Lina🏁

“sam! stop! my parents are gonna smell that!” you groaned, rushing over to open your window letting in the cool night air.

“calm down sweetheart, they won’t even notice.” sam still put out the weed he was smoking, despite his words.

sam was laying flat on his back on your bed, the pink blankets and pillows clashing against sam’s green band t-shirt and black jeans. he crawled into your window an hour ago and all he had done was flop back on your bed, complaining about his teachers.

it would be weird to people, the prissy popular cheerleader captain having a stoner ‘freak’ in her room. maybe that’s why you and sam kept it a secret, or maybe it was because your parents would never approve of him.

you joined sam on the bed, instead choosing to curl into his arms, which he opened for you. your skirt had slightly ridden up and your blouse already had a couple buttons popped open, due to sam’s earlier greeting towards you. sam’s hand trailed up your skirt, resting comfortably on the curve of your ass that your underwear didn’t cover.

you played with the little hole in his shirt, “you think we’ll ever tell anyone about us?”

sam’s silence at first gave away the fact he was taken aback by the question, “that depends princess, you want your parents banning you from seeing me?”

you rolled your eyes at the nickname sam used, the same one he first called you that winter day when you two first met. it was fall now, and he still insisted on calling you that, even with you two being together. “no, obviously i don’t. maybe they’ll like you.”

sam snorted at your hopefulness, turning to face you on his side now. “right, like that’ll happen.”

you also turned on your side, meeting his eyes. you pulled his face towards yours, connecting your lips instead of replying. you two sat slowly, never breaking the kiss. you crawled into his lap, letting his hands grab more at your ass now.

sam made his way down to your neck, kissing and sucking on sensitive areas. you quickly rid your blouse, letting the cool air hit your bra covered chest. right as sam’s hands traveled to the back of your bra, reaching for the clasp, a loud knock on your door sounded.

you practically jumped off sam, while your moms voice rang through the other side of the door, “honey, can you open up?”

“um, yeah mom, just give me a sec.” your voice was shaky as you looked towards sam, whose face had a resting smirk on it at your panic.

“asshole! this isn’t funny!” you whispered towards him before your eyes landed on the closet. you quickly grabbed sam’s arm, shoving him in the closet and shutting the door.

you yanked your bedroom door open, facing your mom. “oh honey, you could’ve put on a shirt, i didn’t know you were changing.”

you froze, completely forgetting about the fact you didn’t have a shirt on and that hickeys were actively forming on your neck. you reached for a hoodie, pulling it on.

your mom wandered into your room, sitting on the bed. she turned towards you, but then stopped, “whose hoodie is that?”

you looked down at the hoodie that you just put on and mentally cursed yourself for not checking what it was before throwing it on, the hoodie was a metallica hoodie, smelling exactly like sam, which was weed and a cologne he wore that always drove you nuts. “nobody’s mom, it’s, uh, it’s mine.”

your moms confusion grew, “why would you own that? you don’t even listen to that-”

you cut your mom off, “so what did you need mom?”

“right, your dad wants to know if you would like to join him on sunday night when he goes to the timbers?”

you groaned at the last name, jase timber. an asshole in your grade that your parents won’t stop bothering you about. “no mom, i don’t want to go. i already told you im not interested in jase.”

your moms face grew stern, “honey, you need to start taking jase seriously. he’s a star quarterback and straight A student.”

you let out a scoff, “there’s nothing to take seriously mom. we aren’t in a relationship and we aren’t going to be.”

your mom let out her own scoff now, “i don’t see why you two shouldn’t be. you twos lives fit perfectly. are you ever going to start taking dating seriously?”

you sighed at her question, you wished you could shout at her that you already had a boyfriend and he was better than jase could ever be. at the thought of sam you groaned, realizing he was hearing all this from the closet. “it’s a little hard to take dating seriously when you and dad would only approve of a straight A, football star, asshole.”

“language young lady!” your mom stood from your bed now, “me and your dad are trying to look out for you. give you what’s best.”

your frustration grew, “well maybe i don’t want someone like that mom! maybe i want someone who will see me for me and not just as a prissy head cheerleader, and someone who has a real personality and interests, someone who enjoys music and actually spending time with me, not someone who shows me off like an object.” tears were practically spilling out of your eyes by the time you finished, your frustration bubbling out.

your mom shook her head, “you’re going on sunday.”

with that she left and shut the door behind her with an extra amount of force needed. you sat on your bed, burying your head in your hands, completely forgetting about your boyfriend in the same room as you.

tears finally spilled out of you, leading to ugly hard sobs. you felt a dip in the bed before feeling arms wrap around you, and you getting pulled into sam’s lap. you looked up at him, tears coating your face. “i’m sorry, i don’t want to go on sunday, they’ll make me.”

you rarely saw soft sides of sam, but his expression completely changed into one of softness when looking at all your tears. “it’s okay princess, don’t worry about it, okay?” he wiped your tears that were still falling down your face. “if it makes you feel better, you look really pretty when crying.”

you let out a wet laugh at his stupid attempt to flirt right now, “you’re so dumb.” his fingers were still wiping softly at your face when you looked to meet his eyes, “i love you sam, really like i am completely fully in love with you.”

he kissed your head ever so softly, “i love you too princess.”

este speaks / i don’t care i loveeee cheerleader reader and sam

Music blared from the stereo that sat atop Sam’s dresser, his stepdad had already been at his door twice shouting at him to turn ‘ that trash down, ’ but Sam didn’t care nor did he listen, instead he turned the volume up louder. He hadn’t seen you in almost a month and now he was trying desperately to make up for lost time.

You sat in his lap, your hands resting on Sam’s shoulder as his lips pressed against yours. Slowly Sam’s hands began to travel lower as he tested the waters, when there was no protest to his actions his hands moved under the hem of your skirt. Just as his fingers brushed against the waist band of your panties his door flew open. 

With a startled yelp you jumped off Sam. His stepfather stood in the doorway, completely mortified by what he just saw. 

“ If you don’t turn down the goddamn music and keep your hands off your girlfriend she leaves. ”

“ You can’t tell me what to do in my room. ”

With a huff Sam climbed off his bed slamming the door in his step fathers face before twisting the lock. 

“ God he’s such a fucking cockblock sometimes. ”

Sam dropped back down onto his mattress, his fingers coming up to twist and tug on his labret. Beside Sam you sat watching him quietly, your mind filled with unspoken thoughts. 

“ Maybe I should go home.. ”

Sam’s brow furrowed as his gaze moved to land on you. You looked uncomfortable so unsure of yourself. 

“ You’re not going just because he’s being a dick. ”

Sam’s lanky arms stretched over to the bedside table before he pressed play on the stereo again drowning the room in loud music once more.

“ I just don’t want to get you in trouble. ”

“ You won’t, this is my shit, not yours, I can handle it. ”

Quickly Sam leaned in pressing a few distracting kisses to your cheek. After a moment you climbed back into his lap, your fingers disappearing into his dark curls. Immediately Sam pulled you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. His thumbs traced lazy circles on your back through the thin fabric of your shirt. The music blared behind you as you both got lost in the feeling of you on his lap, both of you finally relaxed for the first time all night. 

Slowly Sam’s lips found yours, pressing against yours gently before pulling back. His forehead rested against yours as you shared small kisses back and forth. 

“ You’re sure I can stay the night? ”

After the coffee, something shifted. Not all at once. Not dramatically. It happened in small, almost invisible ways. Peter wasn’t the type to text first, ask someone to hang out, or suddenly become outgoing. That version of him had disappeared years ago. His days belonged to Spider-Man now, patrolling rooftops until sunrise, attending lectures half-asleep, squeezing in homework whenever he could. Peter Parker had become whatever time remained after everyone else had gotten their share.

There wasn’t much left. Yet somehow, without meaning to, he found himself saving a little of it for Y/N. 

It started with the stairwell.

He’d run into her on his way towards his apartment, usually carrying groceries or balancing three psychology textbooks against her hip. What began as a quick “Hey,” somehow turned into ten-minute conversations.

Then twenty.

Eventually, they stopped standing altogether. Instead, they’d climb onto the fire escape outside her apartment, legs dangling over the metal platform while the city buzzed beneath them. Sometimes Y/N would bring out a bowl of pasta she’d cooked, insisting there was always too much for one person. Peter always argued. “I already ate.”

“You had instant ramen.”

“…I already ate.”

She’d shove the container into his hands anyway. “That’s not food, Peter.”

“It literally is.”

“It literally shouldn’t count.”

He’d sigh in defeat and take a bite. “…Needs salt.”

She’d gasp dramatically. “You’re unbelievable.”

“It’s underseasoned.”

“It’s rustic.”

“It’s bland.”

“It’s Italian.”

“I don’t think Italy would claim this.”

She’d throw a napkin at him. Other evenings, she’d brew tea instead. Peter still refused coffee with an almost suspicious level of commitment. “I don’t trust people who willingly drink something that tastes burnt.”

Y/N stared at him. “…You lack of sleep.”

“Correct.”

“But coffee is where you draw the line? For getting a BIT of energy”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I know.”

The conversations usually revolved around university. Professor Banner’s impossible assignments. The latest campus gossip. Someone who accidentally set off the chemistry lab’s fire alarm.

Y/N always had stories. Peter preferred listening. It was easier that way.

Listening didn’t require him to reveal the parts of himself he kept stitched together. It didn’t force him to answer questions about where he’d been the night before, why he looked exhausted, or why his hands were always covered in tiny cuts that somehow appeared overnight.

Talking meant opening doors. Listening allowed him to keep them closed.

Y/N never seemed to mind.

She filled every silence naturally, hopping from one topic to another without expecting him to match her energy. She’d tell him about the old woman on the third floor who insisted pigeons were government spies. About the neighbor who sold homemade honey from tiny glass jars. About a philosophy student who spent twenty minutes arguing that cereal technically qualified as soup.

Peter rarely contributed more than a sentence. Sometimes just a word. Yet she never stopped talking.

And strangely he liked that.

There were days when she’d knock on his apartment door carrying an empty bowl. “Do you have flour?”

“…Yes.”

“Can I borrow some?” He’d hand her the bag.

The next morning she’d return it. Completely full.

“…You bought a new bag.”

“I panicked.”

“…Why?”

“I used your flour.”

“That’s… why I gave it to you.”

“…yea.”

There were other excuses. “Does your bathroom still have hot water?” Y/N asked.

“Yes.”

“Mine doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“…I know.”

“…Do you still want to come in?”

She smiled sheepishly. “…Maybe.”

Peter stepped aside. “Five minutes.” It was never five minutes. Sometimes she’d wander around his apartment while talking about a documentary she’d watched, opening the fridge without asking. “…Peter.”

“What?”

“You have ketchup.”

“Yeah.”

“And…”

“Yeah.”

“…That’s your entire fridge.” 

He looked over from the textbook he was pretending to read. “…There’s baking soda.”

She blinked. “…You’re impossible.”

Little white lies. Little excuses. Neither of them ever acknowledged them. Peter knew she wasn’t actually out of flour half the time. Y/N knew his water wasn’t magically different from everyone else’s. Still, they played along. It became their language.

Even then, there was always something just out of reach. Peter laughed more now. Not often. But enough that Y/N noticed. His sarcasm came easier. His replies grew a little longer than a single word. Sometimes she’d even catch him smiling before he realized he was doing it.

And then just as quickly the walls would return. It changed like day and night of how often he turned to be cold and not there.

She’d ask him what his favorite color was.

“…Blue.”

“What kind of blue?”

“…Blue.”

She’d laugh. “Okay… what’s your favorite movie?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never watched a movie?”

“I have.”

“So?”

“…I don’t know.”

“What made you choose biophysics?”

“It made sense.”

“What do you do when you’re not studying?”

He’d hesitate. “…Walk.”

That answer never felt true. Y/N could always feel it. There was a distance in him that had nothing to do with shyness. It was deliberate. Like every answer was carefully measured before he spoke, giving away only enough to keep a conversation alive, but never enough for someone to truly know him. Sometimes she’d catch him staring out across the rooftops while she talked, his attention drifting somewhere she couldn’t follow.

As if part of him was always listening for something else. Always ready to leave. She wanted to know him. Not the quiet boy who drank tea instead of coffee and survived almost entirely on ramen.

The real Peter.

She wanted to know why he always looked exhausted. Why his knuckles were constantly scraped. Why he smiled like it was something he’d forgotten how to do. Most of all, she wanted to know what had happened to him that made someone so young carry himself like he’d already lived an entire lifetime.

Peter wanted to tell her.

Sometimes, he almost did.

There were moments, usually when they sat on the fire escape with the city glowing beneath them and Y/N was halfway through another story— that he felt an ache in his chest. An almost desperate need to let someone in. To admit that he was tired. That some mornings getting out of bed felt harder than fighting whatever villain happened to be waiting for him.

To have someone catch him before he fell.

But almost was as close as he ever allowed himself to get because almost couldn’t get anyone hurt.

Lately, something about it had started to feel unfair. Y/N was always the one carrying the conversation. She offered pieces of herself so effortlessly— stories from childhood, embarrassing moments in class, opinions about movies, books she loved, songs she couldn’t stop replaying on her iPod.

She made herself known.

Peter listened. He answered when spoken to. Occasionally he’d throw in a sarcastic remark that earned a laugh from her, but the conversation always drifted back toward Y/N because she was the only one willing to let someone look beneath the surface.

She had warned him from the very beginning. “I can talk for two people.”

Back then, he’d been grateful for it. Now he wondered if she’d gotten tired. Talking for two people sounded easy in theory.

In reality, it was exhausting.

Conversation wasn’t meant to be carried by one person forever.

Sometimes, he’d catch the brief disappointment that crossed her face after another one-word answer. She always recovered quickly, changing the subject before the silence became awkward, pretending she hadn’t expected more in the first place.

But Peter noticed. He noticed everything. He just never knew how to fix it.

One evening, Y/N left the university library long after sunset. Exam season had swallowed nearly everyone on campus whole. Her backpack was stuffed so full it barely zipped shut, while two thick psychology textbooks of Erikson or Piaget rested precariously in her arms, forcing her to tilt her chin slightly just to see where she was walking.

She’d practically been living in the library for the past week.

Coffee cups littered every surface of her apartment. Highlighters had started appearing in places they shouldn’t. She’d even begun wearing her glasses more often— not only because they genuinely helped after staring at textbooks for hours, but because they made her feel like she had her life together.

She absolutely did not. The subway had been suspended because of a signal failure, leaving hundreds of annoyed New Yorkers spilling onto the sidewalks. So… she walked. From block to block.

An old iPod rested in her jacket pocket, headphones tucked beneath her hair as music filled her ears. Y/N adored physical media. Records. CDs. Books with folded pages. An iPod packed with albums she’d spent years collecting.

She liked owning things.

Liked the comforting weight of something real in her hands instead of watching it disappear onto a cloud somewhere. Tonight’s soundtrack drowned out most of the city.

Car horns. Sirens. Footsteps.

She barely noticed any of it. Which meant she didn’t notice the man who had been walking behind her for nearly two blocks. At first, he simply matched her pace. Then he started walking faster. Y/N turned the corner toward her apartment building, hugging the books closer against her chest. The footsteps behind her sped up. Before she had time to register what was happening a hand landed against the small of her back.

Warm.

Uninvited. “Hey there, beautiful,” the stranger said with an easy, self-satisfied grin. “Why’re you walking so fast?”

Y/N flinched violently. She lurched away from his touch so quickly that one of the books nearly slipped from her arms. “What the—” She tightened her grip on the stack, her heartbeat instantly spiking. “…Why are you so touchy?” she asked, forcing sarcasm into her voice despite the panic already creeping into it.

The man laughed. “C’mon, I’m just being friendly.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

He stepped closer anyway. “You don’t gotta be so cold.”

Y/N instinctively took another step back. There it was. That familiar feeling. The one every woman knew far too well. The quick calculation running through her mind. How many people are around? Is anyone actually paying attention? How far is my apartment? If I start running, will he follow? Her fingers tightened around the books until they hurt. She tried to smile politely. The smile women learned to wear when they wanted a situation to end without making it worse.

“I’ve… got somewhere to be.”

“So do I,” he replied with another grin.

“But I can walk you.”

“No, thanks.”

“I insist.”

“I don’t.”

The man didn’t take the hint. He took another step. Then another. Y/N matched each one with a step backward, clutching her books so tightly the edges dug into her forearms. “I said I’m fine,” she repeated, forcing her voice to stay steady.

“You don’t gotta act scared.”

“I’m not acting.”

His grin widened. “See? You’ve got jokes.”

“I don’t know you.”

“You could.”

“I don’t want to.” For a brief second, silence settled between them. Y/N thought maybe he’d finally gotten the message. Instead, his hand reached toward her again. This time, for her wrist.

Instinct took over. She jerked away, the movement throwing one of her textbooks onto the sidewalk with a heavy thud. Pages fanned open across the concrete.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “Why are you making this difficult?”

“I said don’t touch me.”

A few people passed by on the opposite side of the street. No one slowed down. No one looked over. New York had mastered the art of pretending not to see. The stranger sighed dramatically, as if she was inconveniencing him. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve got an attitude.”

“And you’ve got five seconds to leave me alone.”

He laughed. “Or what?” He reached for her again.

A sharp thwip echoed through the street. White webbing wrapped itself around his wrist before he could touch her. “What the—”

The web yanked backward with enough force to spin him around. Another strand shot out, sticking him cleanly against the brick wall beside the alley. “What is—HEY!” His feet kicked uselessly against the pavement. “You can’t do this!”

A familiar red-and-blue figure dropped soundlessly from the rooftop above. Spider-Man landed between them in a low crouch before standing to his full height. His mask turned toward Y/N first.

“You okay?”

She blinked. Her breathing was uneven. “…Spider-Man?”

He gave a small nod. Then he looked at the man glued to the wall. “So…” Spider-Man said conversationally, tilting his head. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here.”

The man struggled against the webbing. “This is a misunderstanding!”

Spider-Man ignored him. “I’m pretty sure…” he continued, “…when someone says ‘don’t touch me’…” He paused dramatically. “…the correct response is…” Another pause. “…not touching them.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, I wasn’t doing anything.”

Spider-Man looked at him for a long second. Then back at Y/N. Then back again. “…Interesting defense.”

“I was talking to her.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I was being friendly.”

Spider-Man nodded slowly. “Right.” Another beat. “Quick question.”

“What?”

“Did she look like she wanted to talk to you?”

The man opened his mouth. Closed it. “…No.”

“There it is.” Spider-Man clapped his hands together once. “We’re making progress.”

Y/N couldn’t help it. Despite the adrenaline still rushing through her body…a tiny laugh escaped her.

Spider-Man’s mask turned toward her. “You laughed.”

“I…” She let out a shaky breath. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward the man. “He’s having a worse night than you.”

“I HEARD THAT!”

“I know.”

Spider-Man looked back at Y/N, his voice noticeably softer. “Did he hurt you?”

She glanced down at herself. Her wrist was fine. Her books not so much. One had landed in a puddle. “…Just my psychology textbook.”

Spider-Man followed her gaze. “…Oof.”

“I know.”

“Those are expensive.”

“They’re criminal.”

“…Technically,” Spider-Man replied, “I handle criminals.”

She snorted despite herself.

He crouched to pick up the scattered books, carefully stacking them back together before brushing dirt from the covers.

“You carry all these every day?”

“I have three exams next week.”

“…That somehow sounds scarier than my job.”

She smiled—a small, tired smile this time. “Thank you.”

He handed the books back to her. Their fingers almost touched. Almost. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.”

“You really don’t.”

“I really do.”

For a second, neither of them spoke. The city noise seemed farther away. Spider-Man shifted awkwardly. “You should let me walk you home.”

Y/N looked up at him. “Is it okay for you?”

“I was… heading that direction anyway.” It was a terrible lie.

She smiled faintly. “Okay.”

He stayed half a step behind her as they walked the remaining blocks in silence, keeping an eye on the street rather than on her. Y/N stole a glance at him every now and then.

Something about him felt familiar. Not his voice—it was lower than she expected. Not his height. Just the way he walked. The slight slump in his shoulders. The habit of flexing his scraped knuckles every few minutes, as if they were sore. It tugged at something in the back of her mind. Obviously he got her limes before when she wanted to reach for Peter, but she could barely remember anything, she remembers the conversations though.

Before she could place it, they reached her apartment building.

“There you are,” Spider-Man said, stopping at the entrance.

Y/N adjusted the books in her arms. “So…”

“So.”

“Thanks again.”

He gave a small nod. “Get inside.”

She smiled. “You sound exactly like my—” She stopped herself.

Spider-Man’s head tilted. “…Like your what?”

Y/N blinked. “…Nothing.”

For the briefest moment, Peter’s heart skipped. Then she smiled again, waved, and disappeared through the apartment door. Only after the light in the hallway flickered on did Spider-Man finally allow himself to breathe.

He walked towards his apartment in silence. Every step felt heavier than the last. The image refused to leave his mind. That man's hand against the small of Y/N's back.mThe way she'd instinctively flinched. The fear hidden behind the sarcasm in her voice.

The smile she'd forced because she didn't know whether saying no would make the situation worse.

His jaw tightened beneath the mask. No one should ever make her feel like that. No one. The thought came so instinctively that it startled him.

No one gets to hurt her.

His grip around the wooden railing tightened and there it was again. The same dangerous line he'd crossed before. The same instinct that had cost him everyone he'd ever loved. The more people mattered the more they became targets.

It had happened to Aunt May.

To MJ.

To Ned.

To everyone who had ever gotten too close to Peter Parker. He couldn't let it happen again. Not with Y/N.

She was too kind. Too bright. Too unapologetically alive. The world had already taken enough from people like her. It didn't deserve another chance and neither did he.

It only took him a few minutes to his apartment. The suit landed in the laundry basket with a dull thud. His mask followed. A hoodie. Sweatpants.

For the first time all evening, he finally looked like Peter Parker again. He rubbed both hands over his face, exhaustion settling into every muscle. Sleep. That was probably what he needed. Instead, he crossed the apartment and pushed open the window. Cool evening air drifted inside. The city stretched endlessly before him, lights glowing against the darkness like scattered stars.

He rested his forearms against the windowsill. His eyes drifted downward. Y/N sat alone on the fire escape one floor above his, knees tucked close to her chest, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Her headphones weren't in. No music played.

She was simply sitting, looking out over New York. Yet quietly.

Peter had never seen her quiet before.

It looked wrong like watching the sun forget how to shine. He stayed where he was for a long moment. He could almost imagine what she was thinking. Replaying the stranger's face. Wondering what would've happened if Spider-Man hadn't shown up or what would happen to her. Peter swallowed. Before he could think himself out of it, he climbed onto the fire escape.

One careful step. Then another. He descended to her level until he stopped beside the railing. The metal creaked softly beneath his weight. Y/N turned her head. She flinched only for a heartbeat. Her fingers tightened around the mug before she recognized him. The tension melted from her shoulders. A tired smile appeared instead. "Hello, neighbor.“ Her voice was quieter than usual. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Peter looked at her. Something twisted painfully in his chest. "I've been... kind of busy."

She nodded, taking a slow sip from her tea. "I hope it had something to do with university."

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "...Something like that."

The wind drifted between the buildings, lifting loose strands of her hair. She shifted a little, patting the empty space beside her. “Wanna join me?“ She lifted her mug slightly. "It's kind of the perfect night for tea."

Peter looked at the empty spot. His mind immediately split into two voices. Don’t and Leave. This is how it starts. You're getting attached.

His feet didn't move because there was another voice now. One he hadn't heard in years. Stay.

He realized that was why he'd come out here in the first place. Not only to check on her. Not entirely. He just hadn't wanted her to sit alone tonight. "...Sure," he said quietly. Then, almost as an afterthought— "As long as it isn't coffee."

That earned him the smallest laugh. "There it is," Y/N smiled. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring coffee into the conversation."

"You have a habit of making everything about coffee."

"I am a psychology student during exam season.“ She looked at him as if that explained everything. "It would actually be concerning if I wasn't talking about coffee."

Peter lowered himself beside her, leaving just enough space between them that their shoulders wouldn't touch. The fire escape groaned beneath their combined weight. He glanced at the mug in her hands.

"So..."

She held it out toward him. "It's chamomile."

He looked suspicious. "Are you sure?"

Y/N laughed. "Peter."

"What?"

"You think I'm secretly trying to convert you."

"I wouldn't put it past you."

She gasped dramatically. "I would never betray tea like that."

A small chuckle escaped him.

Y/N looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "There it is again."

He frowned. "What?"

"The laugh."

"I didn't laugh."

"You absolutely did."

"I exhaled."

"That was not an exhale."

"It was."

"It had joy in it.“ Peter looked away toward the skyline, unsuccessfully hiding the smile threatening to appear. "I think you're hearing things."

"I'm not."

She leaned back against the railing with a satisfied grin. "I knew you had one."

"...One what?"

"A sense of humor."

Peter shook his head. "I think you're confusing sarcasm with personality."

Y/N smiled into her tea. „Maybe." She glanced at him again. "...I still like it."

<3 hi there spiders! todays my birthday so my gift for you is this little chapter <3

You’d both had gym first period. He’d taken a dodgeball to the face so you wouldn’t have to. You’d spend most of your lives continuing on in that way, protecting each other. 

It wasn’t fair for some stranger to come along and try to encroach on a territory they didn’t understand. Sure, he was your boyfriend. You liked this guy. 

But he wasn’t Peter. He’d never be Peter. And that was okay. But for him to form an opinion on Peter was something else entirely. For that opinion to be negative was unacceptable. 

The resolution was to cut Peter off. To go no contact. 

You said you’d think about it. 

Instead, you left your dorm. You were already walking there when you called Peter, “I need to use your dorm to study. He’s being a dick again.” 

You know he’ll say yes before he does. You know he’ll be on patrol, but you have an extra copy of his room key. The RA knows your face and name. 

You can be without a boyfriend. You can’t be without Peter. 

-

Holy fuck. That’s you.

Well, maybe not exactly. The girl on Peter’s laptop screen is contorting her body in a way you don’t think you’re bendy enough to achieve. 

But fuck, does she look like you. 

Her hair texture, color, and style. The same skin tone, the same freckles and moles in the same places. She’s staring back at the camera with sultry, come-hither eyes the same shade as yours. 

You feel a little strange sitting alone in his room now. You needed to borrow his laptop for a last-minute assignment. Really, you hadn’t meant to snoop. But what kinda pervert just leaves his porno tabs open? 

Your best friend, Peter. Apparently. 

There’s more tabs open with the same actress. One where she’s riding a dildo in her bathroom with a hitachi wand pressed to her clit. Another where she’s sucking off the cameraman, complementing his cock in a voice that definitely could’ve been yours, with plenty of eye contact towards the camera. Here’s another where Camera Guy fingers her until she squirts all over his hand, his face never in the frame. 

There’s probably no ulterior motive for that. 

A new tab reveals a different video. This time, no faces are shown at all. The girl is getting fucked from behind, her face pressed into the pillow beneath her. She moans and writhes, playing it up. Her voice was muffled, muted around the fabric pressing against her face. Her pink, glistening pussy and puckered asshole the center of attention while the guy rams into her. Her back is in a deep arch, ass in the air. 

The man reaches over, grabs a fistful of her hair to rear her head back. And oh, would you look at that? You must’ve gone to the same salon or something because once again, her hair is exactly like yours. 

This could mean nothing. 

The next 3 videos you watch could also mean nothing. Girls that look like they could be your twin getting railed by men who obscure everything from the neck up or use masks to hide their faces. To make it easier for the viewer to project themselves onto. 

The search results for porn actresses with your skin tone and body type could be a coincidence, too. You’re conveniently attractive, sure! Some of your attributes could translate into spank bank material! 

The videos are not concrete proof your friend of almost eight years wants to sleep with you, though! You’re crazy. Yep. You’re being a pervert and you are crazy and- 

I stole her panties out of her laundry basket while she was in the shower. It was either that or try to shower with her-

And this was Peter’s…Peter’s blog. 

Must be. His name isn’t on it but he’s logged in still. You weren’t in danger of stumbling across it since you didn’t have an account on the site. You didn’t realize people even used Tumblr anymore. 

But you were wrong. Silly you. 

We share everything together, but I can’t tell her. I can’t lose her, too. 

You wet your lips, your stomach flips. You should look away, you should just finish your homework, and forget you ever saw it. 

But you keep scrolling. 

He tells the whole 10 people who follow him all about what he would do to you if he had the chance. Every time his skin brushed against yours, every time you’d spend the night in his bed. Clothed, chaste, and curled up tight against the wall. Away from him. 

How he wanted to touch and taste but he resisted. How he wanted to kiss you in places that no one else had ever seen, let alone touched. 

There are gifs. Of course there are gifs. What would a tumblr blog be without gifs? Black and white scenes tastefully done. Men with no faces, girls with facial features that looked like yours. 

He imagines that you are these girls because he can’t have you. 

I wonder what she looks like when she cums. 

Christ. 

You really shouldn’t be getting turned on by this. This is a violation of Peter’s privacy. This is a violation of your privacy. Two more posts down, he tells the small bubble of people who follow him that he pressed your underwear to his nose while he fisted his cock. 

I couldn’t finish. I got so lost in it, in the way she smelled. I got so close, but when I realized she wasn’t really there, I went soft. God. I can’t even masturbate anymore. It isn’t a want.I need her at this point. 

Your hand moves between your legs, subconsciously. You cup your sex over your leggings. Peter would lose his mind if he saw you like this: aroused, alone, and in his bed no less. Another post says he can smell your arousal on your skin when you think no one notices.  Maybe he’d smell it on his sheets. 

Your hand moves under your leggings, under your panties. You want to leave the scent of your cunt behind. Give him just a little more to obsess over. 

You fall into his fantasy. Your thoughts mirror his. What would he taste like? How would his body feel against yours? What does his cock look like? 

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before while you touched yourself. But this unfiltered look into Peter’s mind made your entire body flush, gave the thoughts new life. Your clit throbs in time with your heartbeat. 

You run a finger through your folds, teasing yourself while you scroll his dirty thoughts about you. You slide a lone finger inside, curling it inward. 

He likes doggy style the best. He talks about your ass, how nice it looks in your skin tight jeans. How he wants to tear your pants and underwear off at any given opportunity and-

“Shit, sorry!”

Peter freezes, stuck halfway in and out of his dorm room window. His mask falls to the floor, his suit shadowed by the street lamps outside. 

You slam the laptop shut, jerk your hand out of your pants, “Pete-“ 

“I-“

“I shouldn’t-“

“It’s-“

You bite your tongue. He just looks at you, unable to complete a full sentence. 

“You should,” You swallow thickly, “You should come inside before someone sees you.”

You wince at your choice of words. He nods, stunned, before swinging his body the rest of the way inside. He shuts his window. 

He doesn’t look back at you. 

“Petey…” You coax, “It’s okay.”

“You saw…all of it?”

“Yeah, I said it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed…” 

“It’s not okay. I violated your trust, I crossed boundaries, I-“

“You’ve been really pent up, haven’t you?” 

Your tone takes some of the tension out of his shoulders. You see him swallow, but he still doesn’t face you. 

“Do you remember when you told me about Spider Man? How I told you I was upset you didn’t tell me sooner?” 

You sigh, sliding your hand back home under your leggings. He stays silent. He can hear the noise of your finger moving in and out, your thumb grazing your clit. You watch his jaw twitch. 

“No more secrets. That’s what we promised each other.”

He groans out your name. 

“You’ve been keeping another secret from me this entire time. Thinking I’d be upset.”

“You,” He breathes out through his nose, “You have someone else.” 

“Only because I don’t have you.” 

Both of you let your statement linger in the air. You touch yourself still, watching Peter’s shoulders and back muscles move under his suit. You sigh, spreading your legs further apart. Another finger joins the first, and you moan decadently at the stretch. 

He’s so fidgety when he’s nervous. It’s adorable. He wants so badly to look at you. He can smell your arousal, your sweat, your perfume in the claustrophobic air of his single dorm. 

It’ll linger. Even if he rejects you, tosses you out on your ass. The scent of you will haunt his bed. It’ll stay embedded in his mind forever. He won’t be able to separate the scent, this memory, from you. 

He can’t look at you the same way. He may never look at you again. 

He already tarnished your friendship. You were setting it on fire. 

“Do you think if you had told me, I would be with him?” 

He’s taking his gloves off. Pulling each finger off, buying himself time. 

“Answer me,” You sigh, “After all this time, after all we’ve been through, you think that I’d choose anyone over you, Peter?” 

“You wouldn’t,” He bites out, “That’s why I didn’t give you the option.” 

“He hasn’t touched me.” 

“Don’t tell me that.” 

“I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want him to touch what belongs to you.” 

You’re getting close, heat unfurling fast in your stomach and through your limbs. Your body arches into your hand. You’re gonna cum. You’re gonna cum in Peter’s bed and destroy the closest relationship you have.

And you don’t care. 

Not when Peter finally turns to look at you, watches your face. 

You cry out for him. Your muscles tense, your cunt tightens around your fingers, and then you're gone. Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted back. 

Now he knows. 

You’re still coming when he crawls on top of you. Still coming when he licks the seam of your mouth, not even bothering with the preamble of a kiss. He needs so badly to be inside you in some way; it’s cruel to deny him. 

His tongue touches yours, and suddenly you’re on fire. Your hands are hungry. Your flesh is starved for his. Your skin turns to gooseflesh. 

You’d been dating your boyfriend for how long? His touch didn’t feel like this. His kisses didn’t light up your body. Peter’s hands move through your hair, pulling your face closer. 

Your hands move under the top part of his suit. His skin is molten, warm with sweat and night air. He lets you pull his shirt up and off his body. He’s quick to pull you back into his arms, press his mouth back to yours. 

“Baby,” He rumbles, his hands moving to cup your ass. 

You shudder. He grabs your wrist gently and brings your hand to his mouth. He kisses each of your fingertips before sliding one of your fingers into his mouth. He moans at the taste of your cunt. 

Heat burns in your belly. 

Your head is rushing. Your face is on fire at the feeling of his desperate tongue against your flesh. 

“So much sweeter than I thought…” He mumbles against your hand. 

“What else have you thought about?” You whimper. 

“You saw…” He kisses the pulse point on your wrist. 

“You have to have a favorite…” 

He laughs, gives you control of your hand back. He urges your shirt off. 

“I wanna be sweet to you,” He runs his hand up your belly, stopping at your bra. Your cunt throbs against him. He chuckles. It’s a dark noise that settles in your ribs. 

You had control just a few short minutes ago. Where had it gone? 

“My thoughts aren’t sweet,” He leans into you, his lips tracing your collarbones, “You’re beautiful…”

“Show me.” 

His eyes glaze over, his pupils dilating. He kisses your lips again. Small sweet pecks that turn to niping. He lays you back, disentangles his legs from yours. 

“There’s one video I really like…” He slowly rolls your leggings down your legs, “Where the guy goes down on her. He keeps going, even after she cums. He didn’t stop until she passed out.”

He kisses all over your thighs, moving toward the seam where your thigh meets your pussy. Your breath stutters. Your skin tingles where he leaves his kisses. 

“Yeah?” You manage to gasp out. 

Peter moves your soaked panties to the side, “Yeah. But there’s so much I wanna do to you. I don’t want you to pass out.”

His tongue reaches out and toys with your clit. You gasp, trying to close your legs. He grabs your legs to keep them open. He starts lapping at your cunt slow and greedy, moaning again at the taste of you. Like he’s starving and you’re the only thing to cure it. 

Bzzt…Bzzt…Bzzt

Your eyes shut. The phone keeps going off, but you ignore it. Your hips lift up a little as you lean into Peter’s tongue. But he stops, lifts his head away. 

“N…no, Pete-“

“Should answer that,” He grins. 

“No, come on!” 

He moves to sit beside you, takes the laptop from the foot of the bed. He gestures to the nightstand. 

“Go on.”

You sigh, grabbing your phone. Your boyfriend’s name is on screen. You look at Peter. He opens his laptop, casually opening up the porn tabs again like you weren’t there. Like he hadn’t just tasted you. 

You answer, eyes still on Peter. What was he doing? 

“Hey baby…I’m sorry for how I handled that.” 

Peter leisurely palms at his cock through the bottom of his suit. You swallow. It’s big. A firm, long, thick outline that favored his right. A small precum stain started growing. Your cunt throbbed. He lets out a quiet moan as he watches another of your clones bounce on an anonymous dick. 

“‘t fine,” You want it inside you. Now. But he isn’t looking at you. His eyes are locked onto the screen. He pulls his cock out. 

Jesus fuck. 

“We should talk about this in person…when are you coming back?” 

A silky bead of precum drips from his tip. He gathers it with his thumb, wraps his hand around his cock. He brings himself off at a tortuous pace. You almost want to cry. 

“Dunno,” It’s breathy, thick with tears. 

‘Please,’ You mouth.  

Peter smiles and carefully sets the laptop on the floor. He motions to his lap. 

“Seriously. You don’t have to cry, baby. It’s just…are you in love with him?” 

You move toward his silent command. He moves over to the center of the bed, your knees on either side of his legs. He rubs his tip through the slick lips of your pussy, barely teasing your hole. 

“I..ah…”

Peter pulls your top up, stares at your bra. He licks a long stripe up from your belly button up to the fabric. 

‘Are you?’ He mouths back, before letting your shirt drop, grabbing your hips, and pulling you down onto his cock. 

“Oh fuck!” You cry out. Your body quivers at the sudden intrusion. 

“Are you okay!?”

“Yes!” You bite out, “I’m great…I’m so good.”

You feel stretched to breaking. You pulse, his cock buried so deep you think it’s forming you from the inside. Your free hand flutters to his shoulder. His hands never leave your hips. He lifts you up like you weigh nothing. Just far enough off his cock to miss you, before dropping you back down. You bite down on your lower lip to suppress your whimper, but it comes out anyway. 

“What’s going on?!”

Peter flips your position till you're underneath him. Your breath stutters in your throat, your phone falling from your hand onto the bed. 

Peter grabs it and puts it on speaker phone. 

“Hey bud,” He says, “Our friend’s busy right now. Can I take a message?” 

He shoves his cock back into you, focusing on landing each thrust as hard and fast as possible. Your flesh smacks together, you can’t hold back your noises, your whines. Your eyes roll back into your head. 

You don’t hear your now ex cussing Peter out, just hearing Peter’s voice. 

“She feels so fucking good, by the way. Tightens up so fucking much when you hit her sweet spot. Only, you’re never gonna feel it…”

“Shit!” You hiss out. 

“You wanna tell him, baby, how much you love me?” 

“I love you, Peter! I love you! Fuck!” 

Peter strokes your clit with his thumb in tight circles, watching you with the softest look on his face, “I love you too, baby.”

You’re too sensitive to last, your body arches into his, your cunt tighten around him. You cum with your eyes screwed shut, stars bursting behind your eyelids,  your breath coming out in short pants. 

Your phone winds up back on the nightstand. Peter lays over, holds your face, and kisses you gently. 

“So good for me,” He rumbles against your mouth, “I love you so much, my pretty girl…” 

He slows down, starts grinding his hips into yours. 

“What’re you doing?” 

It was sean’s fourth birthday, it also happened to be the lynch’s first proper birthday celebration, so obviously it had to be big. Which, wasn't going to be hard when you had the kavanagh’s as parents.

The kavanagh house had quickly been transformers overnight. Streamers hung from every doorway, balloons filled every walkway, and enough food had been prepared for everyone to have thirds.

Sean, wearing a paper crown that was already falling off of his head and into his eyes, was having the time of his life.

You were put in charge of face painting, which, was pretty easy as you were studying art at school and could draw almost anything, but you absolutely hated this activity since you were trying to stay unnoticed by Johnny. Difficult task when his eyes wouldn't stop following your every move.

“Would you stop staring at her?” Hugh hissed, elbowing johnny as they tried to organise the cupcakes.

“I'm not staring” johnny scowled.

“You've dropped three cupcakes already”

“I'm fine,”

Hugh didn't believe johnny one bit. Following his gaze and frowned when he spotted you painting sean’s face.

“Y/N? Patrick’s sister?” Hugh teased.

“Keep your voice down.” johnny said, shooting Hugh a warning look.

Keeping your relationship secret had seemed easy in theory. But in reality it was nearly impossible. Especially when everyone was all close friends. And especially when Patrick had made it painfully clear that you were off limits.

Which was why, despite dating for only two months, you both had become experts in sneaking around. Secret phone calls. Late night walks. Stolen kisses.

Unfortunately, today, with everyone around, even parents, secrecy was going to be a lot harder.

Because johnny kavanagh looking at you like you hung the moon was one thing, him doing it in front of Patrick was another problem.

And Patrick was staring to notice. The first time it happened was when johnny handed you the last strawberry cupcake without a second thought.

“You love strawberry.” Patrick frowned,

“So?” johnny froze.

“So why are you giving it to her?” he narrowed his eyes.

“Didn't want it.” he shrugged

The second time, you almost tripped over a child’s toy that was left on the floor. Before anyone could react johnny was at your side, steadying you with a hand in your waist.

You both sprang apart when you saw everybody looking.

“Okay, what's going on?” Patrick asked, folding his arms.

Your stomach dropped, while johnny looked up innocently. “What do you mean.”

“You denied everybody a cupcake but gave her one, you've been openly staring at her all day-” Patrick started.

“I've known her for years” johnny cut him off.

From across the garden you could hear ginsie and Hugh burst into laughter,

“I'm going to figure it out.” Patrick stated before walking away.

you tried not to smile at the thought, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you turned another page without really reading it.

you’d been looking forward to this all day, telling yourself it was just a normal hangout, nothing special but the quiet would feel different without Ned there filling every silence.

your eyes drifted around peter’s room, the scattered school books, the cluttered desk, the half finished projects and you couldn’t help but feel a little fondness bloom in your chest. It all felt so… him.

and maybe just maybe you liked him a little more than you should.

okay, a lot more.

but it wasn’t like it was one sided… right?

you bit your lip, staring down at the comic in your hands, though your mind had completely wandered.

the way he looked at you sometimes, the way his voice softened just a bit when he said your name…

or how he’d glance at you first when something funny happened, like your reaction mattered more than anyone else’s.

or the way he’d get just a little flustered when you stood too close, like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, or his words, or himself... it had to mean something.

a small smile tugged at your lips as you hugged the comic a little closer to your chest.

yeah… you were pretty sure peter liked you too.

a sudden thwip at the window made you jump.

the comic in your hands slipped slightly as your grip tightened, eyes snapping toward the sound.

the window.

something had hit it.

another faint creak followed, the soft rattle of glass shifting in its frame, like something or someone was right outside.

for a split second, everything stilled, your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

peter wasn’t home yet.

and may was downstairs.

so… who?

you slowly sat up straighter on the bed, pulse thudding in your ears, every instinct suddenly on edge as you turned your head and stared at the window, waiting for something, anything to move.

a small tug, so quiet you almost thought you imagined it but no, the bottom edge of the window shifted, just barely, like something was pulling at it from the outside.

the latch gave with a soft click, your fingers curled more on the comic book, gripping harder while your eyes stayed locked on the window as it began to slide open a few inches on its own.

cool air slipped into the room first, brushing against your skin, lifting the curtains just enough to make them sway.

your heart was pounding so loud you were sure may could hear it from downstairs.

the window opened wider.

the outside noise crept in, distant traffic, a horn somewhere far off, the hum of the city.

a slow, creeping chill ran down your spine as something moved around outside of the window.

you couldn't move or speak, it was like you were frozen in place.

a blur crossed your line of sight, and before your brain could catch up, a figure swung through the opening with impossible speed, landing inside peter’s room in one smooth motion.

a quiet thud against the floor, crouched perfectly, like they had done it a thousand times before.

you watched, breath trapped in your chest.

the figure stayed crouched for a second, one hand pressed flat against the wall, the other steadying them on the floor.

muscles coiled, alert, like they were listening for something outside.

oblivious to the fact that someone was already in the room.

then slowly, almost cautiously, they straightened. The light from the window caught the fabric of the suit, and suddenly the details came into focus.

your stomach dropped, 'No way.' you thought to yourself.

standing in the middle of peter’s room was spider-man.

the suit shimmered faintly under the sunlight, all red and blue. Then, almost hesitantly, they reached up and pulled at the mask.

your eyes widened, jaw slowly falling open as the mask came off.

peter parker’s face was revealed, messy hair falling across his forehead, eyes wide and frantic, cheeks already pink from exertion.

peter, unaware that you were already there, exhaled shakily and began loosening the suit.

first he tugged at the shoulders, peeling them down slowly, you stayed silent, captivated, every muscle of your body tense as you watched.

he slid the sleeves off one by one, then slowly reached for the zipper at the back of the suit, sliding it down just far enough to reveal the top of his chest.

then, sliding the arms down, revealing his pale, toned arms that flexed with each subtle movement.

his breath was heavy, his movements were careful, as if he could feel the tension in the empty room even though he thought he was alone.

your eyes, though you tried to look away, betrayed you.

they lingered, dragged along the lean lines of his arms, the curve of his shoulders, and then his back as he slid the suit down further.

and then, without warning, his eyes flicked to the bed.

you. sitting there. watching. silent. time seemed to freeze.

peter froze mid motion, hands clutching the suit at his waist, face flaming red. “y-y/n…” he stammered, voice breaking slightly.

“peter.” your voice came out breathless, barely a whisper at first, then louder as realization hit. “you… you’re… spider-man?!” eyes still tracing him, but now in full realization. “It’s you… the whole time… it was you?”

“how’d you get in here i-“ he spoke, tilting his head before you cut him off.

“may let me in..” “wait… wait… wait!” you shrieked, springing upright. “you’re spider-man?! are you kidding me?! that’s insane! that’s so cool! i can’t believe it’s you!"

peter froze, muscles tensing, eyes wide. “I… I didn’t.. uh…”

you stood up on the bed, jumping around, hands flailing, pacing in excitement.

“this is unbelievable! you’re swinging around the city, saving people, and i had no idea it was you! oh my gosh, peter, i can’t even.. ”

in his panic, flustered and overwhelmed by your energy, peter tugged at the suit’s zipper again. “I... I can’t… just...” he yanked the rest of the spider-man suit off in a desperate attempt to explain, revealing his bare chest and toned torso. by the time he realized it, he was down to nothing but his boxers.

you thought for a second, then pointed a finger at his chest, heart still racing from your excitement. “wait- why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t you tell me it was you this whole time?!”

peter’s mouth opened and closed, cheeks bright red. “I… I… I didn’t… I didn’t think… you’d.. uh…” he scrambled, trying to cover himself with his hands and the discarded suit.

and that’s when it happened, the door swung open.

“peter? Y/N? are you-”

it was May and both of you froze. Your finger was still pointed at his chest. Peter was frozen mid cover, boxers on, red-faced beyond belief. You were half standing on the bed, still vibrating with excitement.

may’s eyes went wide immediately. The image of you two looked… wrong. Very, very wrong.

peter groaned, pressing a hand to his face. “May! I… it’s not what it looks like!”

may blinked at the two of you, clearly mortified herself. “I… I’m going to… give you two a minute.”

and just like that, she spun on her heel and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

the sound of the click echoed in the room.

you blinked at Peter, who was still hunched over, trying desperately to cover himself with the suit. His ears were red, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“well… that was… something,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, still vibrating from excitement.

peter groaned again, flopping onto his bed beside you, pulling the suit over his lap. “I… I hate you right now.”

you laughed, now sitting, eyes tracing his bare chest. “I love you right now. This is amazing.”

“okay… okay,” you said, leaning back on your hands, still grinning, heart racing. “Seriously… does anyone else know? Like… Ned? MJ? Anyone?”

peter’s eyes went wide. His cheeks flushed deeper, and he shook his head quickly. “N-No! Nobody knows. It’s just… you. You can’t tell anyone. Not Ned, not MJ, not anyone. Promise me.”

you nodded. “Don’t worry… your secret’s safe with me.

you sat up a little straighter, your eyes still on peter. “…What?” he asked cautiously, already suspicious.

you clasped your hands together, leaning forward. “Okay. Hear me out.”

“No.” “I didn’t even say anything yet!”

“I know that tone,” he said, pointing at you.

you grinned. “I just think… hypothetically… as your very trustworthy best friend…”

“Uh-huh.”

“…I should get to try the web shooters.”

peter laughed in disbelief. “…Absolutely not.”

your jaw dropped. “What?! Why not?!”

“Because they’re not toys!” he shot back. “You could, like.. stick your hand to the ceiling! Or your face! Or something worse!”

“That sounds awesome,” you said immediately.

“That sounds like a hospital visit,” he corrected.

you scooted closer, grabbing his arm lightly. “Peter, come on. Just once! I won’t even aim at anything important. I’ll aim at, like… your chair.”

“My chair is important!”

you groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “You’re no fun.”

“I am fun! I just don’t want you accidentally webbing May to the wall!”

you snorted. “Okay, first of all, I would never...” There was a pause. “…Okay, maybe a small chance, but still!”

peter shook his head, trying not to laugh. “No. Not happening.”

you sat up again, closer this time, closer than before.

"I’m getting dressed. This conversation is over.”

“Please?” you said, softer now.

he hesitated, big mistake because you noticed immediately.

“Oh my god, that almost worked,” you whispered, eyes lighting up. “Peter.. ”

“Nope,” he said quickly, standing up. Peter was shaking his head, pacing a little now, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“No. Nope. Bad idea. Terrible idea,” he muttered. “You with web shooters? That’s statistically a disaster.”

you followed him with your eyes, arms crossed, trying not to smile. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am not being dramatic. I have experience with these. You don’t.”

you slid off the bed and stepped closer. “Then teach me.”

he stopped pacing. “…Teach you?”

“Yeah,” you said simply. “You said they’re not toys. Fine. Show me how to use them properly.”

he hesitated. you could see the argument forming, the refusal right there. Then he sighed, a long, defeated sigh.

“…One shot,” he said, pointing at you. “One. You aim at something harmless. You listen to everything I say. And the second it goes wrong, I take them back.”

your entire face lit up. “Wait... really?!”

“I’m already regretting this,” he mumbled.

“Peter!” You grabbed his arm, practically bouncing. “You’re the best!”

"Yeah yeah." He said, as he turned around, walking toward his closet where he tossed his suit in.

you watched, very much not looking away this time, as he hurriedly grabbed a pair of plaid pajama pants.

he glanced back at you, feeling your eyes on him. "Turn around!"

you didn’t.

you just raised an eyebrow.

“Y/N.”

“Peter.”

“…Please.”

you hum as if in thought, but finally turned around, holding your hands up. “Fine. I’m being respectful. Look at me, respecting your privacy.”

“I don’t believe you,” he muttered, scrambling behind you.

you could hear the quick shuffle of fabric, the thump of him nearly tripping, a quiet “ow.. ” under his breath.

“…You okay?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“I’m great,” he said, very obviously not great.

a few seconds later, “Okay. You can turn around.”

you did, he was in plaid pajama pants, a lightly wrinkled t-shirt and his hair was even messier.

“…Wow,” you said, looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You clean up nice, Spider-Man.”

he groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”

“No promises.”

he moved to his desk, grabbing one of the web shooters. When he came back, his expression was serious, focused in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“Okay,” he said, gently taking your wrist. “Hand out.”

you obeyed immediately, he slid the web shooter onto your wrist, his fingers brushing your skin as he adjusted it. “It fits… okay, I think.”

your breath hitched just a little. “Feels… cool.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said quickly, he lifted your hand slightly, guiding your fingers into position. “Alright. You press here, but only when you’re aiming. And you have to flick your wrist like this...”

his hand wrapped around yours to demonstrate, for a second, neither of you spoke. Then you whispered, “You’re, like… really good at this.”

he huffed softly. “I’d hope so.”

you glanced up at him, your faces closer than you realized.

“…Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Target. Uh.. chair. You said chair.”

you nodded, forcing yourself to drag your eyes away from him.

“On three,” he continued. “One… two…”

you didn’t wait for three.

thwip!

the web shot out, sticking perfectly to the chair across the room.

both of you froze, then your eyes went wide. “I DID IT?!”

peter stared at the web, then back at you. “…You actually did it.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

you were still buzzing.

like, actually buzzing, pacing a little, shaking out your hands like you’d just had ten cups of coffee.

“I can’t believe that worked,” you said for what had to be the fifth time, staring at the web still stuck to the chair. “I mean.. I can, because I did it but also, I can’t.”

peter leaned against his desk, arms crossed, trying very hard to look unimpressed.

“Beginner’s luck,” he said.

you spun toward him immediately. “Excuse me?!”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, failing to hide a small smile, “first try? Suspicious.”

you narrowed your eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

“You are. You’ve been doing this for, what, months? Years? And I nailed it in one shot.”

“I was bitten by a radioactive spider,” he shot back. “You had a tutorial.”

“Still counts.”

he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, well, tutorial’s over. Hand it back.”

you immediately clasped your hands behind your back. “No.”

peter blinked. “No?”

“One more.” “No.” “Peter.” “Y/N.”

“One more,” you repeated, stepping closer, your voice dropping just slightly.

he shook his head, but he didn’t step away. “I said one shot.”

“And I listened. I did everything right.”

“That doesn’t mean you get unlimited turns!”

“Not unlimited,” you said quickly. “Just… one more.”

“No.”

you tilted your head, studying him, before you stepped even closer, close enough that he had to look down just slightly to meet your eyes.

“…Are you really gonna take it away after I was that good?” you asked, softer now.

he hesitated again and you saw it again.

“Oh my god, you’re thinking about it,” you whispered, a grin tugging at your lips.

“I’m not...” “You are.” “I’m really not...”

“You are,” you insisted, gently catching his wrist. “Come on. I won’t mess it up. I promise.”

his gaze flicked down to where your hand was touching him, then back up to your face. “…One more,” he said finally, like it physically pained him. “And that’s it. Seriously.”

your face lit up instantly. “Yes!”

“I mean it.”

“I know, I know,” you said, already holding your arm out again.

he sighed, but stepped in, adjusting the web shooter back into place on your wrist. “Okay, same rules.”

“Same rules,” you echoed.

his fingers were slower this time, more careful, like he was suddenly very aware of every point of contact.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Focus.”

you nodded, but your attention drifted the second he stepped in closer behind you, closer than before.

his arm came around yours again, guiding your aim.

“Target,” he murmured. “Desk.”

“Mhm.” “Wrist straight.” “Mhm.”

“Focus,” he murmured again.

you tried, you really did but it was a little hard when you could feel him this close.

“…Peter,” you said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I forgot what I was aiming at.”

he let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Your fault,” you said. “You’re distracting.”

“I’m distracting?”

“You’re the one hovering.”

“I’m teaching!”

“Mhm.”

“…You gonna shoot?” he asked, voice quieter now.

“…Maybe,” you said, but you didn’t move your hand.

instead, you turned your head slightly.

he was right there.

close enough that your noses almost brushed.

his breath hitched and for a second, he didn’t move.

you glanced down at his lips before your eyes met his, watching him as he slowly leaned in, closing the gap.

the kiss was soft at first, a little tentative, like he was still catching up to what was happening but it didn’t stay that way for long.

his hand shifted slightly against your arm, steadying you as you kissed him back, the was kiss a little more sure this time, a little less hesitant.

the web shooter was completely forgotten.

when you finally pulled back, your lips still tingling, you smiled faintly. “…Okay,” you said softly.

he blinked. “Okay?”

you lifted your wrist up in front of you again, the web shooter still snug against your skin. “Now I can focus.”

it took him a second, then his eyes widened just a little. “Wait..”

thwip!

the web shot out clean and fast this time sticking to the edge of his desk with a soft tck.

you gasped, eyes lighting up all over again. “I DID IT AGAIN!” You laughed, pure excitement bubbling out of you as you grabbed his arm. “Twice! That’s not beginner’s luck anymore!”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe you’re a fast learner.”

“Maybe I’m just that good.”

the web hung forgotten across the room on the edge of his desk.

your hand slowly slipped from his arm to his hand instead, fingers brushing against his.

“…So,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips, “does this mean I get promoted to… assistant Spider-Man?”

peter groaned, but didn’t let go of your hand. “Absolutely not.”