Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this.

He's hunched over a black suitcase right in the centre of the living room, throwing items astray, looking for something. She can tell just by a peek over his shoulder that he didn't pack with anything but survival in mind: his toothbrush is nestled between two crumpled t-shirts. She's standing in the doorway, brows knitted, eyes inching away from him every now and then to check the number on the door. This can't be right.

She'd gotten lucky when she discovered that her college had set up a program to organise struggling new students into (barely) furnished apartments together. But while she'd love to take a moment to appreciate the space, the sofa set in the centre of the cramped but homey flat, the wall boarding the living room from the little kitchen and its counters with coffee rings burnt into the laminate, even the painting left askew on the wall by the inhabitants before her; the boy right in the middle of it is proving a distraction.

Even with the door flung wide open like the few others down the hall, she opts to rap her knuckles against it. His grip tightens on a half-empty shampoo bottle, turning in surprise. After a moment, he goes to speak, but then holds his breath; tilts his head.

"I don't think..."

"Have you got the right room?"

"As I previously mentioned, there's really nothing we can do for you here at MIT. Unfortunately, there was a mix-up with Mr. Parker's name," Peter's roommate stifles a smile by pressing her fingers into her lips, "And we've already assigned you two to the same room: legally, contractually, however you'd like to call it. Every other student in this program is already in a pair or, for respective reasons, on their own. You two are just going to have to grin and bear it, I'm afraid."

She inhales, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, and Peter shuffles in his seat. The vice-principal leans forward, elbows pressing into the polished wood; he looks like he's been pulled straight out of a magazine, every short coil of his hair finger-spun, hands folded and pleading just a few inches above his desk.

"Look, you two," They glance at each other, "I know this isn't how you expected the move-in to go, but as far as I'm concerned, you have the most spacious apartment out of any of the other students, as well as two separate bedrooms, decent rent... God, the last people who stayed there even left you that little TV set. You got lucky," Peter couldn't be more tired of that word if he tried.

"Even if this isn't the gender-sorted accommodation you'd hoped for, I am certain that you can learn to live with each other." He smiles in that way that lets them know the conversation is over, and a tense beat of silence permeates the room before the new students lift reluctantly from their seats.

"Thank you, Sir," Her new roommate flattens his lips together with a weak attempt at a smile. She chews at her tongue. The man grins like a politician, a great-white, teeth bright and gleaming.

So, they've pushed back the furniture (spare as it is) and are sat cross-legged in the middle of the carpet, beige fibres scratching at their skin. It's far too hot for the start of September. Yet as the evening sets in on them, the windows, littered with fingerprints, begin to let in a gentle flow of air. She rolls back her shoulders, feeling the joints click, and twiddles a pen between her fingers.

"Okay. If we're doing this, we're gonna need some ground rules."

Peter nods fervently, voice cracking with uncertainty, "Yeah, of course."

"Alright! One. I get to pick my room first..."

His arms uncross from over his chest, "Wait, how is that fair?"

"I thought it was ladies first," She lifts her eyes.

"Yeah, on airplanes."

She frowns, "No, that's not... okay, whatever. Apparently chivalry is dead," He frowns back, and she scribbles out Rule One in her notepad, "So we'll toss a quarter."

She's back at half past 8, shoulders heavy. Without replying, she lets the door swing shut behind her, drops her bag right in the middle of the walkway and slumps down onto the side of the couch. She buries her head into her hands to muffle a scream.

Peter straightens anxiously from his place at the kitchen counter, "Uh, hey... are you okay?"

"Customer service is going to kill me. I am going to die, and it's gonna be at the hands of customer service," She drops her head back into the cushions, "And no one even cares."

"Oh, God, I thought something was wrong," His shoulders relax briefly.

She drops her hands to the couch, head tilting back lazily to her roommate of 6 days, lamenting, "This is my swan song, roomie. This is serious."

His brows raise, and he rolls his lips into his mouth, voice pitching, "Yeah, no, I know that, I understand," He anticipates a flare of anger, but she hasn't got it in her after an 8 hour shift. Instead, she moves to lean her head against the armrest, staring at the TV with an almost childish level of desperation.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?" He wavers cautiously, eyeing the back of her head. Such an uptick of emotion isn't his forte, and certainly not with the roommate he's only just getting used to.

Her lips blow out, eyes closing. She speaks quietly. "Do you know how to put on Hell's Kitchen?"

His eyelids flutter, "We don't..." He clears his throat, "We can't do Hell's Kitchen on there. It's like three thousand years old."

"Just find a way."

They've gone 3 weeks without any real problem. Minus the toothbrush, and the chore sheet, and the recycling. I mean, something was destined to happen half a month into their roommateship, some earth-shattering discovery bound to be made: Peter can't be trusted in the kitchen.

"How did you... Peter, how did you even manage that?"

They both stare dumbstruck at the charred remains of two chicken breasts, sat right in the middle of their brand new frying pan. By some miracle, the fire alarm has finally stopped blaring. She carefully leans over to click the stovetop off.

"I feel like I gave you one job."

"You did, yeah." His voice is breathy, tongue pushing against his cheek.

"Just to cook the chicken. Like, just keep an eye on it. Flip it."

"Yeah."

"And... how..."

"I don't know."

"I don't think this is gonna work," She sighs, hand flat on her forehead, the other at her hip. He stills, "We need to redo the chore sheet."

His expression grows desperate. They engage in a staring match, and Peter's always had a knack for knowing when he's lost a fight (apart from that one time, and the other few).

After a few moments, her eyes catch the stove again, "Oh, the pan is screwed."

"I know," He sounds like a kid.

"I just bought that," She breathes out, voice small.

"I'm sorry."

"I feel like I'm on The Bear right now, and you're the guy doing meth in the back alley."

He pauses, "When did that happen?"

"Oh my God," She turns, "You haven't even watched season two. Who are you?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"Put the pan in the sink," She taps on her phone, engrossed, "Hey, we have apple cider vinegar, right?" He blinks, and she breathes out with a huff. She begins to inch around the corner, but turns back, "And you're buying takeout. You know how much chicken costs these days? You owe me."

6 weeks, and she's bursting through the front door, "Petra!"

"I told you to stop calling me that," He calls from his room, the wall of privacy soon shattered when she pushes open the door, jumping up and down.

She's breathing hard, like she ran up here, and for a moment he really thinks she's about to collapse, which would be an awful affliction for him considering it's her night to do the dishes, and he's grown rather fond of her. She's invading every inch of his space, cramped with furniture and cluttered with papers, and he finds he doesn't mind it much. Her energy is boundless. As is her use of the name MIT gave him; the one that got them stuck here in the first place.

"I'm doing my paper."

"I got it," She bounces right into his spinning desk chair, facing him where he's horizontal on his bed (laptop burning into his thighs) with her legs kicking and her fingers tapping the armrests.

"What is it? If you found someone to crack The Sims 3 for you, I'm not gonna celebrate. You know it's against my values."

"That's an unfortunate no," She pauses, "Do you think I could find someone to do that for me, though?"

"Dude."

"Whatever: I got that barista's number. You know, the hot one, at Hayden's? It was kind of an accident, but I asked them out, and now I don't know what to wear. Should I look smart? Or casual? Do you think this is like, a date thing?"

"Oh." He nods, confused. "Uh, maybe?"

"They texted me like, 5 minutes ago." She sticks her phone into his face. It reads, 'Next Fri prolly, see u at 8, get the Red I think.' Then, 'South Street.' "What does that mean?"

"Uh..."

"Forget it. You're no help." She stares into her phone intensely, before her eyes lift, "Do you think they like me?" She tilts her head, gaze probing.

"I think... that romance is alive. And well," He gives her his best attempt at a smile.

She hops up, still buzzing with energy and nearing the door, one hand on the frame of it. "But not chivalry. I can't believe you made me take the bad room."

"What do you mean? Your room is the biggest one," She rolls her eyes, "And we tossed a coin."

"But do I have any of this beautiful, natural light? I don't think so!"

A day later, she's stuffing toast into her mouth at the counter, hair messy and eyes heavy with sleep. Her arms ache from pushing furniture against the floorboards. The weather's been getting colder lately, and the floor chills through her socks. He sits across from her, elbows against the laminate as he shovels down cereal.

"God, Peter, that sun is blinding in the morning. Holy shit."

"Fucking... piece of crap."

Peter creaks open the door, eyes tired and a touch bloodshot. He'd been working late on another Biochem paper when he heard her swearing to herself, trying to get the keys in.

"Jesus, are you okay?"

She looks up at him from where she's crouched, stumbling slightly with her key in her hand. She stands, "Oh, shit, did I wake you up?"

"No, I..." He watches as she moves past him and into their apartment, throwing her keys onto the sofa and sniffing, "Did you... how was your date?"

When she turns to look at him, he can finally see how drunk she is, hair pinned up, only a few tendrils cascading down the neckline of her nicest dress. As she shrugs off her jacket, he finds that her eyes are bloodshot, too. "Oh, good." She smiles bitterly, but it's weak.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, Peter. Thanks for the... for opening the door. Just go back to sleep."

He frowns, shaking his head, "I wasn't sleeping. What's wrong?"

She laughs thickly, tilting her head up: this was the very last thing she wanted. She swallows and eyes the ceiling, "They stood me up. So I had a nice few drinks for one," For emphasis, she sticks out her index finger.

His lips turn down, eyebrows rising. "A few?"

She licks at her lips and finally looks back at him, "A couple, yeah."

She sucks at her teeth as he stands, unsure what to do, "Maybe... just stay there, I'll get you some... water."

Her nostrils flare and she flops down onto the sofa. She just wanted to go to her room and pray that her mattress swallowed her whole, but instead she hears the tap, and the footsteps of her roommate of 7 weeks plodding towards her in fuzzy slippers she would make fun of if she could gather the energy. She takes the cold glass and he watches carefully as she downs half of it, moving to set it onto the coffee table but nearly missing the mark by a couple inches. He catches it in one sharp and careful movement with his palm, quietly lowering it onto the table.

"I'm, uh... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Wasn't your fault, Parker."

His mind is frantic, searching for something to stop her face from crumpling; she wakes the next morning, blanket-covered on the sofa with a pounding head, her phone out of charge and his propped up against an empty glass, still playing an episode of Hell's Kitchen. From here, she can see him through a crack in the door, curled up in his desk chair. He's drafting an email to his professor pleading for an extended deadline on the paper. They never talk about it, but she stops using his conditioner; starts making every dinner for two.

"Get your ass out here, Parker! Halloween is slipping through our fingers!"

"I feel stupid."

"You are stupid. There's a charm to that." He emerges from his room in a half-assed, Craigslist Batman costume. It's baggy in all the wrong places, and she claps a hand over her mouth.

"Stop laughing! I'm only gonna wear the mask."

"No, no, I'm not laughing," She laughs, "You look like a real superhero."

He blanches, "No, I don't."

She grins, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip, "No, you don't."

They're tipsy at the MIT Halloween bash, surrounded by classmates and for whatever reason, sticking to each other. Two months into the school year they've found their stride, making a few friends here and there and finally having something to talk about over their occasional shared dinners; a new rival or group project. But in the heat of the crowd, they just seem to pull back. Moving and hoping as if underwater.

They blink away the blur of the strobe lights, "Petra?"

"What?"

"I feel like it's either get drunker or go home."

"Should we flip a coin or something?"

"Oh, fool me once, Parker."

"You got the room you wanted in the end, didn't you?"

She hums, avoiding his eyes.

'You have to be kidding me."

Soon, they're drunk out of their minds and pushing furniture from one room to the other. It's 3 am, and their neighbours want them dead. She groans, giving up on his chest of drawers and rolling onto the floor.

"You are not pulling your weight here," He whines.

"Eat shit."

He slumps down, legs splayed out on the carpet of the cluttered living room.

"Where's my bed?"

"Your room. No. My room." Her head lolls to look at him.

"Our room?" He opts.

"We should get bunk beds."

He leans back against his bedside table, thinking, "Don't laugh."

"What? Why?" She grins lazily, pulling herself up with her hands behind her. He grins back.

"I have a bunk bed back home."

"Now it makes sense." She leans forward.

"What makes sense?" His brows furrow, still smiling.

"Why you're a virgin loser."

"Mauritz is coming in 5. I could cancel right now."

"No, Petra, please." But he's slowly lifting the phone over his head. She watches frantically as the little illustration of Mauritz gets closer.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He doesn't cede, "You get girls, you're a playboy!"

"Playboy?" Here, she cries out, and begins to wrestle for it.

"You have... you have notches on your bedpost, please! I'll do the dishes forever!"

He yelps and they're a tangle of limbs, bitch-slapping eachother and giggling like idiots, both losers within their own tug of war and rolling away in order to surrender.

For a moment, they take a breath, snickers growing few and far between. He eyes her with another laugh, tilting his head in an attempt to capture her in the blur of his vision, "You really think so?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Just don't be weird."

"Why would I be weird? Do you think I'm weird?"

"Ned, just..."

"Hi, guys!" She comes beaming around the corner, speaking with her mouth full until Peter gives her a look. She swallows, "Hello."

Ned smiles wide, mouth open and looking from Peter to her for a moment too long. Peter's head drops. "This is Ned."

"I've heard great things. And I made cookies! They're really dry, too much flour, but if you sandwich them with frosting it works, I swear."

Ned's grin grows impossibly larger, "You're a genius."

A couple hours later, and, "See, this is why I didn't want you guys to meet."

"We're just playing Mario Kart!"

"Yeah, on your phones, without me."

"You always cheat!" Her and Ned exclaim at the same time. Peter appreciates his roommate of 2 and a half months, but cannot wait for her to leave for her shift. Plus, Bullet Bill is not cheating.

"I can't believe you'd gatekeep the second most wonderful person in your life from me like this." She says, proceeded by a string of hushed curses when she falls back into fourth place.

Ned turns with wide eyes, controlling his car from his peripheral, "Second?"

She doesn't look up, "Always have to look out for number 1, babe."

He pauses, looks up, nods. "You're so right."

"Don't make this Craigslist Batman Costume all over again. I'm not waiting another twenty minutes."

"I'm not! I can't get my tie right," His voice cracks.

"Let me in."

"Just... wait."

"Open the door, you big dummy." She's found the courtesy not to barge in after multiple embarrassing incidents that she's still struggling to shake out of her head. Seeing your roommate in only his boxers isn't weird. Thinking about it isn't weird. You're weird.

He groans in exasperation and finally just swings it open, clad in a rented suit, his blazer strewn across the bed.

"Very fancy."

"Stop making fun of me."

"I'm not!" She grins, "You look fancy! All for your smart people dinner."

"It's not a smart people dinner."

"Oh, yeah? Enlighten me."

"It's a..." She puffs out an exhale, "Dinner for excelling students."

"So..."

"It's a smart people dinner."

In the midst of all this, she's already snatched his black tie and wrestled it out of a knot.

"Come here, Petra."

"Peter."

"Or should I say, Mr. Parker? Sir Lord Parker?"

"Actually, you can stick with Petra."

"May I please do your tie, Sir, because you can't do it to save your life, Sir?"

He's fighting a smile at her attempt at a British accent, and simply turns around and towards the mirror. She's standing behind him, and wraps it underneath his collar, efficiently tying and tightening it to her liking as she glances back and forth from the mirror to over his shoulder. She pauses with a frown until she identifies the problem, going to unbutton the very top of his shirt, wholly unprepared for how her knuckles brushing against his collarbone would make each hair on the back of her neck rise.

"You looked uptight. That's better," She inhales shakily, unsure of where this feeling started or where it ends; she'd rather not find out. She clears her throat and they lock gazes in the mirror. His shoulders unwind. They both take a breath, and smile.

"Oh... thanks. Thank you."

"No problem, Batman." He smiles despite himself, turning to face her. She pats his tie. "You're gonna kill it. Make 'em wanna go home, quit their degree and move back to their mom's house. Or aunt's. My bad."

"Shut up."

She's humming along to Camera Obscura the same night when she hears an airy laugh that isn't Peter's, and the clink of his keys in the door. She holds her breath to hear better, listens to hushed whispers and finally his bedroom door clicking shut. The next morning she's skipping her first class and reading one of Peter's books, avoiding him until his new friend leaves, and until he's out the door too.

It has been three days, closing in on the start of December, and she's cursing herself out when she hears the front door creak open. She's successfully stayed out of his way this far, for a reason she can't quite place: maybe it's that she didn't want to look him in the eye, wanted to leave the discomfort and the misplaced anger be, to stale at the bottom of the pit she'd dug for herself the second she thought she could play pretend. And she could've sworn she'd had his schedule down pat, but he's home far too early and she can't leave his leftovers for dinner in the fridge anymore.

He's just as surprised to see her. He doesn't understand why it feels like something has shifted.

"Oh, hi." He's standing in the entryway of the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder and she's chewing at her lip.

"Hey, Parker!" She smiles, but it's more of a grimace, and she clears her throat, looking into the pan of broccoli she's steaming. "I'm making dinner."

"Yeah, uh, thank you." He swallows, putting his bag on the counter, staring at her like the moment he doesn't she's going to disappear. That's how it's been, these past few days. He takes a bottle of water from the fridge. For once, she isn't speaking, just silently cooking, and he can't help himself, "Are you okay?"

She stills for a beat, then continues stirring the food, back turned to him. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"No, it's just... I don't know. I haven't seen you in a while."

Guilt gnaws at her. She glances at him briefly over her shoulder, "Sorry, Peter. Been busy."

"No, it's... it's okay." He chews at his cheek, taking another sip of water, "Did you, uh, wanna watch The Bear tonight?"

She whips around to face him. "What?"

He rolls his lips into his mouth, "Did you..." he starts.

"Yes." She grins, looking straight at him for the first time in what feels like forever as she hastily stirs, and the knot in his stomach eases away.

They don't talk about it, but that night, watching him sing along with Ritchie to Taylor Swift with only the light of the TV shadowing his features, she knows. Knows there's something inescapable about this; she couldn't hold a grudge against him if she tried.

"I can't believe you got laid, Pete."

He chokes on his ice cream. Composes himself, ears beet red. "What are you... what are you talking about?" His voice is breaking.

She looks at him, knowingly. "Come on. You even broke the no being loud after 11 pm rule. I can't believe you, you dog."

He's burying his face in his hands. She snickers as he folds deeper into the sofa, his apology muffled against his skin.

"Oh don't be," She grins, eyeing him and ready to strike, "I'm just so proud of you for finally losing your V-card."

"Shut up!"

"It's a really important time in a woman's life."

He squeezes his eyes shut, hands going to his forehead, voice turning quiet, "I'm not a virgin."

"Not anymore you're not."

"I hate you so much."

"A little to the left. Wait, no, up. Right there. Beautiful."

"Why are you making me decorate the tree?" When he successfully places the golden bauble, he steps back to look at their pathetic, last-minute version of a Christmas tree. It's lopsided, plastic, and discounted due to a lot of missing faux-pine needles.

"You deserve to do all the hard work, considering you're the one abandoning me to go spend Christmas in New York with your hot aunt."

"Stop calling her hot. And I'm not abandoning you. You have me the morning of Christmas Eve!"

"How is Santa gonna find you if you keep leaving all the time?"

He gives her a look and she cedes, with a small smile playing at her lips. He hangs a red ornament this time, and she hums in appreciation. He stretches his arms overhead, and she ignores the strip of skin that exposes itself, instead lifting his mug of hot cocoa from the coffee table and taking a sip. He'd been expecting her to steal it, though he thought making them one each would sate her at least a little bit.

"Hey."

"Yeah, Petra?"

"Are you... Gonna be okay, you know, on your own?"

Her eyes rise to meet his, and she clears her throat, "Yeah, off course. I mean, you know they pay twice as much just to work on Christmas, so... it'll be worth it."

He frowns, covers it up, "Yeah."

"And plus, I get to play Christmas music at full blast no matter what time it is when you're gone. I'm living the dream life." She smiles teasingly, tilts her head, tries and fails to reassure him.

"I'll be back the day after Boxing Day, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, Parker. Bring back a nice little polaroid of Aunt May for me, won't you?"

"Absolutely not."

When Peter leaves for the airport on Christmas Eve, she gets lonelier than she'd like to admit. She glares at the space under the tree, stands in the doorway of Peter's room, moves all of his furniture an inch away from the wall so he gets freaked out when he comes home, moves it back again because she feels bad, watches a vine compilation, wallows on the couch. If she can't survive 16 minutes, she has no idea how she'll survive the next two days. She nearly has a heart attack when she hears the keys in the door. Peter rushes through, entirely out of breath, suitcase rolling to a stop beside him.

"Do you wanna come with me?"

She looks back at him, wide eyes to wild ones, "What?"

"Do you wanna come with me?"

A moment passes. Then, "I'll call work."

At the bus station, they put savings together to buy the cheapest and sketchiest last-minute seats they can find. She calls work, and they give her her second strike. She thinks she'll live. Peter spends an hour and a half on the phone trying to get a refund for his plane ticket, and they spend most of the ride getting their seats pummelled in by two 5 year olds. When things begin to quiet down, she falls asleep, head dropping onto his shoulder and hair tickling the nape of his neck. He doesn't say it, but he's glad he asked.

Looking back, he probably should've told May. In the rush of it all, getting the taxi to turn back, he wasn't really thinking straight. But, although at first she's mildly irritated and overwhelmed, his roommate seems to charm it out of her. When she's off, having insisted to wash the few dishes in the sink, May leans into him.

"I like her, Petey."

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I know, May."

"You didn't tell me she was so pretty."

His ears are turning red, voice rasping, "I didn't think of it, I guess."

"You're telling me you haven't thought about it? At all?" She grins like the Cheshire cat; but she only wants what's best for him. Always has.

"No, May, God!" He's lying. This only rubs it in, brings every smothered feeling back to the surface. It wasn't his intention: he just didn't want her to be alone.

She re-enters, wiping her hands against a dish towel, hair mussed and slightly static from resting her head on the fibres of his sweater on the ride over. May jumps up.

"Thank you so much," May places both hands on her shoulders, and proceeds to pull her into a hug. Her eyes widen, but after a second she lets out an airy laugh, wrapping her arms around May's frame. "You're an angel."

Peter locks eyes with her, heart pulsing in his chest, and they smile softly at each other like a well-kept secret.

"Aw, is this you and Ned?" She's grabbing everything she can, trying to get a real sense of Peter, Peter as a preteen, Peter as he was then, Peter as he is now; she finds it in his packaged figurines, the clutter on his old desk, the pictures tacked to the wall. It's all exactly as he left it.

"Yes, yes it is." His brows curve upwards in exasperation; she nearly took his most prized action figure out of its box. He's fighting for his life, here. When she sees how nervous he looks, she sighs, finishes up her snooping for the evening and opts to clumsily make her way up the ladder. She flops on her back on the top bunk and stretches her legs out like a satisfied cat, the mulled wine sitting warm in her stomach.

"Your aunt's really nice."

He tilts his head up as if he can see her from where he's lying, head propped up on the frame of the bottom bunk, and quits fiddling with his old Gameboy, "Yeah. She is."

"And she likes me more than you. That's a plus," She's staring at the ceiling, hands laced across her stomach.

"I don't blame her," His eyes crease in the corners, thinking of Ned's visit over a month ago now, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave him. If she's taken aback she doesn't show it, but she turns her head and begins to trail her eyes over the movie posters taped haphazardly to the wall. A silence passes between them, amplified in the late evening.

"Why did you invite me here?" She says, softly.

He blinks, lips pursing slightly, "I don't know. I think... I think, I just didn't want you to be alone. And it's nice to have you here."

"I would've been okay, you know." There's something desperate in the way she says this, like she can make the both of them believe it.

"I know."

Her gaze drops down to their suitcases, leaning against each other on the rug. "But... I'm happy I'm here." This is the most that she'll admit, tonight.

He hesitates. Then, "I'm happy you're here too."

She chews her lip at the quiet rasp in his voice, smooths her hands over his Star Wars covers, twitches her nose.

"Enough of this sappy stuff. You're destroying my reputation."

"Your reputation?" He smiles, shuffling down to rest his head on the pillow, forearms supporting his head.

"You know: playboy, notches on my bedpost." In the quiet, a feeling settles between them like the snow outside. "Now, tell me how you managed to bag the smartest girl at your high school with these sheets."

He shrugs. "Well... we went to her house."

She abruptly swings her head over the side of the bed, looking down at him, "Peter Parker, you animal!"

"To do homework!" He exclaims, eyes widening as he sits up, "Not..."

"Not any rule-two-breaking, single bed shenanigans?"

"Please don't bring that up again."

"Did they find it hot that you both enjoy Physics?"

"Stop," He lies down again, clasping his hands over his ears.

"I mean, they must have: you two were going at it so hard I couldn't even send in my assignment." This was an exaggeration. She could only hear them if she pressed her ear against the wall. Which she only did once.

He frowns, red, "Didn't you have, like, three weeks to do it?"

"Mind your business," She lies back down too, "I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

They smile to themselves. They whisper goodnight, but he can't fall asleep.

"Dude, Santa came so hard."

"Please don't say it like that."

They're on the bus back and she's fiddling through her bag, fingers sifting over the boxes of chocolates and pastries May packaged up for her, just so she'd have something to open on the day.

"I love your aunt. I wish she would adopt me too."

"Hate to break it to you, but you're gonna have to go through some really messed up stuff before you unlock that option."

She turns her head to him against the seat, giddy and grinning, "Well, teach me your ways, Obi-Wan."

"You know that's not the quote."

They're getting through the door the night after Boxing Day, feeling heavy from grabbing fast food before getting home, and an afternoon of travelling. When she's slipping off her shoes and rolling her shabby suitcase through the door to her bedroom, Peter stops her.

"Hey, uh..." She turns, one palm wrapped around the handle of it, the other pressed against her doorframe, "I actually did get you something."

Her lips curve upwards at the edges, brows furrowing, "For Christmas?"

"Yeah." He looks like he's about to take something out of his pocket, when she rushes into her room, slamming the door behind her. He's about to question whether he's being rejected when it's flung open again, and this time, she's holding something poorly wrapped in both hands. She's out of breath.

"Me too. But I forgot to bring it with me. I was just gonna leave it under the tree."

He bites at the inside of his cheek so he doesn't break out into an ear-splitting grin. They fumble awkwardly with their gifts, handing them over.

"You first, Parker." He hesitates before sinking his finger into the gap in the wrapping paper, listening to the clink of light metal as bright-coloured keychains spill out onto his palm, and he catches them before they can fall. "Sorry, it isn't much, it's just... you said you never had many keychains or badges and stuff as a kid because all the brand stuff cost, like, a fortune." He stares in awe at the little Tardis in his hand, the Yoda, the Lego memorabilia, everything he's ever ranted about or forced her to watch. His eyes lift to hers.

"No, I..." He clears his throat, wrought with unexpected emotion, "I love it. Thank you." She shrugs with a bashful smile, caught in the act of caring, and looks down at her own instead of facing the tenderness between them. "Mine is... it's nothing, really."

"Oh, quiet, you." She's never been one to gingerly unwrap gifts. If she could tear them apart with her teeth, she would, but this time, it feels delicate. The space between them is made out of something fragile. So she takes her time, slides her finger under the tape and true to style, lets the wrapping paper fall to the ground when she gets too impatient.

"No, you didn't. No, you did not." Her jaw goes slack, looking from it and back up to Peter, down, up again. He smiles bashfully. "You bought it for me."

"Well, I..."

"What the fuck! You..."

"Yeah, I mean, I know you used to play as a kid, so Ned and I found some cracking sites, and we got all the expansions and... " She jumps, wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug and squealing.

"Hell yeah!" She pulls away with a toothy grin, staring down at the card again. He clears his throat and can't help but smile too.

White dress. Maya wanted all her bridesmaids to move as one, an organism of pinned-back hair and delicate black shoes. It was unorthodox, as much as the institution of marriage could be, but her cousin didn't mind; she was too busy trying not to be late.

Picking up her sneakers by their heels, she jams them into the tiny gap of space left in the boiler closet by the door. "Peter!"

He's hurrying out, slipping on the blazer he found last minute at the thrift store, a little too cuffed at the wrists. "Remind me why I'm coming again?"

"You invited me to your thing. It's only fair." She shrugs on her jacket to brave the cold outside, stuffing the apartment's keys in her pocket and tapping her heel against the floorboards.

"And?" He eases through the flat, voice moving from room to room, hands gripping doorways as he flicks off every light his roommate typically leaves on, halting at her bedroom and disappearing inside to switch off a lamp.

"And I hate weddings, dude! Hurry it up!" She whines, pressing her forehead against the smoothest section of the peeling wallpaper.

He peeks his head out, clicking the last one off and finally moving to meet her, one curl out of place and falling over his forehead in the exertion it took just to be ready on time, "You've never even been to one."

"I thought I'd manage my whole life without it."

"Not even your own?"

"Peter," She eyes him like he's the one barely handing in papers on time, "Now, come on. This thing is gonna be a funeral if I don't get Maya her something borrowed."

"Something borrowed?" They step out and he helps hold the door closed tight so she can twist the key, get the lock to truly slip through. She turns to face him, checks her phone and gives an impartial grunt. They'd be fine. She finally registers his words, and dips back into her pocket, coming out with a rusted hair-pin and holding it up for him to see. It isn't real gold, but it looks well-loved, well-worn.

"It's her mom's. Snuck it back in the day, nearly forgot I had it," She smiles weakly, shrugging.

"It's pretty," He nods, watching as she puts it back, "She'll like it."

"You think so?" It's rare when she looks vulnerable, and it takes him off guard, a small opening where her eyes clear up, her face sincere, unguarded. She hardly notices as she walks ahead of him for the elevator, and he follows behind.

"Yeah."

They manoeuvre through bodies, what should've been a smaller gathering amassing easily to just under a hundred: family, friends, plus-twos. He's greeted with fervour by everyone that loves her. She said her family hadn't been close, a little dysfunctional, but those he meets embrace him like kin. It feels foreign. So does she, watching her cousin, newly-wed and hugging Peter tight, "I've heard so much about you!"

Peter is surprised. His roommate is too, considering they'd had approximately two 6-minute conversations over the phone since she'd made it to Cambridge, none of which included more than his name and age. "You too!" he says, and it's a half-truth: he'd heard distant anecdotes, begged for more on the subway ride over just to save embarassment. His voice pitches higher as Maya shifts away, tipsy and beaming. With a short exchange, she's gliding through the rest of the attendants, grabbing appetizers and receiving kisses on the cheek. He jolts when his roommate leans in, quiet against the music.

"You were right."

His brows lift just slightly, "About what?"

"She loved it. Nearly ruined her makeup," She watches after her cousin, "God, what a relief."

"A relief?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm surprised she didn't throw it in my face. She hated that woman." She sips on a flute of champagne, winces and hands it to Peter without a glance. When she finally meets his eyes, wide and innocent, she gives him a small smile, "What?"

"No, I just... I thought it was sentimental."

"No, you're right, it is," He waits for her to continue, tipping the glass back a little and letting the froth gather on his tongue, "I took it after they'd had this huge blow-up. I guess she found it sweet. Better that, than..."

"A permanent wedding ban?"

"Yeah; from all her next ones," She grins, crossing her arms over her chest and staring into the crowd again, finding Maya dancing with her husband, "No," She softens, "I think this is for good."

A quiet fills the air between them.

"You changed your mind on weddings?"

She eyes Peter suspiciously, then looks to the overcast sky, "A little. Did you expect me to?"

He takes a moment to think, "No. I just thought you were worried."

She echoes him, "About what?"

"I don't know. Maybe that this was gonna be some big event that made you feel alone. Or that things were gonna be weird with your family," She watches him, "Isn't that why you asked me to come? Of course, I'm happy to, just..."

"Yeah..." She nods, brow furrowing, "I don't know. It feels weird to go places without you, these days," She laughs off the gravity of it, although it's sincere. They don't talk about it: the comfort they've eased into, the soft and eager friendship. It flits away when acknowledged, they know that. It's safer to keep it close to the chest.

"We should do a bat-mitzvah next, right?"

She nods fervently, "Please."

They're shuffling through the door and into the dark of the apartment, lit only by the dull street-lights outside the window, casting silver shadows onto the walls. She goes for the light above the stove, already blinded by the elevator ride up. Her feet are blistered and she leans against the counter just to slip off her heels, skin sticking to the tiles. The low noise of the apartment thrums in her ears. Peter is unlacing his nicest shoes, a touch scuffed from being dragged to the dancefloor every time a Wang Chung song came on, and when he makes it to the kitchen the quiet is only amplified by her slow breathing, by the tick of the fridge. Her eyes are closed, head throbbing in the absence of sound and the chaos of the rooftop. Peter swallows and her eyelids flutter open, heavy. The little alcohol in their systems is starting to fizzle out, leaving a buzz just warm enough to make their limbs weak.

He whispers like they have to keep quiet, "That was fun."

"It was," she whispers back. Then, with less conviction, "Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."

He offers a tired smile, "You knew I would." She doesn't argue, there's no need to; just pushes gently off the counter with a stifled yawn, struggles to nod in agreement.

"I knew you would. You're always doing that kind of stuff for people," He waits, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blazer, picking lint, "Taking a weekend to do shit you don't really care about. Nice things. Weddings."

She's softer past her curfew, bathing in the sincerity she can afford with the dim light between them, "I care about them," He objects.

"I know. It just surprises me sometimes, the..." She thinks, eyes flitting over his features, down to the knot of his tie, "The good you're capable of."

His brows dip, and the look is so earnest it bruises her, "I wanted to go with you."

"That too," She nods, head heavy, a weak and lopsided grin finding its way to the corner of her mouth. It's bittersweet, "That's nice."

"You say that like you wouldn't do the same."

She shrugs, tucking her hands behind her back, holding her wrists and rolling her shoulders back, "Maybe."

"You do nice things," He presses, eyes finding the ceiling as he runs it through in his head, "You make people feel comfortable; you make them laugh. You make me feel comfortable." Her nose twitches, confronted, "You do all the stuff I'm shitty at, just because you want to."

When she doesn't speak, he goes on.

"Whatever's good in me, it's... it's in you, too."

Her eyes are glossy with fatigue, and they share the quiet for a moment. She isn't sure that anyone has ever said anything that nice to her before, and she says as much, prompting another wounded glance from her roommate, "Oh, don't look at me like that."

He blinks, caught off guard, "Like what?"

"You know how," Her brows furrow in amusement as she searches his bewildered eyes, "Like a puppy who just got abandoned at a gas station."

"I'm not."

"Could've fooled me. I can almost see it: you pity me, Parker," She teases, but a part of her feels raw.

"I don't pity you."

"Yeah, yeah. Enough out of you," She grins.

"I don't." He frowns, grabbing her gently by her upper arm as she turns for a distraction. Her eyes come down to his hand, then back to him dubiously, "I don't."

When he lets go, palms clammy, she keeps eyeing him and smiles to herself, lips pursing to the side.

"What?" He watches her step back to lean against the counter again, one foot across the other, arms threaded across her chest now as her eyes move around the room.

"You know, a little while back, uh... Morgan, the student advisor, he emailed me. Something about an apartment that had just freed up." Peter stills, "And I almost thought about it for a little bit, you know; I still didn't know you too well. You kept burning the food," She laughs, "I was thinking tonight, when Maya dragged you to the dancefloor, and you were just wading there like a new-born fucking calf, and I thought... I'm glad I never did."

It's then that he kisses her.

extended warnings: thigh riding, body worship, oral (f.rec), dry humping, marking, peter being a boob guy, lil hints of soft!peter, unprotected sex, dirty talk, overstimulation, major power kink, manhandling, size kink, pain kink, praise kink, dom!peter, sadist!peter, squirting, cum play, handjob, body painting/facial, cum eating. think that is it? idk sorry !!

▾▾▾

College was scary for the majority of people. New social circles, new surroundings. It took time for people to adjust. But Peter Parker wasn’t the majority.

The newfound freedom appealed to him. He was used to be a quote on quote loner, a nerd. It was never a desire of his to have big groups of friends or to be popular. He simply liked being by himself. It was fewer people in his life he had to lie to.

In college, people don’t care. They are too busy trying to find their own place in the world. Find their footing on the new terrain. So, they didn’t look twice at the boy who looked way too young to be attending classes. They didn’t care if he dressed in a flannel and sweater. Or if he washed up some morning with an unexplained bruise.

Peter loved that. He could do what he wanted with no one breathing down his back as if he was an adolescent child. No babysitter, just him. And he was happy with just that.

Peter made a few friends in his engineering classes. But their conversations only ever included the advancement or emergence of new technology. He could finally be that independent man he always claimed he was.

It was unusual for him to attend a party, but after the robotics club won their state final, he was persuaded to join the rest in a night of drunkenness. Peter quickly found out his ability to withstand the effects of alcohol was quite the phenomenon. People passing more and more drinks his way, hoping the next would knock him out cold. His superhuman ways always winning the battle.

The boys had ended up in a frat house, partying with people, who on a regular day, would never give them a second glance. Yet tonight, they were the centerpiece. I mean, whatever excuse a frat house can get to host a party, they would take it.

Peter was standing idle in the corner of the living room, fascinated by the people who were rolling blunts shamelessly on the coffee table. His hand was clutched around a red solo cup, the remains of his eighth drink begging to be chugged.

“Hey, you are Parker? Peter Parker?” The call of his sudden name caused him to perk up, wondering who said it.

Your soft eyes met his. A grin plastered across your face as you stalked closer to him. “Sorry, you are in my chemistry class. You taking it as an elective?”

Peter’s body stiffened, not use to female attention, unless they were asking for help with homework. He cleared his throat, swirling the plastic cup in his shaky hands. “Uh, yeah. I like chemistry.” He mentally wanted to punch himself for how nerdy he must’ve sounded.

His uneasiness was settled when he heard you giggle, the sound causing him to blush. “I like you Peter Parker.”

It was a blunt statement, but you were in no mood for beating around the bush. A light buzz gave you all the confidence you needed. His cheeks were now bright red, face burning up. The room closing in on him, becoming claustrophobic. He was becoming more aware, his senses were overstimulated in the current situation. Every noise, every breath, every movement, he felt it.

You could see him becoming uncomfortable, his jaw clenched, eyes squinted. You barely knew that man, but you wanted to help. “Hey, hey.” You whispered, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. “Wanna go somewhere quieter?”

He nodded immediately, begging to be removed from the troubling environment. Clasping your hands together, you guided out of the crowded room. Some people noticed, wolf whistling and cheering you on as you tried to seek refuge.

As you didn’t live here, you had no clue where you were going. Logically, the only thing that came to your mind was a bedroom. Finding the stairs, you dragged him up them. Luckily the first door you opened was unoccupied. Pulling him inside, you locked it to prevent any unwanted company.

The room was small, but it seemed empty. Only a mattress on the floor with a bunch of cardboard boxes scattered in the corners. Awkwardly, you both stood still at the door, unsure what your next move should be. “Uh, so you get anxious often?”

Peter shook his head, scanning the room trying to distract himself from the tension he was feeling. “No. No. It’s not like an anxiety thing.”

As he didn’t elaborate, you caught onto the message he was silently sending. He wasn’t interested in getting personal. And if you were brutally honest, you weren’t either. Other intentions were invading your mind. Sinful intentions.

Peter had first caught your eye the moment he was late to class one morning. His hair was a mess, scruffy like he just woke up. A cut was sliced into his cheek, but it seemed to be near the end of healing. Clothes were ruffled, pockets hung out of his khakis and shirt poked out from the bottom of his sky blue jumper. He sat a few rows away from you. It was safe to say you couldn’t focus in class that day, or any other day for a matter of fact.

He was mysterious, maybe that’s what attracted you. On the outside, he had that soft, nerdy appearance. For some reason, you believed under that thick skin was a more complex human. One that possessed many deep, dark secrets. You could see it in his hollow eyes; they seemed empty sometimes.

“What are you doing at a party anyways? I have never seen you attend any before. What you celebrating?” You hoped the line of questioning would cool the thick, humid air.

“Robotic club won state.” He mumbled, slightly ashamed and afraid that the hot girl in front of him would think he was pathetic.

“That’s so cool. You can build robots? That’s really cool.”

He sent you a confused look, shocked that robots and cool came out of your mouth without hesitation. “You think robots are cool? Are you secretly a nerd or something?” He huffed, not believing a word you said.

Rolling your eyes, you folded your arms. “Nothing wrong with appreciating talent. Plus, I am a STEM major myself. Nobody ever tell you don’t judge a book by it’s cover?”

His face became flushed, lips parted ready to apologise for offending you. “Don’t worry Parker. You aren’t the first to undermine me.” You smirked up at him.

Only a short distance separated your hormonal, raging bodies. It wasn’t unusual for two good looking people to want to tear off each other’s clothes. Even if it was just for a night. The college years were the time for experience. For exploration.

Peter inhaled sharply, trying to keep his emotions at bay. Your eyes were like poison, killing him slowly as they stared deeply into his soul through dark, bloomed orbs. Silently begging him to make a move.

His hand rested on your hip, the other slowly lifted to your cheek, cupping your face. Leaning forward his lips lingered over yours, hot breath mixing adding to the thick air that surrounded you. “I never got your name.” He whispered in a low, soft voice, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Y/N.”

He took a second to process what was about to happen, what was about to ensue. Lips brushed over one another. A tingling feeling surged through your body, breath hitched, legs shaky. They finally touched, latching onto his thin, tender lips. The kiss was soft, gentle as they tried to find the perfect rhythm.

Your body melted, a warmth pulsing through your veins. Peter sensed your weakness, hand hooking around your lower back supporting your trembling frame. It wasn’t your first rodeo, but you were still nervous. He was very cute after all.

Getting over your nerves, your palms sunk into his chest, pushing him against the wall. He groaned, deepening the kiss. His tongue poked at your lips, pleading for entrance. Gladly, you parted your lips allowing him to slip past. Tongues clashed, messy and sloppy as urges began to grow. A fire in the pit of your stomach emerging.

Unable to suppress your desire, your hands wandered south, fisting his iconic sweater as you tried to remove it from his body. He obliged, lifting his arms up as the fabric slipped off his body. As soon as the first layer was gone, your fingers immediately began to unbutton his shirt. Your cold digits that grazed his skin caused him to shiver.

As you tried to finish the task, his hands slipped down to your ass, grabbing a handful. His hands were rough and greedy as they fed their needs. Humming against his lips, you’d lost patience, bursting a few buttons as you ripped his shirt. Peter smirked, as you broke away from his devouring lips. “Impatient?”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide the guilt you felt. You were never this eager. His bare chest caught your gaze. A mouth watering, unexpected view greeted you. You had assumed Peter was just a lanky, scrawny man; but you were very wrong. Your hands moved the sleeves down his arms as you scanned his torso.

A sculpture, carefully carved and defined. Every muscle was visible, and tempting. His skin dipped into every dent, the lighting of the room enhancing it. The shadow playing in his favour; like he needed it. As eyes ventured lower, his v-line was deep and sharp causing something to get caught in your throat. He could be a Calvin Klein model in his spare time for all you knew.

Once his arms were free, his lips crashed into yours again, gaining your attention. Hands flung to the sides of your face, holding it still as lips moved with voracious pace. Your fingers looped in around his belt, pulling your bodies close together so that a sliver of air couldn’t even pass through. Peter, craving you, used his power to change positions, slamming you against the wall.

His leg found comfort between your thighs, pressing against your clothed heat. Moving it with precision, he stimulated your clit. Body surrendering to his dominance. Small whimpers were muffled by his wet lips as they continued to feast on yours. His hands glided down your curves, memorising every dip they caressed, stopping at the bottom hem of your dress.

Your body arched off the wall, aiding him as he pulled the dress from your body. You stood beneath his broad figure bare, only underwear shading you. Heart pounded, his glare intense. His tongue darted out from his tight lips, licking them ready to indulge.

He made his first attack, lips attaching to the skin of your chest. Sucking and licking the exposed tops of your mounds as hands found their way back to your ass. His touch was hot, burning your skin. Your hands grasped at his dark hair, pulling at the roots as your fingers laced with the curly locks. His teeth reacted, scrapping your sensitive flesh. “Pete!”

Your voice was high pitched as you cried out his name, the attentive attention he gave your fragile body was overwhelming. He hummed as your voice rang pleasantly in his ears. His brain was in a haze, senses in overdrive. The touch, the sounds, the taste. He was desperate to feel you, all of you.

His hands slid to the back of your thighs, hooking around them as he swept you off the ground. You screamed out his name, shocked at how easily he did it. Like you were the weight of a feather. He laughed against your chest as he carried effortlessly to the bed, only to throw you onto it like a rag doll.

You barely had time to process the strength of the man before his lips returned to your body. Sucking deep marks into your skin, starting at your thighs before he began his ascent up to you. Lips marked your thighs, stomach, chest, and neck before linking with your swollen, abused lips. He used his legs to open yours, parting them allowing him access.

His hardened cock pressed into you as your hips rocked together. Grinding, both losing patience as the anticipation grew. When your legs wrapped around his body, he growled, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he pulled away. “Fuck, you sure this is okay?”

“Just fuck me.”

It was blunt, but you had no intention to sugarcoat the situation, you just wanted sex. No strings attached. Peter had no desire to get anything more from the night either. He was contempt with fulfilling his sinful want.

He quickly undid his belt, pulling his pants down. Your heat pulsated as his thick thighs came into view. Muscles carved like a Greek god. Your hips rutted against the air, needing fulfilment. “Shit are you like a bodybuilder or something?”

He chuckled before a sinister smirk emerged on his face, sending shivers down your spine; scared for what was in store. His hand rested on your lower stomach, thumb teasing your clit through your damp panties. He watched your body react, eyes droopy, lips parted and face contorted with pleasure. The sight caused his cock to throb and jump with excitement.

Tired of the foreplay, Peter lowered his face between your quaking thighs. Hot breath fanning over your pulsating core. The aroma tempted him to come undone, the sweetness seeping into his sense. Mouth was dry, dying for a taste from the source.

Not wasting another second, he moved the delicate fabric to the side, tongue diving in between your folds. Lapping and drinking up the arousal that dripped from your heat. Peter gladly explored every inch, switching between your clit and seeping hole, stretching you with the strong muscle. The angelic sounds that you created prompted him to hump the bed, granting himself some sort of relief.

Your hands were latched to his hair, grasping at his scalp trying to keep the last bit of sanity you had intact. “Pete. Please. I need you.”

His eyes flashed up to you. They were raw, piercing, a glint of anxiousness could be seen as he gave your bud one final harsh suck. His chin glistened causing you to blush. “You sure? I was gonna make you cum before we got to that part.” He shyly stated.

Hands clutched his chin, guiding him to your face, bringing him in for a messy, heated kiss. His broad stature shaded you from the dim light, overpowering, intimidating. Using a hand to plank his body, the other went to snap off your panties. You heard a rip causing you to gasp, but he shoved his tongue into your mouth, shutting you up.

He moved onto his own boxers, kicking them off his legs. Your thighs rested on his as he spread his legs, causing you to open up your silky folds to him. His cock prodding at the newly exposed skin. He used his hand to grab his length, pumping it a few times before positioning it at your entrance. “Just breath.” He mumbled, his angry tip penetrating your tight core.

His girth took you by surprise, stretching your walls. You hadn’t expected it, underestimating his size. Your hands clawed at his back as he slowly pushed in deeper. He continuously checked in with you, asking if you were okay, if you wanted to stop. But the pain was foreshadowed by the immense pleasure that vibrated through you.

Once he came to a hilt, his cock was balls deep. Tip grazing your cervix, signifying how deep he was. The way his cock was curved was designed for maximum pleasure. You never felt so full, fingernails sinking into his back leaving behind crescent marks as you tried to ground yourself back down to reality. “You are so big, fuck.” You praised, shoving your face into his neck.

His large biceps enclosed you, holding you tight as he shallowly moved his hips. “Yeah? You are so tight. Feel so good.” He panted, trying to tame his instincts.

“God, please just fuck me.”

Growling, he followed instruction, retracting his hips before snapping them forward in one harsh movement. Thighs quaked as his pelvic bone collided with your neglected clit. His moves were slow, calculated. Eyes shut tight, his senses overwhelming his body. You could see he was holding back.

Peter, since the bite, was always scared of what he was capable of. Sex being one of those things. He knew he was powerful, strong enough to stop a bus. He also had a heart of gold, never wanting to injure or hurt another person. Especially a woman he was intimate with.

“Pete, don’t hold back. Let go. I can take it. I want it.”

His eyes shot open, pupils dark and wide, swallowing the warm brown that surrounded them. His jaw clenched, unsure if he should do as told. Your hand cupped his cheek, assuring him. “Peter please. I like it rough.” You confessed, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

A primal grunt slipped from his gritted teeth, your innocent eyes driving him mad. Adjusting the position, he placed your calves on his shoulders, his cock slipping deeper into you. “Please, tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded, inhaling sharply, mentally preparing yourself for the on slaughter that was about to ensue. His hands hooked around your thighs, fingers digging into the skin. Before you could even process the strength of his grip, his cock began to pound into you mercilessly.

His member relentlessly struck your g-spot, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Thankfully, the music was so loud it drowned out your pathetic, loud moans. He used his tight grip as leverage, pulling your body to meet his hard thrusts.

The sounds were sinister, skin on skin clapping, applauding him. Your wetness splattering, covering his cock, echoed through the room. Body on a high, you felt no shame for how you were reacting. Your hands flung to the pit of your stomach, clawing at your skin. “I can- feel how deep you are.”

He smirked at your statement, one hand shoving your hands away to replace them with his. Fingers pressed into your lower stomach, thumb focused on your clit, rubbing aggressive, precise circles around the swollen bud. “Fuck, I can feel how deep I am. Bet you’ve never felt so full before. Not gonna be able to walk after this.”

The thought of destroying your body only turned him on more. His hips moved at an animalistic pace, not humanly possible. His balls slapped your ass with every thrust, and the attention on your clit drove you to insanity. You became a babbling mess below him. Unintelligible words slipping from your lips as your brain clouded with lust.

“Fuck. Look like a beautiful mess. Does it feel good? Making you feel good? Cause, shit, you make me feel incredible.”

Head nodded vigorously, unable to speak only cry out in pleasure. Body began to convulse, the knot in your stomach ready to burst at any second. “Pete. Close.” You chanted, grasping his hands, grounding yourself.

“That’s it. You wanted to be a big girl. You said you could take it. So c’mon. Cum all over my cock. Wanna feel that pretty pussy clench around me.”

His words rang through your ears as you tipped over the edge. A wave consumed you, body shook as it welcomed the intense feeling. His hands grabbed your waist, holding you still, comforting you. “That’s it. Let go.” “Feel so good around my cock.” “So pretty when you cum. Could watch you all day.”

His thrust slowed, allowing you to come down from your high. Once your head started to clear, you could still feel his hard presence pulsate against your abused walls. Eyes bulged, shocked that he was lasting so long. “You good?” He queried, watching you struggle to keep your eyes open.

“Fuck yes. Amazing.”

He cleared his throat, in a bit of a predicament. Should he continue? Or should he just leave? Finish himself off in some random bathroom. However his question was answered. “Why’d you stop? Fuck, I want you to cum.”

He flipped you over so you were now straddling him. Whimpering, your palms slapped his hard, defined chest. “Pete, I am tired. Sorry.” Your hips movements weak against his, body still recovering from your orgasm.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, I got you. May I?” He asked, positioning his feet flat on the bed, hands grasping your waist.

Confused by what he meant, you nodded, naively. He bit his lip, giving you sudden harsh thrust. You jolted upwards due to the mere force, but his hands brought you right back, forcing you to swallow his cock. You screeched as he stretched you, filled you.

He repeated that movement, continuously. Pumping his throbbing cock into your wetness. There was no escape from the pleasure, his hands in complete control of your body. His eyes locked in on your mounds, watching them bounce begging to be released from their restricting cups. “Take off your bra, wanna see your tits. Please.”

A guttural growl was ripped from his throat as you quickly removed the material from your body. The way they bounced and rippled with every thrust. He couldn’t help but bring a hand up, squeezing the plush flesh. “Fucking beautiful.” He muttered, thumb teasing the bud.

With the last bit of energy you possessed, you rocked your hips on his cock causing the curve to hit your sensitive spot hidden within your velvety walls. That was enough to send you to your second high without warning, falling off the edge with a scream of his name.

But that didn’t stop his merciless thrusts. Using your lifeless body as a toy to please his cock. You were getting wetter at the thought of just being used as a tight hole for him to fuck. It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it did. His dominance over you was scary.

Your throat was dry and raw, every sound that rippled from it tore apart the skin. Peter wouldn’t dream of silencing you, the song you sang was too beautiful. “Yeah keep screaming my name. Shit, I am so close.” He groaned, hips were violent, bruising the skin of your thighs and hips.

The pain succumbed to the pleasure, masking any future aches you would inevitably experience. Your body was limb, he was in complete control of your movements. Brain dead in your euphoric haze. You sputtered nonsense, eyes droopy as hands grabbed his shoulders preventing you from falling forward.

The sounds from the collision were pornographic, sinful. The arousal that poured out from your core making it easy for his cock to dive deeper with every stroke. He was so close, eyes flickering between your bouncing tits and the contact your bodies made, enjoying the way his length was creamed with your juices.

Your body burned, insides twisting and turning. A fire spread uncontrollably through your veins. It was something you never experienced. Being brutally used. Peter, was loving the feeling of dominance, controlling every movement. “Fuck, you love me using you don’t you?”

You parted your lips, but your brain was not functioning, only a hum escaping. “Got you dumb for my cock do I?” He chuckled, his thrusts never ending. “Love me using you for my own pleasure. Just, grabbing you, fucking you down onto my big cock.”

His cockiness and confidence resonated between your quaking thighs. Only adding the wetness that pooled between them. “Getting wetter from me just talking to you? Fuck, you are the best girl. Feel so good and tight. Gonna make me cum.”

Moaning, you practically begged him to cum in fear you may mentally leave this planet and never return. “But, you need to cum one more time for me. Be my good girl, my best girl, and take it.” His voice was stern, not in the mood for negotiations.

Following his demand, his thumb found your forgotten clit. A sequence of curses and screams poured out as your stomach tightened. A new sensation appeared, an unfamiliar one. The pressure that pent up was about to explode. “Pete, I- too much.”

“One more. Give it to me. Let it go. Cum.”

And with that, everything collapsed. Vision blurred and spotted with black dots as your juices gushed from your fragile body. His cock was pushed out from your heat due to the force. His fast reflexes reacted, grabbing his cock, using the tip to rub fast motions across your swollen clit. Your cum covered his lower stomach and length. He groaned at the sight, watching the juices squirt from your convulsing body.

He guided you through the intense orgasm, using his cock to slowly trace your drenched folds, his tight grip pumping his throbbing cock as he did. “Atta girl, I got you.” He assured, caresses your soaked thighs. “But shit, I am gonna come baby, so fucking hard. Can I cum on your tits, please.”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck Pete you can cum wherever you want.” You slurred, brain drunk from the overstimulation your body was experiencing. Three intense orgasms in less than twenty minutes, you would’ve been considered lucky to achieve one on a given night.

He smirked, proud of his work. Fucked out and messy. It turned him on so much. His balls tightened, begging to find release. Gently, he cradled your lower back, laying you down on your back so he could straddled your waist.

Through heavy eyes, you watched him jerk his cock through a tight grip. His member was wet, glistening, covered in a mixture of your cum and his own precum. Veins bulging through his thin skin. Tip, red and angry, pulsating vigorously. Weakly, you placed a hand on his thigh, raking it, while the other played with his sensitive slit. “Fuck. Gonna be so pretty covered in my cum.”

“Cum Pete. Please. I want it so bad.” You pleaded, sticking your tongue out, hoping some would land in your mouth.

The sight of you below him, begging to be degraded. It sent him to his climax. His cock shooting out thick ropes of white cum while chanting your name loudly, with no shame. You had to clench your thighs at the sounds he made. Some landed on your face, most painted your chest. You were amazed at his load, it seemed like it would never end. Your weak hand joined his, helping him milk out every last drop. The touch of your tender, soft hand wrapped around him made him rut his hips against it as he rode out the feeling of pure ecstasy.

As the tingles that surged through him finally simmered, he collapsed down beside you. Breath heavy, and sharp. His cock twitched against his thigh, his whole person overstimulated by his senses that were dialed to a hundred. The dim light suddenly becoming too bright from him. He winced, turning his head towards you, which he immediately regretted when he saw you running your fingers across your chest, gathered up his cum on your slim digits. You carried it up to your mouth, sucking them clean. His jaw dropped. And suddenly the blood rushed back down south.

You turned your head to face him, heat rising to your cheeks after realising you’d been caught. You were intrigued. Peter took the chance to take in your appearance. Your chin was wet with a mixture of your spit and his cum, eyes still blooming with lust, hair messy and knotted. He closed his eyes, trying to remove the picture from his head as it wasn’t helping his current situation. Hearing a giggle, forced him to look at you, confused at the sudden outburst.

You squint at him, facial expression challenging his statement. Peter Parker is probably the sweetest boy you’ve ever met, the kind of person that would apologize to a rock for tripping on it on the sidewalk. You, on the other hand, can be a wittingly sarcastic brat. The mix of both of your personalities obviously resulted in many playful fights and wrestling matches. It was what you’ve always done as kids. And of course, Peter got the upper hand despite his height, because for someone who spent most weekends watching Star Wars nonstop, he was built rather… well. You don’t remember him ever going to the gym, but looking at him lately reminds you that he isn’t the scrawny kid you grew up with anymore. He has an allure — hell, he always has based on your longtime crush on him — but now it’s way more obvious. Your jaw clenches whenever you see girls talking to him at school. Right now, the thought of winning a fight against him, or anyone at the moment rather, was appealing to you given your emotional state.

“Are you inferring that I wouldn’t be able to win a fight with you?” you scoff.

Peter’s eyes are apologetic but his mouth quirks up into a smirk. He crosses his arms in a somewhat chauvinist manner. “Babe, I’m literally Spider-man.”

“And I’ve literally made you cry.”

“That was like a year ago! You were being a dick and I was like, incredibly depressed, probably. I’m a sensitive boy!”

You purse your lips and shrug, which Peter knows is a sign of apology, though it's always difficult for you to admit out loud. He knew you could be harsh but he never really minded it. Usually, he actually liked it, found it refreshing and a little hot. After all, the comment that had pushed him over the edge a year ago was about his dick being small. Which was just playful banter. Also a lie.

“Do you think I’m evil?” you fake-pout, voice syrupy-sweet but laced with venom.

“No, but there’s definitely something wrong in there.“

You roll your eyes. Before Peter can even process what’s happening, you’ve gotten up to your feet and you’re already straddling his lap, pinning him down to the bed. He attempts to raise his head slightly to reach your lips but his pretty face is met with a harsh slap.

“Ow! Y/N!” The boy clutches his cheek in a stupor, eyes widening at you. “What the fuck?”

“What? You said I could punch you in the face,” you grin mockingly.

“I need a warning first, Jesus fucking Christ.”

“That’s not how the real world works, babe. You always gotta keep your guard up no matter what. And I thought you weren’t susceptible to my girlish violence. My weak little girl hands. I didn’t even hit you that hard.”

Peter won’t admit it but there’s adrenaline to getting hit by you. It emits something twisted inside of him and now his chest aches with something he doesn’t have a name for. His face isn’t stinging but he notices how your demeanor has changed. Your eyes seem to be lighting up, although maybe he’s imagining things. He tries something.

“Do it again.”

Your gaze bores into his eyes and something inside you shifts once your palm hits his cheek again with another thwack, this time hard enough for Peter’s cheek to turn red. Additionally, he knows this is his flushed form, the blushing mess he can be when he’s around you even without any violence. He groans and shifts his body, involuntary raising his hips under you and gripping your sides. His head falls back with a lull. The rosy hue in his cheeks gives him away.

Self-consciousness transitions to cockiness. He raises his eyebrows as his face settles into a sneer. You want to wipe it off his face.

“That all you got?” he quips.

“Something’s telling me you really want this, don’t you?” You stroke his hair lovingly. He’s practically purring into your touch, turning his head into the curl of your palm like the way a kitten rubs its head into your hand. Your hand turns to squish his cheeks slightly, then settles to his jaw, where he rests himself obediently between your thumb and your pointer finger.

“You want something, rabbit?” you coo, taking your other hand to twirl a strand of his chestnut brown hair in between your fingers.

“Mmmm,” Peter mumbles, grimacing slightly. His hooded eyes tell you he’s already drunk under your touch, and you’ve barely even touched him.

“Hmm? Can’t hear you, Parker.” A small shove to this chest emits another groan that he tries to hide under a heavy breath and a light cough. You shift your weight on his lap knowingly. “Use your words, loser.”

“You know you can do anything you want to me right? I’d let you,” he murmurs, his voice just a touch above a whisper. Your lips part. You’ve never seen him this… desperate. And even now, he’s too shy to really ask for what he wants. His tongue juts out to lick his bottom lip. His brown eyes look glassy as if he’s silently begging you to touch him, hit him, kiss him, ruin him. Anything. You think you could eat him if you could.

“You haven’t even put up a good fight yet,” you tease, hitting his shoulder lightly. Suddenly he sits up with his arms wrapped around your waist, closing the gap between the both of you. He wants his mouth anywhere, everywhere — as long as it’s your body his lips are on. His hot mouth is against yours and the fire inside you is now burning, flames permeating your organs and igniting your lust. You can already feel the slight pressure beneath you. Your eyelashes flutter once Peter reaches his mouth to your jaw and then your neck, nipping at the skin with his canines. You pull his hair far enough to release him and his head bobs back. A whine rolls from his throat and out of his mouth.

“Peter fucking Parker, did you just whine?”

“Wanna keep kissing you,” he mumbles. He looks withered and gentle and innocent like a puppy. You adore him like this — the blush suits his youthful face. He can’t look you in the eye right now because he feels as though he might combust. Instead, he fixes his gaze on your collarbone, licking his lips again.

“You’re cute,” you think out loud and pull his hair so that he’s an arm’s length from your face now. He bites back another whimper. “C’mon, take what you want, pretty boy. Aren’t you Spider-man? Kicking the asses of all the bastards in New York, yeah? Where’s that superhero assertiveness, rabbit?”

He hums at the nickname and exhales at the sensation of you pulling his hair. He manages to gain the upper hand, flipping you over, pinning you down, and sliding his hands underneath your shirt. It has the same force as his surprise bear hugs after being without you for a while; it’s like he’s trying to knock the wind out of you. You feel his knee inch closer to your crotch and it makes you puff out an exclamation of both longing and disdain.

You feel him grin against your skin when he makes you moan. Wetness pools under you as you sigh into his touch, but the fucker has another thing coming for you. Of course. Exhales fall out of your mouth in a slight panic when Peter caresses his fingers to your belly in a feather-like embrace, like he’s spinning an invisible gossamer web around your body and it makes you squirm.

“Ugh, you are so fucking annoying,” you huff. You can’t even be truly pissed at Peter for too long because you’re laughing and sighing into his mouth as he tickles you. Enough energy riles you up to take the lead again by palming his hard-on as he hovers above you. He curses quietly at the feeling. He whines your name, pleading.

You watch his eyes scrunch up and his Adam’s apple vibrate with a moan once you take him in your hand, slipping your fingers beneath the band of his sweatpants. Grabbing him by the shaft, you slide your hand up and down using the wetness at his tip for lubrication. He moans shamelessly, bucking his hips up automatically. You retract just as you feel his breathing pick up and he buries his face in your shoulder. “Please. You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he mewls.

You’re able to take advantage of his weakness by shoving him towards the wall and onto his back so that you can move to your original straddling position. Your left hand pins his above his head while your right is to his throat, fingers squeezing slightly.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, honeyed eyes blinking at you with voracious want.

“Tickle me again and I slap you. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He smiles at you with utmost adoration. He wonders if you know how completely and irrevocably tightly he’s wrapped around your finger. He’s begging to be devoured.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“Yeah? Who’s making you all wet like this, Parker?” you taunt, sliding your hips forward to grind on his clothed dick. You can feel the wetness of his pre-come and it’s agonizing for him that he’s not even inside you yet.

“You,” he slurs, head warm and fuzzy from your teasing. You move a stray curl from his forehead. “Think ‘m gonna drop dead if I don’t fuck you.”

His breathing hitches when you squeeze your fingers around his throat even harder. His mouth is slack. You rub a thumb to his bottom lip and he reaches forward and takes it whole in his mouth. You gasp at the action. He’s never been this needy before.

You pull your thumb back before inserting two fingers into his mouth, prompting Peter to make a guttural sound as you move deeper towards his throat. The dim lamp besides his bed casts shadows on his face, delicate eyelashes fluttering like the ghost of a butterfly among his high cheekbones.

“Aww, I can feel how hard you are. So pathetic,” you smirk as his hips flex upwards again. He needs any kind of contact with your body but he doesn’t dare flip you over so that you’re under him. Instead, he mumbles curses dreamily with your fingers subduing his mouth.

He breathes a sigh of relief once you pull your fingers out, a slick of saliva attached between them and his mouth. It stays open when he feels your teeth on his neck. He doesn’t hide his wanton desire this time and you have to cover his mouth to muffle his moans. Taking your time marking up his neck, you grind harder to his lap in a sloppy rhythm and he feels as though he’s going to melt before he can make you come.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Peter.” Your face lifts and it’s an inch above his. Your smile makes his heartbeat ten thousand times faster, he thinks. You pet his hair.

“I need you so bad. Please? Pleasepleaseplease,” he pants. His hands settle on your back, pulling your top off in desperation. He looks at you in awe, stripped to your black bralette yet there isn’t a vulnerable thing about you right now. Your eye makeup is a bit smudged from your impromptu wrestling match but it makes you look fucking hot. He loves the way there are still sparkly bits of makeup glistening on your eyelids. He thinks about how he wants to fuck it off of you, tears streaming with black mascara running down your cheeks.

“C-can I touch you?” You nod, grazing him with your mouth. He moans immediately and raises the palms of his hands to your chest. Underneath you he feels light and gauzy, lapping up the sweetness of your mouth like it’s honey. Your cunt palpitates as you rock your hips forward.

His mouth goes dry when you tug on his hair harshly, separating you from his mouth once again, but you’re still grinding down on him. It’s unbearable for him and he swallows hard, but it doesn’t help him hide the needy crack of his voice when he begs for you again.

“You’re being mean,” he gripes, clutching you in his hands like you’re about to drift away.

“You’re being mean,” you mock in an exaggerated tone, jeering at his babyish whines. “You like it. Looks like I’m winning this fight. You made it too easy, baby.”

He pouts, amber-brown eyes gazing at you with rapture. It feels somehow worse to verbally reply to you than to moan at the feeling of every synapse that fires when you touch him, even when you’re just lightly stroking his cheek. He’s obsessed with your hands wrapped around his neck. He didn’t realize how much he loves it until tonight.

You coax him with a smile at the swift tilt of your legs so that you can pull off your shorts. Without a warning, you slip a finger to your own center and he groans. “That’s my job,” he stammers, watching you sullenly.

“Dunno if you can do it as good as me,” you hum. “I’m a pro.”

“C’mere,” Peter says with manic possession, aggressively pulling your hips as he lays down. You settle to his face and your cunt drips its wetness to his warm mouth. Your stomach is turbulent with raging pleasure. The feeling of his tongue on your clit has your spine shuddering to the point where you need to balance yourself by holding onto the bed frame in front of you. He moans into your pussy, loves ravishing you as best he can. You can feel the buildup to your climax, your blood rising to your cheeks as you slide against his tongue.

“Oh god,” you exhale, clutching the bedsheets as you arch forwards to ride out your orgasm. “Fuck!”

You pant and pull off of Peter’s face despite his attempts at keeping you on him, clutching your ass.

“Did I do good?” he blinks at you with wide eyes. Rather than answering, you hunt down your own taste out of his mouth and bite down on his lip, which makes him groan loudly. You shove him down when he tries to sit up. Peter hisses when he realizes that you’ve lowered yourself onto his length. He doesn’t even remember you pulling out his dick because of how caught up he was with his tongue down your throat.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Peter rasps, mouth hanging open with a slack jaw as he feels himself all the way inside you, hitting the spot you love. His legs embarrassingly shake with a tremor from the sensitivity of feeling your pussy. He gulps with how easily he’s about to come undone, eyes half-lidded and hair clutched underneath your fingertips.

“You feel so good, Peter,” you breathe. The look in your eyes is carnal while your mouth curls up into a wolf-like grin, canines and all. In another world, Peter swears he can imagine fangs in between your lips.

“I like you so fucking much. Fucking… love you,” he groans under his breath, kneading your hips with his hands as he stretches you out. Your hands are on his neck again and he loves it, can’t get enough of you squeezing his pulse when he tries to kiss you with his raw, crimson mouth. The choked whimper you hear from him has you borderline ballistic. You thrust your hips harder and you feel him twitch inside of you. He gags under you and then cries out, eyebrows scrunched in ecstatic bliss while his head slumps backward.

“Fuck, you feel so good, I don’t think… I can…” he pants. You shamelessly rock forward and back on his cock even faster now and shut him up with a kiss. He mumbles obscenities into you, dirty mouth on dirty mouth. “Fuck, oh my god, y/n I’m gonna—“

You can feel his legs vibrate within the next beat and his hands are nearly bruising your ass from holding on too hard. Peter comes and it feels like an asteroid is colliding into his face because at the moment he can’t feel a goddamn thing except for the manic intensity of your pussy and nothing else, not even his fucking arms or hands.

At the same time, his cock hits you at the right angle. It feels perfect. It gets even better when you grind to stimulate your clit, and before you know it, your entire body twitches as you detonate, sparks flying out of your eyes.

You collapse on top of him as his body grows sluggish. He’s sweating a little, face red with mussed-up hair. In the dim light, you swear he looks like an angel just fallen from heaven. You figure that you coaxed him out, beguiling him like the darkness that waits upon his shoulder. You wonder if his eyes are actually glowing or if Peter just happens to be radiating light from his climax. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually supernatural. Then again, he’s the human spider.

“Oh my god, I just came so hard. I— I’m so sorry, I didn’t even say it when it happened, it was so fast,” Peter rambles. He realizes he’s still inside of you and pulls out, heat flushing his face at how weakly he could control himself. His dick leaks as he pulls out of you “Fuck, I’m…”

“I just got on the pill, baby,” you cradle his cheek, smiling softly. “Forgot to tell you. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“But I can usually last longer and do more positions! And I wanted to do more but your teasing made it so I… I couldn’t last but I should’ve—“ he continues, running a hand through his hair.

“Shut up,” you lightly shove him. “I’m flattered I made you come so quick. Was really fucking hot, actually. You filling me up like that.”

Peter averts his gaze and tugs at his bedsheet shyly as if he didn’t just make you come… twice. “You’re laughing at me.”

“You’re just fucking adorable, Parker,” you chuckle, kissing his neck gently. He beams at you with ardor, returning the favor with a passionate kiss back and a hand on your cheek.

“I am not adorable. I’m an Avenger,” he lilts, laying back on his pillow.

“An Avenger who’s whipped for me. Didn’t know you could be so needy.”

He groans in embarrassment, covering his face. “Next time you piss me off, you’re gonna get a taste of your own medicine.”

he heaves a deep sigh and follows the sound, not without a soft groan falling past his pink lips as his body contorts with each step. he turns the corner to see a small figure huddled with a backpack beside them.

almost as if they sensed him, they whip around as they stand. a teenage girl meets his white eyes; she had to have been his age, maybe younger. their masks both protected each other’s identities, but they knew one another.

y/n was panicking. she has had some run-ins with cops, always escaping, but this was spider-man; y/n tries to find an escape route.

peter watches as her eyes flick around her surroundings while trying to stuff her belongings into the stained bookbag. “hey, listen. you’re not in trouble, just put the cans away and i can walk ya home, yeah?” he tries to be soothing, drawing his queens-accented words out with a suited palm splayed open for her to take.

her eyes flicked between his eyes and his palm for a moment.

her body twists as she takes off. she takes fast steps, swinging her backpack over her shoulders. her head whips side to side, looking for a path to take. y/n settles on making a sprint into traffic, bobbing through cars and yelling out apologies as drivers press the palms of their hands to the center of their wheels.

peter skids to a halt as he watches her sprint through cars, he readies his hands to swing through buildings, but his eyes catch the work she had left behind. it wasn’t finished, but it was incredible. his hazel eyes flit behind the white eyes as he studied the work.

peter expelled a breath and walked away, thinking about the girl behind the art.

🕸 time jump 🕸

a few weeks went by and peter started to notice the graffiti that colored the walls of new york, all similar to the work that she did. they were beautiful and meaningful.

peter is having an internal battle as he swings around the city, keeping an eye. he wants to say that he is keeping an eye out for crime, but deep down he knows what he is really looking for, more like who. 

peter lands on the cool pavement between two small businesses and takes a deep breath. it’s been a slow night and he considers taking an early night in, but just as he extends his muscled arm to expel a web, he hears a familiar sound. 

pcht. 

peter waits a second and he hears it again. he grins to himself as he follows the sound.

he approaches her from behind, hoping to catch her off guard, but, similar to last time, she whirls around before he could get close. her eyes are wide with surprise but they lack the panic that filled them last time. she leisurely looks him up and down. her eyes crinkle from the smirk peter expects to be laid under her mask; he grins back, confident that she won’t get away from him again. 

peter mimics his motions from last time and offers his palms out to her in a soothing gesture. he takes a miniscule step forward, “don’t run, okay? i’m just here to talk.”

y/n takes a small step towards her backpack, preparing another route to flee. “don’t do it.” his accent rumbles her eardrums, threatening. her body still stands rigid, ready to bolt at any moment. so peter tries to approach her with a softer edge, closing his eyes for a second, opening them and reiterating his earlier statement, “please, just talk to me.” 

she hesitates once his voice softens and peter can see her contemplating taking his hand. peter can feel his body relax in tandem to her hers relaxing. before he knows it, her bag is off the ground and she is running from him. peter growls in frustration and flexes his wrist, 

whip.

y/n felt something attached to her side and pull her towards the man. her body bumps into his, knocking a small ooph out of her along with all of the air occupying her lungs. it felt like hitting a brick wall. two wide palms covered in lycra circle her biceps. his grasp is firm but nowhere near enough to hurt her. although, y/n is sure he could snap her arms in half if he really wanted to.

peter’s chin is tilted down when she glances up at him, her eyes are wide and peter can feel the panic starting to settle into her body. peter opens his mouth to apologize for scaring her when his spidey sense starts to buzz. y/n watches his body tense and his grasp become tighter, as if he is protecting her from something, but she doesn’t see anything when she glances around them.

bang! peter’s head follows the ringing sound down the alleyway to see a large man standing over a crumpled figure. quickly, peter turns his body, pulling the girl with him. he turns until his back faces the two men and curves his spin so he can look into her glassy eyes, “listen to me, you stay right here, okay?” 

she shakily nods, chest heaving with anxiousness. he runs the palms of his hands down her biceps as a last soothing gesture, pausing to give her a stern nod. she nods back, though hers was less confident. peter takes that as a sign to let go.

he turns around to face the figure, rolling his shoulders in preparation. “hey, man. that’s not very nice, is it?”

the man’s head flicks up to peter’s voice, eyes gleaming in the faint light. menacing. if peter had to pick a word to describe him, it would be menacing. this man had to be at least six foot, wide shoulders with wide arms to match. his lip curls into a snarl as his eyes scan the lycra suit, “spider-man. oh, how i’ve been waiting to meet you.”

he pulls a knife out from his pocket at the same time peter takes his middle fingers to press the trigger on his webs. the silver reflects the grimy yellow of the streetlight as it clatters to the brick wall, webbed up. peter shoots another web at his hands, but misses.

the man lunges for peter, grasping his slim wrist in his calloused palms. the man pulled peter to him and slashed at peter’s face. the blade whistles through the air before it sears through the muscle of peter’s shoulder. the hooded man takes a step back from the suited teen, hands lifting in mock surrender.

his cracked lips spread into a sadistic smile, “i’m a big fan.” then he is gone and all peter is left with is a bloodied body and a knife in his shoulder.

peter’s right hand lifts to cup the knife, taking a deep breath before yanking it out. as peter shakily stares down at the weapon, he realizes something is missing; more like someone. he can’t feel her presence anymore. his head shoots up to look side-to-side; she is nowhere to be found. fuck, peter sighs. he feels the anger pooling in his stomach. he can’t believe he let her get away. again.

Maybe it was cheesy and cliché but you really did enjoy visiting the campus library. It was a quiet and peaceful place where you could study for your classes and get most of your work done and you could enjoy the books lining the shelves. The librarian knew you very well at this point and she always made sure to tell you when the library got new books. She also knew what you liked so she was able to make recommendations for you to read so you always had a new book so you were never bored. This time, she recommended a fantasy novel and let you check out the book before you went back to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend. Your didn't have many classes today and you already finished most of your work so you could just sit on the couch with a warm fuzzy blanket and a cup of hot chocolate and start reading the book Mrs. Smith let you borrow. Peter still had another class before he could come home so you had some time for yourself until he did.

You changed into some short and a T-shirt before heading to the kitchen to make your hot chocolate. You were putting mini marshmallows into your warm drink when you got a text from Peter telling you he would be home soon. You smiled as you texted him back and sat down on the couch and put your mug down on the coffee table. You pulled the blanket over your legs and picked up the book and started reading it. You were glad you put your hair in two braids so it wasn't getting in your face and obstructing your vision. As you were reading, you drank more of your hot chocolate and you were already a few chapters in. You couldn't help but be grateful that Mrs. Smith recommended this book to you and now you couldn't put it down.

You were so engrossed in the book that you didn't even wanna get up to wash your mug. It had you on the edge of your seat even though you were starting to get tired from sitting by yourself with no sound other than your calm and steady breathing. You shifted your body until you were lying down on your back and bookmarked your spot and put the book down on the coffee table. You pulled the blanket to cover more of your body as you turned to your side and closed your eyes. Maybe you could just get a little bit of rest before Peter returns but it didn't really matter anymore when you fell into a deep slumber.

About half an hour passed until Peter came back to the apartment and found you asleep on the couch. He was careful not to wake you up as he put his stuff away and washed the mug you left on the counter. He noticed the book as well and smiled as he realized that it was new and you had already nearly gotten halfway through it. It must've been a real page turner if you had already gotten so far while you were here by yourself waiting for him to come home.

He knew that even though you had few classes today, you still spent a lot of time studying before going home to read so he picked you up and carried you to the bed without waking you up so you would be more comfortable. Peter was quite tired himself so after changing his clothes, he crawled into the bed with you and pulled you closer until your back was pressed up against his chest. There were still at least three more hours before nighttime so a quick nap wouldn't do too much harm for either of you.

When you woke up, you felt warmth against your back and a pair of arms around you. You turned around to look behind you and smiled when you saw Peter asleep right next to you. You looked out the window and noticed it was getting dark outside so you manage to get out of bed without disturbing him. You thought maybe you could just cook something simple while he still slept and started heating up a frying pan on the stove. You decided to turn the TV on for some background noise so it wasn't entirely quiet while you cooked. Plus, you liked to watch a little TV while you did your thing.

While you were frying the vegetables, you heard footsteps and turned around to see Peter walking into the kitchen. You smiled when he kissed your cheek before grabbing the shredded chicken, already knowing what you were making.

"I came home and you were fast asleep," Peter said and you shrugged your shoulders as you added the meat to the vegetables and broth in the frying pan.

"I was reading and fell asleep," you replied.

"I could see that. You were about halfway through already," Peter chuckled and you smiled as you looked at him. "Must've been a real page turner."

"You have no idea. I was at the library and Mrs. Smith noticed I was looking for something different to read so she told me to check out the book so I did and started reading it when I got home and I was already hooked on the first chapter and I couldn't put it down, not even for a second," you rambled on and Peter smiled as he watched you.

You were the classic bookworm and so passionate about the stories you've read and always like to talk about whatever new adventure your mind was being taken on. There were so many things about you that made you beautiful to him but seeing you so genuinely happy about something was one of the things he loved most. Even while you were boiling the noodles, you were still talking about the book and how excited you were getting as you read more and didn't realize that your boyfriend was just looking at you with love and adoration written all over his features. By the time the stir-fry was finished, you had already said everything that was on your mind about the book and you were grabbing two plates and forks.

"I don't think I tell you enough about how amazing you are," Peter said as you gave him a plate of food.

"Peter, I just talked your ear off about a book you probably never even read or heard of," you chuckled as you grabbed your own plate and the both of you sat on the couch.

"True, but that's one of the many reasons I love you. I love seeing how happy you get when talking about things you enjoy," Peter replied.

You smiled as you leaned on his shoulder and his gently kissed the your temple. You didn't picture yourself dating someone as great as Peter before you met him. He was looking for a roommate and you needed someplace close to campus and now here you were. You met him again at the campus library and you were reading a poetry book while he was studying for one of his classes. You remembered how awkward he was when you asked him if he wanted to hang out and you had to admit you were nervous as hell at first. You've had boyfriends before but it was the first time you made the first move and you were so happy when he accepted your offer. You had so many reasons to love him. Although he was awkward, it was adorable. He was smart and funny even though you didn't always get his jokes because you didn't go to a prestigious science school like Midtown High, you still liked hearing them. When you met, he was studying quantum physics and you were studying literature. You both seemed so different, both pursuing different paths and careers but that didn't stop you from being together.

"Another day and it ends with both of us on the couch watching Rick and Morty," you laughed as the show started and Peter laughed as well. "I don't always understand the shit that goes on in this show but it's hilarious."

"I like spending the last moments of the night watching Rick and Morty with you," Peter replied and you smiled as he went into the kitchen to clean the dishes.

For the rest of the night, you watched a few episodes on TV before deciding it was time to go to bed. Your classes started earlier than Peter's so you needed to turn in for the night. Maybe it was cliché that you met your boyfriend in college and shared an apartment with him that you both worked to pay for but you couldn't be more happy.

ENDNOTES ─── to get notified as soon as possible, follow @faeslibrary and turn on post notifications.

© 2021 faerieemetal. do not copy, repost or translate.

After struggling for near a full minute trying to get the door open, dropping her keys an incredible four times, and just about kicking the door in, she stumbles inside and flings her bag to the floor not two feet in the threshold. The door slams shut behind her, her foot a little more forceful than she meant, but there it is. Another few steps, and she’s at the couch, throwing herself face-first into the soft decorative pillows set atop the grey cushions. She lays there, deadly still, for several seconds before she flips over onto her back but holds the pad to her face. She lets out a scream into the fluffy white square, prompting a familiar voice to pipe up from across the hall.

“Rough day?” Peter pops his head out of the bedroom doorway.

“You have no idea, Bug.” His partner’s voice is a bit muffled by the pillow still smothering her, but Peter can make it out well enough. “Everything that could have gone wrong today absolutely did. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for five days straight.” She pauses.

“Tell me what happened, Sunshine!” He calls out to her from the other room, and Sunshine takes that as her cue to begin ranting about her day, starting with spilling her lemon tea all over her new shirt just as she was leaving this morning, pillow securely held over her eyes.

Her blocked view keeps her from noticing Peter approaching, and she nearly jumps off the couch in surprise when his hand grabs hers to take the pillow from her gently. He doesn’t say anything, just bends her legs to create a spot on the sofa and replaces the empty space with his own body. Once seated, she lays her legs across his lap, never skipping a beat in her sound-off about the ‘day from hell’.

“...And do you know the worst part? I was three minutes late to my exam today, and Professor Stallings had locked the door! Three! Minutes! Late!” At this point, Sunshine’s eyes start to well up, and Peter can tell she’s about to lose it. “Can you believe that shit! I need to do well in this class; I can’t afford to fuck this u-”

“Hey, you’re okay. C’mere.” He takes her hand in his, delicately pulling her up into a sitting position and his arms. He wraps one around her middle, and the other pulls her hair from her face and lays it on her back. Peter shifts his partner to sit in his lap so he can hold her better, and the second both of his hands connect behind her back, Sunshine slots her face in his neck and begins to outright sob. Peter softly rocks back and forth, murmuring quiet encouragements to his partner but not trying to stop anything.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you…Everything is gonna be alright. Just let it out…I’m right here, shhh, I’m here…”

They sit there for several minutes, Sunshine crying and Peter rocking and rubbing her back in a large circle while fully letting her frustration with the day out. Once the cry starts to lose momentum, Peter places a kiss on the top of her head. She manages to calm herself down enough to wipe her eyes and look up at him, where he’s waiting to give her another kiss, this time on her forehead. She sits up straight, still crying but not nearly the same as the previous moments.

“Hey, look at me,” Her eyes lift to meet his, and he wipes away an excess tear from her cheek, almost caressing her face while she tries to get ahold of herself. “I need you to breathe with me, and then we’ll decide what to do next, okay? Can you do that for me, baby?” She sniffles in response. Peter releases a breathy chuckle and begins to lift his shoulders and suck in a loud, exaggerated breath. Sunshine follows suit a little more modestly.

Together, they take three long, deep breaths. “In for 4, hold 3, out 7…In 4, hold 3, out 7...One more, in 4..hold it, 1, 2, 3, breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…There you go. Are you feeling any better?”

Sunshine smiles for the first time since…probably leaving for class this morning. It’s small, but Peter takes that as a win. She nods, leaning forward to give Peter a soft and loving kiss. It’s far too short a time before Peter breaks it off, though.

She pouts. “Not enough.” She juts her bottom lip out in protest.

He laughs again. “Not enough?” He leans back in, both hands lift to hold her in place, and he pecks her forehead, nose, cheek, nose again, anywhere his lips can reach in the hope he hears his favourite sound in the world: Sunshine’s laugh. “Are you sure?” He teases her, and she giggles and tries to squirm away; his kisses tickle her face. She pushes against his chest to lean back, but Peter’s grip on her face is just firm enough that she can’t escape. While he continues his assault on her soft skin, his smile grows each time his lips reach her face.

“Okay, okay! Enough!” She’s evolved to a fuller laugh, and only now Peter is content. His hands drop from her face, and hers raise in return to reach around and play with the hair that sits on the nape of his neck.

“One more, a real one this time, I promise.” Their lips connect again. This time it’s a little more…enthusiastic on her part. If she had to be honest, she was not the biggest fan of physicality in most capacities. Still, she’d be damned if she didn’t admit she had a particular inclination toward Peter’s sweet and surprisingly soft lips. His kisses make her dizzy, they make her mind go fuzzy, and she absolutely loves it.

They both lose count of how long they sit there in their moment, and by the time she breaks away, she’s completely forgotten about her shitty day, and all Sunshine wants to do is keep kissing and kissing him until she can’t breathe.

“Better?” He knows the answer, but he wants to hear her say it.

“Much.” Her answer is very matter-of-fact as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It sort of is, to be fair.

“Great, come with me then.” Peter slides his hand under her ass and lifts her as he stands. Sunshine wraps her legs around his waist, and he walks them into their bedroom. After tossing her onto the bed, he slides in beside her. She cuddles up to him, turning on the tv.

“I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But, I do think I can guarantee the rest of your night will be much better.” He offers her an overly enthusiastic wink, and she rolls her eyes in response.

“Can we eat dinner in bed and watch a movie?” Sunshine’s voice perks up, eyes watching Peter’s for a reaction. Peter doesn’t respond right away, and he takes a moment to contemplate. He is not a fan of food in the bedroom; spidey-sense and crumbs don’t mix. But, it’s hard to tell his partner no after the events she relayed to him today. Although, Peter rarely said no to anything his partner wanted. Part of it is the guilt for constantly leaving to Spider-Man, part of it just loves the way she lights up when she gets what she wants. So-

“Sure thing, Sunshine. I’ll make something that’s not so messy.” Satisfied with his answer, she pecks his cheek as a thank you and changes the input to their streaming and begins scrolling for a specific title.

“Let me guess, Clue?”

It’s not really a guess. Clue has always been Sunshine’s comfort movie. In fact, she has always loved all things Tim Curry. Peter had never seen most of his films before they met, but one snowed-in weekend later, and he was well versed in the TCCU (Tim Curry Cinematic Universe).