of you stilling as you finally reached the door of your apartment.

“If you’re sure. You can always talk to me or come to me if you need anything, though, Pete.”

“Thank you,” Peter beamed. “Same for you, of course.”

“Thanks. And thank you for walking me back.”

“It’s not a problem,” Peter said, slightly rocking back and forth on his heels. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll see you in the morning,” you smiled, pushing and turning the keys in your lock.

“Bye,” Peter waved to you as you stepped into your apartment.

“Bye, Peter,” you said, returning his wave before gently shutting the door.

˚✶⋆. .⋆✶˚

part 4: coming soon!

a/n: part 4 should come out in a couple of days, and that’ll be the end of this short series! thank you for all the love you have given the first two parts <3