Top Posts Tagged with #kuwtp4kwc

EXPERIMENT MASTER POST

I promised it was coming and now it’s here! All four chapters of my Peter Parker x oc fanfic for @keepingupwiththeparkers 4K followers writing challenge! Can’t wait to see the custom moodboard that gets made!

Please let me know what you think!

Prompt: We’re lab partners and we need to pass this class but I suck at science please help me

Description: Peter Parker gets a new lab partner. Unrelated, he makes some new super-spidey-friends. (Total fluff)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Series masterlist ---- Masterlist

Image source

PART 1

The chemistry teacher says the words that Peter Parker has been dreading all semester.

“It’s time to change lab partners again!”

He’d so far chosen Ned and MJ, who understand and have his back when he’s running elicit experiments under the desk to do with his suit, web fluid, and other Spider Man stuff. But now he’ll have to choose someone else and change up his whole schtick. Or maybe the teacher will let him choose Ned again?

“No repeats!”

Damn.

He looks around frantically for someone he thinks will be chill. Maybe someone super smart and independent who always blows their partner off anyway, like Miles? Or such a slacker that they won’t care or notice or show up half the time, like Josh? Not Flash, for the love of all things super, definitely not Flash. Mick might be all right? Or maybe Lauren?

“This time, I’ll be choosing for you.”

Peter’s stomach drops. He was having the worst luck today. He’d stepped in a puddle on the way to the bus stop, which must have been an omen. Because since then he’d dropped his phone in the toilet, realized he didn’t have his history textbook, and now this.

The teacher begins announcing the pairs. As the name of each person he had thought might be a possibility is called and paired off with someone else, Peter panics a little more. He would just have to come up with a plan that would work regardless of who his partner was. He needed to sit on the right, obviously, and towards the back. And maybe-

“Mr. Parker, did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Peter is forced to tune back in.

“I said, your partner for this third will be Gwynn.”

He had thought his stomach had hit rock bottom, but it just dropped further. Gwynn was so distractingly cute that he’d had to ask MJ to move desks with him a little closer to the front—risking his side experiments—because he found himself neither paying attention nor doing his own stuff. Not only that, but she was terrible at chemistry. Half the distractibility was how cute she looked when she was nervously biting on the cap of her pen, or how her deep green eyes would stare helplessly at the board. But she cared. She tried. The past two partners she had chosen had been chemistry tutors on the side, and had helped her out constantly. She leaned on her lab partners. And since it was well known that Peter Parker was great at chemistry (and most other sciences), she would expect to lean on him too. He can tell from the smile she’s giving him from across the aisle, which is annoyingly cute with its two dimples and the kind light it brings to her eyes. Uggghhhh.

The bell rings, and Peter dashes for the door, but Gwynn is too fast. She intercepts him in front of his desk, grabs his bicep, pausing slightly at how surprisingly buff it is, then looks up at Peter. Her emerald eyes have an apologetic, puppy dog look that make Peter melt a little.

“I just wanted to say I’m really looking forward to being your lab partner,” she says genuinely, with a small smile. “But I do have to apologize in advance. I’m sure my reputation precedes me, but I’m not so great at chem. But I promise I’ll work really hard to not let you down.”

Peter glances over his shoulder and sees Ned and MJ waiting outside the door. He smiles back at her and says, “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it too. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Gwynn sighs with relief and finally takes her hand off of his arm, which she realizes with embarrassment has been settled there this whole time.

“See you tomorrow in English!”

It’s two weeks later, and things have gone about as well as Peter expected. Gwynn is having the time of her life. Peter has learned all her tells for when she’s confused (which is often) and leans over to explain things better than the teacher can as soon as she turns to write on the board. How close he is when he does that, his warm breath in her ear, is a little overwhelming for Gwynn every time, but he’s just so good at explaining things that a fair amount actually sticks (once her heart stops beating in her ear too loud to hear his whispers).

Peter’s doing exactly as he predicted, which is spending too much time watching Gwynn, and being overwhelmed by her little grateful hand squeezes every time he breaks something down for her, and precisely zero time working on his Spider Man things. And so the worst happens.

He runs out of web fluid mid-fight. KAREN had warned him he was low, and put a little flashing indicator in his view, but like a “check engine” light he ignored it until it’s too late. He’s long since passed the point when he would have just stuck these dumbass thugs to the wall and called the police, but with no webs, he has to keep fighting them.

Until he’s not alone. Two figures wearing pretty similar costumes to his, actually, but one black and white and the other white and red, swing in on their own webs and end the fighting in about a second by doing exactly what Peter would have done.

With the thugs glued snugly to the wall, Peter just stares at his newfound allies wordlessly.

As if on cue, they both give him a little two-fingered goodbye salute, and swing off again into the night, leaving Peter utterly confused.

_______________________________________________________________________

PART 2

It is entirely too overwhelming for Peter to have Gwynn in his bedroom right now. Her emerald eyes getting wide and easier to fall into as she has an ah-hah moment. Her happy dance, a little shoulder shimmy, when she get an answer right. Her excited squealing when she masters a concept. It’s got Peter’s heart racing at about a million beats a minute, give or take.

It stops beating entirely when she throws her arms around his neck in glee and gratitude when she refreshes the student portal and sees that the auto-grader program has granted her a solid A-.

Peter pats Gwynn’s back awkwardly, willing himself to breathe even though that would put his chest even closer to hers. She pulls back, and Peter is too distracted with his own feelings to notice how red her face is too.

“I can’t thank you enough, Peter,” she says earnestly. “My brother’s great at chem but he’s never been able to get me to understand it the way you have. It’s incredible.”

At hearing the words ‘my brother,’ it occurs to Peter how little he knows about Gwynn’s personal life. Discussion has remained solidly only on chem the last several weeks. But the homework is done and it’s only 4, and Gwynn has been staying until 5:30 most nights she’s over, sometimes even staying for dinner (when Peter decides May’s cooking won’t embarrass him/poison her).

Even though he has a million things to do, Peter suddenly realizes how desperately he wants Gwynn to stay. He’d counted on her staying until 5:30, and the prospect of those plans changing seems disastrous to him now. This new information is the perfect way to stall.

“I didn’t know you had a brother?”

Gwynn is finishing putting her laptop into her backpack, then settles back onto the bed where she’d been sitting to answer Peter’s question. “Oh, yeah! He’s in our class; Miles.”

Peter draws in his eyebrows.

Gwynn is quick to follow up. “I know it seems weird because he’s this cool, genius Afro-Latinx kid and I’m just some dumb basic white bitch but I promise it’s true-”

That was definitely not the end of Gwynn’s monologue, but Peter cuts her off anyway. “It had nothing to do with-I mean it was more the last names,” he says. “And you’re not dumb!” he adds hastily.

“Not dumb, just a basic white bitch, I get it.” Gwynn crosses her arms in front of her and leans back, away from Peter.

He stammers, “No, no of course not! I didn’t mean-“

“I’m joking with you, Pete.” Gwynn nudges Peter’s shoulder with hers. “He’s my half-brother. We have the same mom. His dad, my step-dad, is a badass cop whereas my dad was a total white trash good-for-nothing asshat.”

“I’m sorry,” says Peter sincerely.

“Not your fault,” replies Gwynn, unperturbed.

Peter draws in his eyebrows again. “Wait, so how are you in the same class if you’re half-siblings?”

Gwynn rolls her eyes. “He’s pretty much exactly a year younger than me but an absolute genius so he caught up pretty fast. He skipped 1st grade so we’ve been in the same class ever since.”

Peter nods. “Gotcha.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“Well we’re done with the homework-“ Peter begins.

“Is there any way I can repay you?” Gwynn asks simultaneously.

Talking over each other again: “If you want me to go I can call-” “I mean it’s no problem, really. But maybe-“

Peter’s ‘maybe’ hangs off the end, not having overlapped with anything Gwynn said.

Another pause, during which Gwynn’s breath catches.

“Yes?” Gwynn looks expectantly up at Peter through her lashes, and Peter notices she’s wearing dark blue mascara. The way the light from his window is hitting her, making the blue and green so vibrant, it’s like the color palette of a peacock and it takes Peter’s breath away a little. He totally forgets what he was going to say.

Gwynn tilts her head a little, pulling Peter back into reality. “Earth to Peter?”

“Huh?” he asks dumbly.

“You were going to tell me a way I could repay you?” Gwynn chews on her bottom lip a little. Anything to spend more time with him.

“Oh yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Um, do you have the English notes from yesterday? I was out.”

Gwynn tries not to let show how disappointed she is at the tininess of the task and how not time-consuming it is. “Oh, yeah totally.” She reaches back over the side of the bed to her backpack.

Peter is chastising himself for sounding like an idiot and being a coward. He had fought super-villains, he had fought superheroes in Germany, but he couldn’t pluck up the courage to ask a pretty girl to hang out.

He spaces back into reality when Gwynn nudges him with the red notebook she’s been shoving under his nose for the last minute.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles.

Eyes cast downward, Gwynn says, “Well, like you said we’re done with the homework so if you want me to go-“

“You don’t have to go!” Peter hates how quickly and emphatically that came out, so he tries to make up for it by leaning back against his pillow casually. “If you don’t want-“ He falls off the bed.

Gwynn starts laughing and her vibrant laugh knocks the wind out of Peter so he can’t even get up from the floor where he’s fallen. It’s a wholesome, pure, warm, beautiful laugh, and he could listen to it all day.

Gwynn is laughing so hard she has to lean back against the pillow, so when Peter finally manages to scramble back onto the bed, and she’s lying there with a broad, genuine smile, lying as if she’d slept the night or something, he almost falls over again.

“We could just hang out, if you wanted,” Peter manages to say, as Gwynn’s laughter subsides. “Learning about your brother makes me realize how little I actually know you. I bet you’re really interesting.”

Gwynn scoffs. “I’m totally boring, but I am really comfortable right now so not moving sounds good.” She lolls her head to the side to look at Peter.

“You look really comfortable,” Peter says, from his perch as far away from her on the bed as he can get, practically falling off the edge (again).

“I’m having a little trouble hearing you over May on the blender, but I’m way too comfy to move so if you want to join me down here so I can hear you better…” Gwynn says a little louder than she needs to, pushing it out in one deep nervous breath and a leap of courage.

Peter’s cheeks flush red, but he does flop down next to her, and in the small twin bed, their faces are really close to each other. Gwynn’s breath smells like fresh mint, and Peter suddenly gets super self-conscious about his breath since he hasn’t brushed since this morning. But Gwynn doesn’t mind. She’s barely even breathing anyway because his proximity is so overwhelming, and therefore barely inhaling any of his breath.

“What did you say before?” she asks softly, breaking the silence that has persisted as they’ve just been staring at each other.

“I just said you look really comfortable.”

“Mmm,” Gwynn purrs. “I am.”

And she is. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this close to such a cute boy in her life, but she calmed down surprisingly quickly and is now just perfectly content to never move forever, and it’s not just because of the comfy pillows. It’s because Peter’s presence feels warm, homey, comforting. She realizes she also doesn’t know him very well, but she knows how kind he is, and how helpful he is, and how absolutely brilliant he is, and how patient he is, and how adorable he is, and isn’t that all one really needs to know?

“Ant Man,” Peter murmurs randomly.

Gwynn’s eyes widen in confusion and she pulls back an inch or so. “What?”

Peter had just realized what those suits looked like, the ones on the other spider-people. Their suits had been kind of similar to his, but not Stark-tech nanotechnology metal like his, but rather the almost mesh-like nanotech fabric he was now remembering was what Ant Man’s suit was made out of. So it had been almost like their suits were a cross between his and Ant Man’s. It was a weird and random revelation to be having at that particular moment, but in the comfortable silence between them as they lay there, his subconscious had been working on the puzzle apparently and so his semi-solution just kind of spilled out.

“Nothing, sorry,” Peter hastily apologizes.

Gwynn’s brows are still furrowed slightly, but she scooches her face back towards Peter’s the inch she had pulled back and then maybe even a little more and asks, “So tell me more about the fascinating life of Peter Parker.”

They end up sharing anecdotes for several hours. The conversation comes naturally, and they’re riffing off of each other with ease. At dinner, May fits into the conversation smoothly, but mostly just sits back and watches how much these two young people in front of her make each other laugh and smiles to herself. Peter and Gwynn return to the bedroom after dinner and continue on the same path. They’re sharing funny stories, like when Gwynn tied Miles’ shoe laces together when he fell asleep on the couch, but also deep, personal stories. Peter even tells Gwynn about the death of his Uncle Ben (though obviously not the spider stuff that goes along with it). Gwynn is telling Peter some things she’s never told anyone, except maybe Miles, and Peter is being just as open and honest. They totally lose track of time.

Then May is knocking on the door, creaking it open a crack, and asking, “Is there a time you need to be home, Gwynn? It’s nearly 11.”

Both teens start at this interruption and also this unknown information, and this time it’s Gwynn who falls all the way off the side. It’s winter, so it’s been dark since 4pm, so they had no way of tracking time passing unless they tore themselves away from each other to check, and they had both been too enraptured with the other to do that.

Hearing no response, May calls out again. “It’s no problem if you want to stay over. I can make up the couch, or the second bunk. I can also drive you home if you need.” She waits a couple more seconds, and when she still doesn’t hear anything, she adds, “Just let me know. I’ll be out here in the living room.”

Peter and Gwynn just stare at each other with wide eyes for a moment, disbelieving. Then they finally check their phones after so many hours.

“Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit,” Gwynn whispers, as she scrolls through over a dozen messages from her brother.

Ned has forwarded Peter a Snapchat discover story for the filter that reads “Spidey Cam” at the bottom of the screen, and it’s filled with people filming up at blank skies and rooftops, wondering at the absence of their friendly neighborhood superhero. So he also offers a whispered, “Shit.”

Miles’ text saga concludes with him giving up and going home safe. Gwynn lets out a relieved sigh, and Peter lets out a resigned sigh; it’s too late to suit up and go out now.

Gwynn finally breaks the silence. “This has been so great, Peter, and we should totally do this again but I probably should be getting home.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

Gwynn starts gathering up the notebooks that had ended up a little scattered around her backpack on the floor, including her planner, which is open to this week. She gasps.

Peter goes into fight or flight mode, even at just a simple gasp. He’s ready. For what, he doesn’t know. To fight a bad guy? To save the day? To protect this girl at all costs? That can’t be right.

Gwynn turns to Peter with wide, desperate eyes, and that just strengthens Peter’s inexplicable resolve. “I forgot about my drawing project!”

This reminds Peter, “Oh crap I forgot about my photography project!”

Gwynn is gripping her planner so tight her knuckles are turning white. “I’m supposed to do a portrait sketch. I was going to draw Miles, but he’s gone to bed now. What was yours supposed to be?”

“A person; model posing,” was Peter’s answer. “I hadn’t asked yet, but I was sure May would agree, so I’m probably fine actually.”

But an idea had already formed in Gwynn’s head when Peter had given the first part of his answer.

“What if you shot me? That sounds weird. My point is, I could be your model, and you could be mine! We’d probably be working late but I can just stay the night-“ her cheeks flush quickly. “If that’s ok with you, of course. I can also just go home late. Or go home now and forget the whole thing it’s fine, you said you were fine so don’t worry about it, I’ll just wake Miles up or do it in the morning-“ She’s rambling.

Peter had started nodding profusely pretty early in Gwynn’s monologue, but she missed it because she was staring at the floor, furiously trying to avoid eye contact.

“Yeah, no, that sounds great,” he finally interjects.

“Really?” She sighs deeply, and her sparkling eyes have that sincere gratitude in them that can always make Peter melt. All in a moment he feels the danger of just how far he would go to keep earning that expression.

“Yeah, let me just grab my camera,” he says, and rushes out into the living room.

May looks up from her phone at Peter, her oversized glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “So what do you need? A ride or linens?”

It only takes Peter a second to decide that if Gwynn were sleeping in his room, even just on the top bunk, he would not get a wink of sleep. Either they would stay up all night talking, or he would be too overwhelmed and nervous with the thought of how near she was.

“If you could make up the couch, that would be really cool. Sorry to keep you up, May. We just lost track of time.”

“Not a problem. I’m glad you’re connecting with someone. And she’s cute.” May winks, and heads to the little linen closet.

Peter is quick to counter, “It’s not like that. We’re lab partners.” But he knows the redness of his cheeks have already given him away; his aunt knows him too well, and he can feel the heat radiating off of them.

May smirks. “I find it hard to believe you were talking about science all that time.” She shoos Peter out of the way so she can rearrange the pillows and get a bottom sheet under the cushions.

“Anyway, I’m just going to grab my camera. We have a little more work to do before we can go to bed.” He grabs it from the coffee table.

May pauses and looks at him with genuine curiosity. “Science homework with your camera?”

“Well no; she’s agreed to help me with my photography project,” Peter admits.

May nods slowly, knowingly, and returns to putting some unnecessarily large pillowcases on the throw pillows. “Just try not to be too creepy about it, ok?”

“You sound like MJ,” Peter scoffs, but secretly he’s super worried about coming off that way.

“MJ’s a smart girl,” is the last thing Peter hears as he slips back into his room.

He sighs in relief to be done with that interaction and leans back against the door, but is instantly thrown back into the throes of emotion when he sees how Gwynn has gone into full (gorgeous) artist mode. Chestnut brown hair that had been in a tight ponytail is now pulled into a loose bun, with one lone curl escaping and delicately framing her face, which displays a serious expression of concentration. The blue and purple flannel she was wearing is now tied around her waist, leaving her shoulders exposed, and Peter can see the hint of freckles that mirror those on her face, faded without the summer sun. She licks her lips and flips to the next blank page in her yellow sketch book.

That’s when she notices Peter standing there watching her. He’s kicking himself for already blowing the not being creepy thing, but he’s completely frozen.

“How about we do your photography first?” she asks, thankfully for Peter not revealing any disgust at his creepiness (which she didn’t feel), nor, thankfully for her, any excited nervousness (which she did feel). “The bags under my eyes are just gonna grow bigger.”

“So are mine,” Peter proffers.

“Maybe, but I don’t have to draw those. The camera is merciless, so unless you have time to photoshop my face between now and class in ten hours, we’re doing me first.” She’s wagging her pencil around, gesturing for emphasis.

Peter sits next to her on the bed and starts to open his camera bag. “For the record, you don’t need photoshop,” he says softly.

He looks up and meets her gaze, grateful and bashful. They share a moment like this.

“So where do you want me?” Gwynn asks, standing.

Peter blushes at where his brain first goes at that question, and stumbles over his words. “Uh, I hadn’t planned this out, maybe-“ He glances around his room. “in front of the window?”

She makes the two steps (it’s a small room) to the window and realizes she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, which have gone clammy. “How do you want me posed? Like this?” She jokingly sticks one hand on her head and the other on a popped out hip, and pulls a duck face.

Peter laughs, which warms Gwynn’s heart, and she promises to herself that she will try and get Peter to replicate that beautiful sound as often as she can.

He adjusts the standing lamp and the desk lamp, tries turning the overhead light on and off, experimenting. His photographer instincts kick in, and he doesn’t even notice when he stops being nervous. He settles on a lighting plot and turns his attention back to Gwynn.

“Maybe try leaning back against the sill? Yeah like that, but with your hands behind you? And maybe-“

Gwynn at some point had subconsciously pushed the rogue lock of hair behind her ear, but Peter grabs it gently with his finger and releases it, brushing the heel of his hand on her cheek.

Peter steps back and his photographer instincts flee, making room for his nerves to return. “Perfect,” he utters breathlessly.

“Smiling, not smiling?” Gwynn pulls those expressions as she asks.

“Uh, let’s do this one not smiling. Maybe tilt your head a little to your left.” He’s looking at her through the lens of the camera now. “That’s it. Hold that.”

He takes about twelve shots, shifting angles slightly every three or so. He clicks the button to check the previews, and honestly in his heart of hearts believes that these, and she, are prettier than any professional model in any magazine.

Gwynn has skipped from her spot to stand behind Peter and peek at the camera screen over his shoulder. She gasps, and says with shock, “You’ve made me look so beautiful.”

“No, all I did was capture it,” Peter says softly, turning to look at her. Their faces are very close. Oh gd. Hearts are beating fast, folks.

A smile spreads across Gwynn’s whole face, crinkling her eyes and setting her whole face, Peter swears, aglow. He needs to capture that next, before it fades. He glances around the room again.

“Maybe pop up onto the top bunk and I’ll take one from down here?” Peter suggests.

She gladly hops over to the ladder and starts to climb, and, ok, it’s a small room so Peter can’t help that her butt is a little in his face so it’s not his fault if he notices that it is a very cute butt.

Gwynn feels like she must look like a complete idiot smiling as broadly as she is, but she can’t seem to will her cheeks into any other position, which Peter thanks the heavens for. She doesn’t look like an idiot; to Peter, she looks literally ethereal.

She dangles her legs off the edge of the bunk, and carefully painted turquoise toes accidentally boop Peter’s nose slightly, which tickles and causes him to scrunch up his face. Gwynn finds his scrunched face totally adorable.

“Sorry!” Color flushes to Gwynn’s cheeks, which Peter thinks only adds to her beauty. Embarrassment: nature’s blush.

But he takes the opportunity to make a joke. “I’ll never forgive you.” He turns his back dramatically.

“No, I couldn’t stand it!” Gwynn, deliberately this time, sticks out her feet and taps Peter on the shoulder.

“Fine!” Peter spins back with equal drama.

He peeks up at her through the viewfinder. “Right at the camera this time? Gorgeous.”

The compliment is automatic but earnest, and it only makes Gwynn’s smile broader. Her cheeks are hurting now, and it’s getting late so she’s pretty tired, but she wouldn’t change a single thing about this moment.

They do a few more poses. Sitting cross-legged on the floor and smiling. Poking out of the closet and smiling. They try for another serious one, this time window open and sitting on the fire escape, but she can’t keep a straight face anymore; that irresistible smile bubbles up every time Peter says “Perfect” or “Ideal” or “Stunning” at the pose, but he can’t help giving those compliments because they’re so true.

“Let’s try this,” Peter says through poorly suppressed chuckling after their fifth or so attempt. He reaches over and carefully tugs at her hair tie, setting her gentle waves free to cascade around her shoulders. Gwynn gets genuinely embarrassed; she never lets her hair down. For the first time in half an hour, she stops smiling and furiously runs her fingers through her hair and plays with it, willing it to behave. Peter grabs her hands with both of his, letting the camera hang around his neck. She haltingly lowers them to her sides, heartbeat increasing fiercely as he tenderly lays the thick tresses, intricate natural highlights now evident and shining in the moonlight, onto the shoulder closest to him.

Peter’s movements are slow, deliberate, even as he withdraws his hands back to his camera and lifts it to his eye. “Gaze at the moon?” This is a question. They’ve all been questions or suggestions, never demands.

She directs her attention to the shimmery, almost full moon up above. Peter kneels such that he can get in the shot the moon, and her flowing hair, and her dreamy expression (dreamy both in the sense that she seems to be gazing, daydreaming and pensive, but also in that she’s making Peter’s heart literally throb right now). He takes several for insurance, but he’s certain that every single one is perfect, not because he has confidence in his own photography skills but because a shitty disposable Kodak could snap her right now and she would still look striking.

He rises from his kneeling position and sits next to her on the stoop to show her the previews. She leans into his shoulder and gasps again when she sees the images.

“I can’t believe that’s me. I look so glamorous. You work magic, Peter.” She turns to him as she speaks his name, and their noses are practically touching (which, due to basic face geography, means their lips are practically touching). Peter is fairly certain it’s Gwynn who’s cast some kind of magic spell to completely and totally bewitch him, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

Instead he says, “Usually I would do a couple extra poses to be safe, but I don’t think-“

“We totally can! I don’t want you to end up with any duds or anything,” Gwynn responds hastily.

Peter scoffs at the very idea that any picture of her face could be a ‘dud.’ “They’re all good; I’ve shown you.”

Gwynn glances down at her feet, which are dangling over the city street below. “The previews can be deceiving; they’re relatively-“

She feels a comforting hand on her knee. “They’re all amazing.” His voice is reassuring, confident.

Gwynn puts her hand on his hand on her knee and smiles with eyes that look right at Peter’s as she says, “If they’re amazing, it’s because you’re such a talented photographer.”

Peter’s other hand gets added to the pile. “Nope. You’re just that beautiful.”

His voice is so sincere. Gwynn had heard men call her beautiful, but they were mostly scumbags, either on the side of the road catcalling her or that she was dating but either way they were saying it just to get in her pants. But she can tell, in her bones, that Peter means it, no ulterior motive, and she is completely speechless.

She ends up just slapping the last hand between them onto his, pressing down lightly, then releasing with an, “And break!” like some kind of cheer routine. This breaks the silence, which hadn’t exactly been awkward anyway, but it breaks it nonetheless into a gleeful shared laughter.

Throwing both of her hands up with vigor and leaning back slightly to sell the peppy cheerleader vibe makes Gwynn’s butt slide out from under her, and she almost slips through the railing. Peter’s super-fast spider-induced reflexes grab her firmly by the arm, and he says, “I got you,” with a soft assurance.

He is a little shocked to look down and see in her eyes nothing but the grateful expression he already so coveted despite their relatively brief acquaintance. He is shocked at himself for being shocked, and examines his assumptions. He supposes he thought she might have a hint of fear in her expression? Hopelessness? Weakness?

However, Gwynn is anything but, as he promptly learns. Peter doesn’t remember exerting any force into pulling her up; she seems to do it totally on her own without any sign of difficulty.

She plops back down, her butt firmly underneath her, and without wavering says, “My turn?”

This has all happened in a matter of seconds, by the way.

As they climb back through the window, a wave of fatigue hits them both, but especially Peter. He climbs into his bed, stretching out and yawning, and says, “Sketch me like one of your French girls.”

Gwynn laughs as she reaches for her sketchbook, her brow furrowing. “My pencil…” She frowns. They discover after a few minutes of searching that it was under Peter’s butt the whole time.

Peter yawns again, and he can barely keep his eyes open, which, considering the view he could have if he did, is saying something significant about his sleepiness.

“Legit, though, does it fit your assignment to draw me sleeping?”

Gwynn can’t tell how serious he is, and tries looking into his eyes to find the sincerity, but they’re closed. She chuckles. “I suppose so, if you’re comfortable with me drawing you sleeping.”

Another yawn. “Yeah that’s totally fine.”

Gwynn settles with her back against the door facing Peter on the bed, a few more pencils of varying lead hardnesses and shades of gray having been extracted from her bag and laid next to her. “I’ll go as soon as I’m done, I promise,” she assures, also worried about coming off as creepy.

“No rush; May made up the couch.” He extends one hand under his pillow and head, his other hand dangling off the side of the bed, almost as if it were lazily reaching towards Gwynn. She takes a moment to examine his figure; he exudes a peaceful strength, a tiny smile even starting to curl up the corner of his lips as he thinks back on the events of the evening. Gwynn doesn’t clock exactly when he drifts off, but for the record it’s while thinking about when he pulled the strand of hair from behind her ear. His hand is twitching slightly, which Gwynn has no inkling is because he is thinking of the pleasant sensation of brushing against her face.

The next morning, Peter absent-mindedly slaps off his alarm and swings his legs over the side of the bed, only to almost step on Gwynn’s sketchpad, open to the completed drawing. He picks it up and marvels at the level of detail and the fineness of the lines. She even included the way his shirt was pulled up a little bit, exposing the tiniest bit of torso above the waistline of his pants (which he doesn’t know Gwynn blushed all the way through sketching). He thinks she must have been generous with how tranquil and attractive his face looks, but she drew only what she saw, which might have been influenced by what she felt.

Peter wanders out of his bedroom still staring in awe at the masterpiece he can’t believe is of little ol’ him.

“Gwynn this is-“ He looks up and notices that she and May are already up, chuckling (which he doesn’t know is at an embarrassingly cute anecdote May is recounting of his five-year-old self) over plates of toast and glasses of orange juice.

“Do you like it?” Gwynn bites her lip anxiously. “Is it ok to bring to class?”

It’s an absurd question in Peter’s mind. “Can I show it to May?”

Gwynn nods, grateful that he was considerate enough to ask.

He hands the pad to May, then passes her to reach up to the top shelf of the cupboard for the box of chocolate pebbles. Gwynn’s eyes wander to the little bit of torso again making its appearance as his shirt hikes up.

Her focus is snapped back to May and her artwork when May exclaims, “Gwynn, this is incredible! Better than any photograph I’ve managed to take of Peter sleeping.”

Peter scrunches his nose. “How many photos have you taken of me sleeping?”

“After you show it in class, can I get a copy?” May asks, ignoring Peter’s question.

“You can get the original!” Gwynn is so distracted by how happy and grateful she is for the compliments that she doesn’t notice how Peter has stopped in his tracks while pouring milk into the cereal bowl, just admiring how she could look so pretty first thing in the morning. Her hair is a little unkempt, but the frizz just glows in the sunlight creeping through the window, which also illuminate her sparkling eyes. The strap of her camisole has fallen off her shoulder and is hanging delicately on her bicep, which Peter just now notices is strikingly well-defined. Her face is just dewey and glowing and-

“Peter!” May’s voice snaps him back into reality, and he realizes he has totally overflowed the bowl and spilled milk onto the counter. “Is the art all right?” he asks anxiously, snatching paper towels to sop up the mess. It is; May is holding it safely above the spill.

“My shirt though…” Gwynn’s voice is soft, because she doesn’t want to impose on anyone, but the milk, which had turned brown and chocolatey even before cascading over the brim of the bowl, had managed to drip down the counter onto her white camisole.

Peter hastily dabs at the spot, which is at the bottom of the shirt (and therefore near the top of the pants), but he’s using the same paper towel he was using on the counter so he’s only making matters worse.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” Gwynn pushes Peter’s hands away.

He stands staring at all his destruction. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“No worries, but could I maybe borrow a t-shirt? I’ll wash it before I return it,” Gwynn asks sheepishly.

“Of course!” Peter’s eyes are wide and he turns immediately, but Gwynn grabs his arm.

“No rush; you can finish cleaning up first,” she giggles. “And I can finish my toast.”

Peter’s face feels hot with pure embarrassment. He’s made a complete fool of himself and it’s not even 7:30am. “Of course.”

When milk is wiped up and toast is consumed, Peter and Gwynn do retreat to his bedroom in search of a t-shirt. They find one with a chemistry pun that feels apropos, and Gwynn is proud of herself for understanding the reference. Completely unabashedly, she begins to peel off the stained camisole, and Peter quickly twists around, but not before noticing that she has surprisingly chiseled abs.

“I mean you’re fine ‘cause I’m wearing a sports bra but I’m sorry for the lack of warning,” Gwynn chuckles.

“It’s fine,” Peter squeaks, still not turning around.

“Ok you’re even more fine now.”

Peter turns and Gwynn is tying the flannel around her waist, which somehow makes the oversized t-shirt look like a cute and deliberate fashion decision.

Her hand flies up to her disheveled hair and she looks around worriedly. “My hair-tie?”

Peter helps her look for a moment, but then remembers removing it: he was so enraptured by her liberated locks that he had simply let go of the hair-tie, which means it had fallen down into the street. Whoops.

“Here,” Peter offers. Gwynn looks up expectantly, but it’s not her hair-tie he is extending to her but a hat. A baseball cap with the Stark Industries logo on it. She tries to hide it, but Peter can’t help but notice that her instinct was to scrunch up her face at it.

“Got any other hats?” she asks.

Some digging in his closet uncovers his old Boy Scouts hat, which actually works better anyway because it’s smaller. She experiments in front of the mirror, trying it forward, then backward, and finally settling on the front but slightly on an angle to match the part of her hair.

She leaves the room, and by the time Peter sees her again she has applied chapstick, put some lotion on her face, and brushed her teeth with a spare unwrapped toothbrush May uncovered under the sink from some trip to the dentist.

“Do I look ok?” she asks when he entered the living room.

“More than ok,” is Peter’s earnest response. In his opinion, this girl could wear a potato sack and look gorgeous. She could wear nothing— well, he won’t go there.

Gwynn squints at him. “If that’s your answer, I may have to start questioning your judgment.”

He might be a bit biased.

They’ve missed the bus, but May doesn’t have to be into work until noon so she drops them off. Peter and Gwynn walk up to the school side by side, and MJ, ever observant, remembers Peter wearing that exact shirt to academic decathlon practice last week, and Ned is pretty sure Gwynn was never in the Boy Scouts. They glance at each other before greeting their friend.

Gwynn pulls back on their approach. She knows how close this trio is and doesn’t want to get in the way. But Betty tugs on Ned’s arm and Peter is trying to keep everything from falling out of his backpack that is too full to close thanks to his camera bag, so MJ slows her pace to match Gwynn’s. “Wanna join us at lunch today?” she asks.

“Sure!” Gwynn accepts cheerfully, ruing how quickly that came out.

“Where do you normally sit?” MJ is straining to remember; she knows pretty much the whole general layout of the cafeteria and can’t place her.

Gwynn shrugs. “I’m usually in the library.”

“Hey, hey, hey it’s Penis Parker!”

Gwynn’s eyes cannot roll back far enough to express how sick she is of this tired old joke out of Flash. It’s not even funny or clever. Just some lame alliteration.

As they pass, she tosses out a casual, “Bet it’s bigger than yours” and receives some hushed ‘ooh’s from Flash’s entourage.

He sputters for a moment as the group strides on. “Oh, because you would know? Huh?” Flash finally throws his response from several feet behind.

Without missing a beat, Gwynn just goes, “Nunya,” and tosses a middle finger over her shoulder.

Peter is grinning a few steps ahead.

He has an excellent rest of the day.

_______________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 3

Nearly every time he’s gone out as Spider Man for the past week, those other two spider people have shown up. He doesn’t always need them, but they help him finish the job faster. Peter’s grateful. But he’s curious. They always disappear before he gets the chance to thank them. Sometimes they swing away, but sometimes they seem to just… be gone. He’s confused.

They haven’t joined him this particular night, at least not yet. Peter’s just stopped a run-of-the-mill mugging and is walking casually through an alley when he feels himself being yanked around the corner. Just then, a bullet flies through the air and lodges itself in the brick wall right behind where his head had just been. Eyes wide, he turns to thank his savior, and instead of, you know, a human being, he is met with two tiny spiders (that is to say, normal size for a spider, not giant person-sized spiders like him). They’re hanging from webs extending up to the fire escape above their head, and they’re looking him dead in the eye. It’s dark, but he can tell there’s something off about them. There don’t seem to be enough legs? But, again, it’s dark, so maybe he’s just not seeing correctly.

He was seeing correctly. The tiny (I.e. normal sized) spiders suddenly grow into giant (I.e. normal person-sized) spider people: his two mysterious compatriots. Eyes wide, he finally stammers out the ‘thank you’ he intended when he first turned to face them. They give him the same two-fingered salute they’ve given him every night this week, and then press their hands to their emblems, which are on their belts instead of on their chest like his, to shrink down again. But one doesn’t shrink. The black and white one just keeps poking their belt, but nothing happens. They shrug, and turn to walk away, the white and red one now perched on their shoulder. Peter grabs their other, spider-free, shoulder and turns him to face him.

“Wait,” he says firmly. “Who are you?”

The miniaturized spider person starts furiously poking the neck of the human-sized one, who just shakes their head and fires a web up into the fire escape again in order to swing away, out of Peter’s curious reach. But Peter got one clue; a deep and audible sigh had revealed a deep voice. Not much to go on, but something.

Gwynn has taken to sitting with Peter’s friend group at lunch. She used to spend all her lunch period frustratedly staring at chemistry notes in the library, but now that she’s doing better in that class, she has more time to make and hang out with friends, like Miles was able to do ages ago because he’s a genius who has never needed to take lunch time to study.

MJ and Ned take to Gwynn immediately. She’s bubbly and warm and… responsive, if that makes sense. She laughs at jokes and nods slowly with sympathetic eyes when listening to something sad. She’s an attentive listener, and always willing to help with anything. She isn’t afraid to get enthusiastic about things; she and Ned nerd out over Star Wars and other sci-fi things (Gwynn can appreciate sci-fi even if she doesn’t get real-life science). She’s observant like MJ, and they come up with elaborate hypothetical scenarios for random people in the lunch room and on the street based on their expressions and mannerisms.

She wears her heart on her sleeve, and MJ and Ned are a little astounded that Peter, who is supposed to be super in tune with people’s emotions because of his heightened spidey-senses, can’t see what they feel is so plain: Gwynn likes him. And he likes her.

The two of them still have to spend time together as lab partners, but the biggest project of the semester is out of the way and Gwynn doesn’t need as much help anymore. They spend just as much time together overall, though, since she’s been hanging out with the group. But if he’s honest with himself, Peter misses spending time one-on-one with her, and, because he’s oblivious to his own emotions, he doesn’t understand why.

When he finally asks her out on a date, it’s kind of an accident.

It’s early on a Saturday afternoon, and since Gwynn and Peter have finished studying for chemistry, they are now independently doing other homework while they wait for Ned and MJ to come over and watch a movie. Peter’s looking forward to it, and he definitely wants to see his friends, but he feels weird about how he doesn’t want them to butt in on this time he has alone with Gwynn. They’re on the couch, and she’s leaning against his shoulder with head phones in while she watches a video for history class and he reads for English. And it’s nice, and peaceful, and he doesn’t want it to end. So something crazy comes over him.

He pokes her on the shoulder. She pauses the video, takes one headphone out and peers at him. “Hmm?” she asks.

“After the movie, do you want to go out to dinner? Since May’s out of town, she suggested the four of us order a pizza after the movie, but if you want I’d love to take you somewhere nicer.”

Understandably, because English doesn’t differentiate between the singular and plural ‘you,’ Gwynn interprets this as a group invitation at first. “Sure! Where were you thinking? Well, I guess we should decide that as a group, so we can wait to talk about it.” She goes to stick her headphone back in her ear, but she can actually feel the heat radiating off of Peter’s cheeks as whatever confidence possessed him to initiate this interaction fades away.

“Um, well actually, I was kind of hoping it would be just the two of us?”

Gwynn takes the other earbud out and closes her laptop slowly. Avoiding looking him in the eye, because she can feel her own face going pink, she asks, “Like a date?”

“Um,” Peter stutters. That wasn’t what he was thinking when he asked it, but the concept of it sounds wonderful to him.

Gwynn misinterprets his hesitation as aversion to the concept. “Or just as friends. And I’m the one making it weird. I’m sorry. Boys and girls can be friends and hang out and it doesn’t have to be romantic don’t let me-“

Peter cuts her off by swerving his head to stick himself in her line of sight and force eye contact. “I’d like it to be a date,” he says. Then the urge to reassure her that had caused him to swoop in smoothly like that disappears and he starts rambling, “if you want it to be. If you don’t want it to, that’s cool too. I’d still like to hang out with you. Either way.” He fiddles with the bookmark sticking out of the copy of Twelfth Night he’s holding.

Gwynn is still staring at her lap, grinning like an idiot and trying to will herself to respond when the doorbell rings and they hear MJ’s voice shout, “Open up, losers. Movie time,” through the door.

Peter starts to stand to get it, but Gwynn grabs his arm and says, “I want it to be.” Since she needed to squeeze it in before he opened the door, she hadn’t actually finished her idiotic smiling, and he actually for the first time registers in her face what MJ and Ned and even their chemistry teacher had been seeing since the beginning: her total infatuation with him. And it makes him grin like an dork back.

He swings open the door with more force than he intended, forgetting about his super strength in his excitement. Both MJ and Ned are standing there, and become startled by how elated he looks.

“Woah, someone’s excited to watch Indiana Jones,” says Ned, but then MJ elbows him and tilts her head towards where Gwynn is sitting inside, that goofy grin identical to Peter’s redirected at her lap. Ned’s face illustrates his dawning realization, and he gives Peter a congratulatory punch on the arm on the way in.

MJ and Ned share a lot of knowing glances, which they’ve gotten very used to at this point, through the whole of the movie. When Peter puts his arm around Gwynn. When she leans into his shoulder. When he comes back from the bathroom to find her stretched out, having invaded his seat on the couch, and instead of lifting her legs to place them on his lap, he lifts her torso and places her head on his lap and starts playing with her hair. Lots and lots of knowing glances.

As Peter is turning off the TV at the end of the movie, Ned’s stomach audibly growls. He remembers what May had said when she’d been present when they first made the plan to watch the movie, which was the suggestion about the group pizza. “So May-”

MJ kicks punches him right in the groin and finishes his sentence for him, having put the pieces together as to where it was going. “Is out of town?” She knows the answer to that question, but she asks it anyway.

“Yeah,” Peter responds. “Sorry she’s not here to make dinner for us.” He glances briefly at Gwynn, who has risen from his lap and is stretching. MJ gets it.

Ned doesn’t. “We could- Ow!”

Another punch to the groin. “We could come over another time to enjoy May’s delicious cooking, but if we want to make dinner at our own house’s we should probably go, right Ned?”

Ned’s realization of the situation is so clear on his face that Peter rubs his hand on the back of his neck and glances nervously at Gwynn again, praying she didn’t notice. She did, but she’s successfully playing it off like she didn’t by closing her eyes and stretching more.

An hour or so later, and Peter and Gwynn are sitting at the Mexican place down the street from Peter’s apartment. Their options are limited due to transportation and high school budgets. They’re having an excellent time, chatting and munching on chips and guac. Gwynn goes to the bathroom, and when she returns, Peter’s brain has wandered to how the two spider people who keep swooping in haven’t been picked up by the media yet. His super hero name was plastered all over newspapers and magazines, and videos were popping up on YouTube, immediately upon Peter beginning his escapades nearly two years ago. And yet, he hadn’t heard a thing on these additional spider people ever in his life. How were they managing to be so covert?

Gwynn’s return from the bathroom coinciding perfectly with the arrival of the entrees brings him back to reality, but this problem keeps pestering him.

This was the first date Gwynn and Peter go on, but it’s far from their last. They get into a routine of weekend evening dates: going to the movies and dinner, but also more budget-friendly options, like star gazing on the roof of Peter’s building or walking in the park. Peter feels guilty whenever he has to duck out because of a crisis that needs Spider Man, but Gwynn doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, her sudden needs to exit tend to coincide pretty exactly with his, which Peter figures is her just being nice. But she genuinely doesn’t seem bothered by what everyone else in his life has considered one of Peter’s worst traits: his flakiness. They make up for lost time in pockets. It’s totally cool.

They’re both really happy.

_______________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 4

Even against three spider people, these thugs were too powerful. All three are now sitting against a wall, arms bound behind their backs, legs bound in front of them, backs bound to chairs, sitting in the dark, alone. The tied hands make it impossible for the two non-Peter spider people to touch their belts and miniaturize their way out of this situation, which is extremely inconvenient and unfortunate. It had all happened so fast.

Peter watches them closely, the eyes on his suit narrowed. The pair keeps looking at each other, but it’s even more impossible to gauge their emotions than his own, because their goggles don’t adjust with their facial expressions the way his mask-eyes do.

After a few pained minutes of silence, he finally blurts out, “Who the hell are you guys??”

The deep voice to match the earlier sigh Peter remembers asks dryly, “Your biggest concern right now is who we are?”

Peter stammers, “I mean- No of course- I mean it’s not my, my biggest concern, but it’s a concern, yes, one concern I-I have.”

For the first time, Peter hears the voice of the red and white spider person when they can’t help but send a laugh soaring through the air right into his ears. It’s melodious, and gleeful despite their dire circumstances, and Peter would recognize it anywhere.

“GWYN???”

“SSSHHHH!” Both spider people emphatically, and in perfect unison, shush him.

Peter’s head is spinning, and it’s not from the kick to the head he got earlier. “Gwyn??” he whispers his repetition.

“Hi, Peter.” Her voice is soft, and betrays a feeling of guilt.

“H-how — I mean wh-who is Peter?” he says, lowering his voice unconvincingly.

It’s the black and white spider person who speaks up in response, “Bitch, you pegged her by her voice from one laugh, you think we didn’t figure it out when we first heard you on YouTube two years ago? We’ve been going to school together since middle school, man.”

It takes that many words for Peter to figure out this voice: Miles. Miles Morales. Gwynn’s half-brother. Of course. Peter couldn’t figure it out as quickly, from the sigh or from the snappy comment about concerns, because he wasn’t as familiar with his voice. In all fairness, Miles hadn’t ever laughed, hair splayed out on Peter’s bed, while Peter committed that moment to memory because it was the happiest he’d ever felt in a long time.

Peter is going through a whole rollercoaster of emotions. Gwynn is this other spider person. How could she keep this secret from him? Then again, he kept his secret from her (though badly, apparently). But she knew about him and still didn’t tell him so that almost makes it worse, right? But here she is tied up and in danger, and that makes Peter’s heart sink. But he’s seen what she’s capable of, and if he wasn’t nervous for her as other-spider-person, why should he be nervous for her now? She can handle herself. He should be overjoyed that he doesn’t have to worry about pulling away from her for her own safety, like he was honestly considering doing since he was finally owning up to the depth of his feelings, and the thought of her being used against him by some villain had terrified him. And the ‘internship’ doesn’t have to keep him from seeing her anymore; he can see her and spend time with her while still keeping the city safe. Well, except he already has, he just didn’t know it. And they can’t be much more open or chatty or anything than they have been, so that doesn’t actually change much. But-

“Earth to Spider Man!!” Miles’ whispered voice snaps Peter back to reality.

“Huh- uh- yeah?” Peter sputters.

“See if you can use your foot to tap her emblem. If she can shrink she can get us all out of here.”

It’s then Peter realizes that Gwynn’s managed to scoot her chair across the floor a little closer to him, despite her bound feet. She’s thrusting her hips out as far as she can, out at him.

“Uh- sure.” Peter lifts his bound feet up, feeling like an awkward, captive merman. He aims too low at first and is grateful beyond belief that neither of them can see his face at that moment. But on the second try, he nudges the spider emblem with his toe, and Gwynn zoops down into her spider-sized self, free of the human-sized shackles.

Immediately, without hesitation, she casts a web and swings over to Miles’s chair to save him first. Peter is surprised when this stings just the tiniest bit, but of course she’s going to prioritize Miles over him, he’s her brother. so Peter admonishes himself internally for being a stupid, jealous jerk. Once Miles is also small, he jumps over (it’s a little terrifying how far he can jump for being that tiny, just like real jumping spiders Peter thinks) and starts working on untying Peter’s hands, while Gwynn runs along the floor and starts on his feet.

“I saw that,” Miles presses into Peter’s ear as the ropes fall from his wrists. “Careful around my sister.”

Gwynn hops up onto Peter’s lap in order to work on the ropes tying him to the back of the chair. He’s blushing because of her current position on his body, but she runs along the outer edge of his thigh to pull at a knot near his hip. “I’m not a baby, Miles. I’m not even your baby sister so don’t start. It’s not like I’ve never wanted him to touch there.” It’s hard for Peter to tell since they’re so miniscule, but he thinks Gwynn has just winked at him. At this point, his entire body is managing to blush a deep red under his suit, matching its hue.

“Way too much information,” Miles mumbles, and the final set of ropes fall to the floor, so that all three are free.

“That’s what you get for butting into my business.” Tiny-Gwynn swings right into tiny-Miles, purposefully knocking him off course, on her way to the door. She slides underneath it with ease, and a few seconds later the boys can hear the sound of the latch turning, and then the door swings open. They fairly easily fight their way past the thugs, who don’t even know where two thirds of the blows are coming from.

Once outside the building, Miles and Gwynn grow again. They go to give Peter that signature two-fingered salute, but then Gwynn suddenly reaches over and kisses him on the cheek. There are two masks between Gwynn’s lips and his cheek, but he still feels that cheek and the other get warm.

Miles shoots a web up onto the side of a building with one arm and grabs Gwynn around the waist by the other. “That’s enough of that,” he says, and swings off with her into the night.

And thus another three-spider escapade ends in Peter standing alone in an alley with a bunch of questions.

When he finally sneaks back into his room through his window, Gwynn is waiting for him, nervously biting her nails and sitting on the edge of the bed. She turns when she hears him enter.

“Sorry about my brother.” She rolls her eyes, but then looks at him apologetically. “Do you totally hate me?”

Peter plops down next to her with a sigh. “I could never hate you, Gwynn. But why didn’t you just tell me?”

Gwynn goes into defensive mode. “You didn’t tell me!” she practically yells.

“But you knew!” Peter actually yells, matching her defensiveness.

“Everything ok, Peter?” He hears May’s voice through the wall.

“Yeah, just yelling at the TV!” he shouts back.

“Ok, well, just remember, it’s not real. And go to bed soon.”

By the time Peter looks back at Gwynn after this exchange, her face has softened significantly. “I’m so sorry, Peter. Every time I told Miles I wanted to tell you, he talked me out of it. He said it was better not to complicate anything, in either part of our lives.”

Peter nods, then let his head fall onto Gwynn’s shoulder. She kisses the top of his head and starts running her fingers through his hair. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it,” he says, more as a statement than a question.

“Loving you is easy,” escapes Gwynn’s lips, before she realizes what she’s just said.

Peter’s eyes go wide, and he removes his head from her shoulder to look at her with those wide eyes. “What?”

Gwynn rubs the back of her neck nervously. “Shit. I’m complicating things again. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

Peter refuses to accept her apology, choosing instead to grab her shirt by the waist, pull her torso in towards his, and plant his lips on hers. By the time they pull away, they’re both smiling, and they lay their foreheads against each other. “I love you too,” Peter whispers.

It’s Gwynn’s turn to grab something of Peter’s (his face), pull it towards her and kiss him forcefully. She sinks back into his pillows, as she’s done before, but she’s never done it such that Peter ended up on top of her with his tongue in her mouth; that part is new.

They straighten out so that no one’s legs are dangling off the side of the bed, but instead Gwynn’s knees are up and Peter is between them. He pulls his head back, looks at her cheekily, and says, “That was quite a thing to say back there, about me touching you.”

Peter had flushed pink when Gwynn had said it, and now it was her turn to flush pink at his bringing it up. “I was pissed at my brother,” she says.

Peter pulls back even further and puts his hands up. “So you don’t want that and I should just stay away from that whole region?”

“Oh shut up.” Gwynn pulls him back down by his shirt and he collapses into her happily.

The sounds of activity coming from May’s room on the other side of a pretty thin wall are pretty much the only things making Peter keep his hands to himself (mostly) at this particular moment in time, but they do make out for a while. Like, a while.

Then Peter turns onto his side to face her and saucily murmurs, “So that was just to get back at your brother, right?”

Gwynn scrunches her face up. “Please never mention my brother anywhere near us making out ever again.”

Peter can’t help but smile. “So it’s going to happen again.”

Gwynn smiles back at him. “Obviously.” She presses her lips to his again. After pulling away she adds, “But yes, clearly, this was one elaborate revenge plot against my brother for butting into my love life.”

Peter chuckles, but he also can’t help but feel a tiny twinge of insecurity. Gwynn doesn’t have spidey-senses (she wasn’t bit by a radioactive spider; she just has a fancy suit), but she can read Peter like a book by now, and, sensing his anxiety, she grabs him by the back of the neck and presses her forehead to his.

“I love you, Peter Parker,” she whispers, nuzzling his nose with hers.

He grins, “I know,” he quotes Star Wars like the nerd he is, so she slaps him upside the head lightly and rolls onto her back with a giggle. He presses a kiss into her cheek, then whispers right in her ear, “I love you too.”

He scoops her into his arms, letting her head lean against his chest where she lets the beat of his heart lull her to a deep sleep.

In the morning, May knocks lightly and, receiving no response, opens the door a crack and peeks in. She sees the couple all snuggled up, the faint hints of smiles on both of their faces. Her face produces its own smile, and she retreats back to the kitchen and makes enough pancakes for three.

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#kuwtp4kwc

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#kuwtp4kwc