#spider-man reader insert

"Woo-hoo!"

The thrill of knowing that he and the other two Peters had succeeded momentarily caused him to forget himself. His voice echoing back against the windowed walls of the nearby skyscrapers reminded him. He clapped one hand over his mouth and moved away from the ledge he stood on. Yes, those were definitely his lips, not the smooth expanse of spandex he should have felt. Swearing, he hastily smoothed out the crumpled mask in his hand and yanked it over his head.

"Ow! Mother—"

Another important detail lost in the euphoria: He hurt, badly, not just his face, but every inch of him. Dr. Connors and Max being out there somewhere, safe and (hopefully) sane made the pain worth it. Even more hopefully, the return of their sanity would keep them out of trouble for the time being. Peter had two important things to do before he went to check on his former nemeses. At least he could get both things done at the same place if he played his cards right.

Peter took several swift steps back to his original position. Then he stopped. All he needed to do was take a cab. The nagging voice in the back of his head that claimed he deserved no joy—installed there when Captain Stacy passed and firmly rooted after Gwen followed—came back with a vengeance. Go home, Peter, the slow way. Forget you ever believed you could be as happy as the others.

For a long moment, he gazed out into the hazy night with his jaw set. A simple thought interrupted this familiar torrent of self-flagellation: No. Not anymore.

And Peter flew.

He soared. He swooped. Wind rushed past him, unable to get a solid grip with the speed he used. Each dip was lower than the last; each high, higher. A wild laugh rose unbidden from his throat. Though he had never quit being Spider-Man again—not since the Rhino nearly flattened a little boy in Peter's absence—he had not allowed himself to enjoy the gig either. Now, free for the first time in ages, the butterflies that erupted in his stomach whenever the street rose up to meet him went straight to his head, leaving him almost giddy.

Perhaps the source of his jubilance was the same thing leading him onward to his destination like some sort of homing beacon.

Of course, Spider-Man couldn't just waltz right inside. Doing so would cause undue commotion. Reluctantly—because every second he put this off risked his succumbing to the voice inside his head that said he shouldn't bother—Peter landed softly in a dim, brown side street containing one of his many stashes of civilian clothes. Moments later, he emerged to join the endless stream pedestrians. Despite the painful heartbeat in his palms making the moment feel eternal, it did not take long to find an opportunity to stroll through the automatic front doors of Forest Hill Hospital's emergency room.

Bright white light pierced his eyes. Good thing he knew this place like the back of his hand. The murky blur to his right covered in vague smears of various skin colors was the waiting area. The bright square ahead led to the hospital hallway. And up front sat a desk the same dingy white as the floor. Here Peter stopped and offered a winning (if still blinded) smile.

"Hey, Marge. How are you doing this fine—er—early morning?" he asked.

A dark-skinned woman wearing scrubs patterned in splotches of teal, pink, and purple looked up from her paperwork to turn an unimpressed gaze on him. "Peter Parker, you've been fighting again."

"What? No. I—ouch!" The simple act of casually leaning an arm on Marge's reception desk made his shoulder scream. He could only imagine what he looked like, and hastily amended: "Okay. I've been fighting a little. But I swear, this time, these guys came at me first."

"Don't they always."

Marge's attempt at staying annoyed fell flat. The crease of concern between her eyebrows became increasingly obvious until, a moment or two later, she reached for the phone next to her.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked.

"Paging May."

Peter forced a laugh that made his entire mouth taste like rust. "You don't need to do that. I don't want to bother her at work."

"Peter, you practically dragged one of your legs behind you the whole way in here. Now, she doesn't have to be involved in your care, but she should know you're receiving treatment."

"I didn't come here to get treated."

"What other reason would you have for coming to the emergency room in your condition?"

"I came to see..."

But he trailed away as the reply to Marge's question came walking straight through the set of doors leading to the hallway all on her own. Every other color in the room seemed to seep into her and light her up from the inside out: [color] skin with most of the makeup rubbed off after so many hours at work; [color] hair disheveled from running this way and that all shift; [color] scrubs splattered with vibrant yellow-brown vomit across their fronts.

[F Name] [L Name] did not show any sign that she noticed Peter standing there gawking at her from a few feet away. She pushed a wheelchair containing a squirming, booted child to the exit, all the while rattling off a list of instructions and advice to the concerned woman walking in step with her. And then the child hopped right off the chair and ran out to a waiting car idling just outside. [Name] waved them goodbye before finally, finally turning around to lock eyes with Peter.

Something behind him thunked—Marge putting the phone back down. She smiled at him knowingly. "If she's who you came to see, get on with it. We're busy. She'll make sure you take some ibuprofen anyway."

He returned her grin while nervously fluffing the hair on the back of his head. During this exchange, you marched wordlessly right past the desk in the direction from which you had come. Peter started, then jogged after you.

"[Name]!"

You stopped, arms crossed, eyebrows barely raised. "Peter, you've been fighting again."

"They hit me first."

"Don't they always."

"That's what I said," Marge chimed in. Peter motioned for her to stay out of it, but this only caused her to lean a hand on her chin to clearly signal she had no intention of doing so.

While he was distracted once again, you turned to leave. Peter reached out to grab your shoulder and stop you without thinking. He released you immediately, as though gripping you like that caused him pain—and it did, but his rapid retraction had more to do with the flash of warning in your [color] eyes than anything else. Just to emphasize that he hadn't meant anything by it, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. The cuts on his fingers stung in protest, but he thought he did a passable job of not wincing when he asked:

"Where are you going?"

"To get May," you answered flatly.

"No!" Why did everyone insist on doing that first? Wasn't he a grown-ass man in his mid-20s? "I promise I will talk to May in a little bit. But I didn't come here to get patched up. I came to see you."

"While you're actively bleeding from the face?"

"Am I? Sh—" He'd taken your bait and pressed a thumb right into a gash on his cheek. "Not the point right now. I just need to talk to you."

You made to turn again. "If you're still here when I go on my break—"

"Now. Please?"

He didn't know exactly what got you to change your mind. You had seen him in worse condition than this since you'd met him. Maybe he'd made the pleading note in his voice just a little too obvious. After a moment of heart-stopping hesitation, you sighed in defeat.

"Marge, is it all right if I take my fifteen now?" you asked.

"Harper should be back any minute. Just don't take longer than fifteen," said Marge.

You flashed her a thumbs-up before pushing through the metal doors. No one objected to Peter following you inside, nor remaining at your heels as you weaved your way through the busy hospital corridors to the employees-only break room. He spent so much time there that some members of the staff probably thought he worked there, too. Thankfully, no such staff members (or those who knew he only came to have lunch with May and spend time with [Name]) were taking their breaks when the two of you walked inside.

The place smelled like stale coffee and iodine. That hadn't changed. But had it always been this gleaming in here? The cheap plastic card table blazed white; the wobbly chairs screamed orange; and the sofa glared blue. He soon became too captivated by watching you move to the back counter containing the coffee maker and a microwave to wonder more about the loud colors. All Peter could do was stare until you snapped him out of his trance via shoving a hot paper cup in his face.

"Do me a favor and try to stay awake and upright long enough to tell me why I'm giving up my break for you, won't you?" you said.

He grabbed the cup and took a sip without answer. Once the scalding liquid sloshed into his stomach, he coughed out a laugh.

"God, that's awful!"

"Peter? Are you...okay?"

"Fine. Better than fine, actually. Everything—everything's so beautiful, you know? Even Forest Hill's terrible coffee."

As if to prove his point, he gulped down the rest of the sludge, then smacked his lips for dramatic effect. This did not seem to settle your nerves. Quite the contrary; now you looked downright worried.

"Did you hit your head during the fight?"

"No. No, I promise. Listen, I need..."

It struck him in that moment that he might have skipped a few steps. If he moved forward like this, he'd only end up in the same old downward, on-again, off-again spiral that he had had with Gwen. Two ghosts bogged him down enough as it was. The last thing he needed was a third. And yes, Gwen had known, made her own decisions that played a part in that horrible night. But the other MJ—the MJ he had saved—knew as well. He couldn't not give you the same choice when he wanted so badly for this to work out.

"I need to show you something," he finished.

"Can you do it in less than twelve minutes?"

"Uh..."

"Peter, I need to keep this job."

"I'll try."

Then...nothing happened. The ancient fridge buzzed audibly in the background. You drummed your fingers against the sides of your cup. Peter held in his breath. Several precious seconds were wasted in utter silence.

"Well?" you asked pointedly.

Peter, having got lost in your eyes again, started. "Well, what?"

"Are you going to show me or what?"

"Now? Here?"

"I got the impression you thought it was kind of important, yeah."

"I can't exactly show you here..." he said, trailing off into a weak laugh.

You exhaled sharply, discarded your nearly-untouched coffee in the bin, and muttered, "I'm getting back to work."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No."

He couldn't let this opportunity pass him by. That awful voice hissing about his unworthiness would only get louder the more time he spent with you without saying anything; it always did. Peter sped past you before you could reach the door. This time, he didn't apologize when he touched you. His fingers wrapped firmly yet carefully around your wrist, and he pulled.

"Peter!" you snapped as you stumbled after him.

The eyes he turned on you were pleading. "We don't have to go far. Okay?"

He took your silence—and the relaxing of your arm inside his grip—as permission to continue. But he knew that didn't pause the rapidly-dwindling countdown hanging over his head. Swiftly (although much less swiftly than he would have liked or was capable of), he led you down the hallway to a door with a gleaming red "EXIT" sign above it. This he tugged you through after he made sure no one else was watching.

Thank God, no one had chosen this moment to take a smoke break either. The early morning air was crisp, but the tang of nicotine lingered still. The barest hint of sunrise pink haloed over the tops of the buildings surrounding this backstreet.

"And what exactly are we supposed to be doing out here?" you asked.

"Hold on just a—hey, what's that over there?"

"What's what?"

In the half-second you turned in the direction of the closest street, Peter shot the lurking security camera with a wad of webbing. The camera probably didn't work, but better safe than sorry. And he did it just in time, too. You stopped craning your neck to see past the distant violet streetlight to shoot him a look of outright suspicion.

"I must be seeing things. Probably got conked on the head real good during my fight. Sorry about that."

"You've got less than ten minutes now."

"Okay. Hold on. Just...don't freak out, all right?"

"Why would I..."

Without breaking eye contact with you, Peter backed up against the brick wall, pressed his palms right to it, and slowly inched his way upward until he clung there several feet about your head.

"Oh, my God," you said.

Peter cracked a smile. "Surprise?"

You lifted your shaking hands to your mouth, lowered them, and moved slowly forward. Peter disengaged from the wall upon seeing your approach. He landed neatly on the ground just in front of you before digging around in his back pocket long enough to find his wadded-up Spider-Man mask. Your sharp inhale seemed to indicate you recognized it.

"I guess they really do always hit you first," you said, your eyes fixed on the red-and-blue material."

Peter chuckled, a hopeful sound. "Most of the time."

The way your eyes locked on his silenced that hope. You took one more step nearer. Then you asked the last question he expected:

"Why are you telling me this?"

Not Why didn't you tell me before? Not Who do you think you are? Not even How dare you burden me with this knowledge? Only curiosity as to why you could be trusted with his secret now—and Peter knew then that it was because it had never been about trusting you. It had always been about trusting himself.

His arm holding his mask flopped to his side. "Because I have something more important to tell you, but you needed to know this first."

The two of you stood close enough that your breaths mingled when you said: "And that is?"

"I love you, [Name]."

You shivered. Peter gulped and went on:

"I don't think I love you. I know it. I've known it for years, but I didn't have the courage to say anything about it. I still don't know if this is the right thing to do, but I—but I—but I—"

"Peter." A gentle palm to his chest quieted him. "Breathe. Just tell me what brought all this on tonight."

"I think you're my MJ," he blurted.

"Huh?"

"I got sent to another universe where there was another Peter Parker. Actually, there were two other Peter Parkers. And all of us are Spider-Man—well, the one from that universe is more of a Spider-Boy. Anyway, nothing was perfect for them either."

Your mouth fell open, and Peter went on:

“The younger Peter, he’s got these big plans to go to MIT with his friends. Can you believe it? Me? At MIT? And the other one—well, he's got a bad back, but he just had this calmness about him that I sure as hell don't have. And we got to talking, and it turns out they both have the same girlfriend—okay. Not the same-same girlfriend. That—that sounds really gross. The older one's nearly 50. But they're both called MJ. And that got me thinking about how I don't have an MJ, and maybe that makes a difference. Peter—the older Peter—he said—"

A distinct glaze had covered your eyes. Way to not stick the landing, Peter.

"Okay. I—I get it. Multiverses. Multi-Peters. It's a lot to adjust to. You just found out about the whole Spider-Man thing. Maybe take it slow. Maybe don't mention that magic exists in this other universe?"

You gave an infinitesimal nod in reply.

When Peter spoke again, he did his absolute best to speak more slowly and skip straight to the point: "I haven't let myself be happy since Gwen died. I didn't think the universe would allow somebody like me to be happy. But now I think I could be happy...maybe...with you...if you're interested?"

You stared. At least your eyes had returned to their typical sheen. That had to be a good sign, right? Peter held his breath and waited. Spiders could stay underwater for a long time, so he didn't have to breathe again anytime soon. But even his lungs began to burn before you said another word. He had just realized what in incredibly stupid thing he'd just done when you finally moved, launching forward to grab a fistful of the front of his sheet and yank his mouth right up against yours. HIs cry of pain was quickly stifled.

The kiss wasn't long—at first. You drew away almost immediately. Peter, on the other hand, stepped closer. He no longer cared that every single inch of body hurt. Both your lips moved together with such synchronicity that any passerby might have thought you and Peter had been kissing for years. His hands found your waist. Your fingers found his hair. When you parted, Peter's lips stung in the best way possible.

"Wow. Shouldn't you have taken me to dinner first?" he asked.

Your pupils remained blown wide even when you narrowed your eyes at him. "After all the years of flirting without any hint you reciprocated?"

"Yeah. Okay. I'll take you out first."

"You're gonna have to get a consistent job first, Parker."

"You might need to, too. Pretty sure we were kissing for more than what was left of your break."

With a yelp, you pulled your phone out of your scrub pocket. Whatever you saw there caused you to scurry for the door back inside. "If I get fired over a love confession, I swear I'll—"

"Break up with me?" he offered.

You paused for a second, then you turned a soft expression toward him. "Promise you're not going to meet a girl actually named MJ before the end of my shift?"

He lifted his right hand and solemnly said, "You're my MJ, [Name]. It just took me a while to work that out."

You disappeared only to reemerge a moment later. "Get some sleep before our dinner date. You look like death warmed over. I can't be seen with you out in public like this."

"All right, all right. I'll take a nap if you promise not to wear that top tonight."

The look on your face when you spotted the splatter of throw up across your clothes indicated you'd entirely forgotten about it during that kissing session. Still, you kept it together and did not deign to respond to him as you went back inside. Just as Peter went to turn and leave, you stuck your head out once again.

"And take some pain meds, or I really will tell May you got in another fight. And I won't tell her whose fault it was."

He lifted both his hands in surrender. Seeing this, you smiled, hesitated, and blew him a kiss. You didn't come back this time around. Peter slowly lowered his arms and laughed. The bright sound of it sparkled into the lightening sky, now Easter blue and pink and yellow above the familiar gray-brown tops of the buildings. Peter strode for the nearby street, only to stop a few inches away, bite his lip, and slip into the remaining shadows to change.

“Ah, Jesus…” 

“Pete?” You come out of the bedroom at the sound of his groaning, he’s leaning against the back of the couch with one hand, still in his Spidey suit except for the mask, which is on the couch. His other hand is pressed back against the middle of his back, as he bends and stretches in an attempt to work out a crick that keeps coming back. His notorious middle back pain. He’s only in his twenties, but his back pain has been getting worse and more persistent. Until this point you’ve let him get on with it, helping him stretch and massaging his back when you can. But, you know he probably needs to see a professional about it. “Hey, baby…I’m okay, really.” He waves you off, head tilted back as he gasps at the twinge in his back. You close the gap between you, taking his face in your hands and brushing your fingers across his cheeks in an effort to soothe his discomfort. He leans into you like you’re a fresh breeze on a boiling hot summer day. It worries you, a lot, how much Peter hurts sometimes. In these normal ways particularly. A cut you can see, it’ll heal and it’ll be gone, but the persistence of his back ache has you worried because you have no idea if it's more serious than just an ache.  

“Is it your back again?”

“Yeah, I must have over done the whole swinging thing today…Ah..” Your hands glide down from his face over his shoulders to press over his own on his back, pushing his own hands out of the way, you feel for the tension in the middle of his back. Tight like stone rather than muscle, so hard you almost feel the pain yourself. 

“Peter, sweetheart…” You start to rub little circles into the muscle, watch as the smallest bit of relief fills Peter’s face, his brows softening, his face slacking. But, you know it’d be better if you got him to lie down on your bed and had a proper go at tackling it. He needs a wash too, he’s clearly been thrown about tonight, face covered in dirt and suit covered in it too. He looks like he’s been up a chimney. 

“Oh nooo, you never call me that unless i’m not gonna like it…” Your hands still as he looks down at you. You have that look on your face, the one Peter knows means that you’re about to tell him to do something that he might not want to do. Always because you care about him, always because you worry. 

“Have you considered that maybe, just putting the idea out there, maybe your bad back isn’t from the swinging…but from all the falling and crashing into cars and buildings that you do?”

“What? I don’t…baby, I don’t fall and crash into things that much I mean…” Okay, so maybe he fell through a couple of buildings today and last week…and the week before that and before that…but, his back is a temporary issue, Peter’s sure of it. It’s not serious, he’s still fit enough to carry you in his arms, toss you over his shoulder, and make love to you like the youthful twenty-six year old that he is. He’s not incapable, he’s fine. He’s fine and he’s not getting old. 

You can see him getting his back up, all defensive, as he pulls away from your hands. He’s never liked admitting he needs help or that there’s a problem, always needing to be capable, in fear of people leaving, abandoning him. You’re not going to run away because his back hurts, but you know deep down he’s scared you might, he’s scared you might not need him or want him anymore. He’s scared that when he starts needing your help, you’ll leave because it’s too much effort. It’s silly because you never would. You love him and his rickety back. You love looking after him and making him feel loved. But you also know that he still needs to learn that, to move past the trauma of being abandoned at his Aunt and Uncle’s house. The trauma of being the kid no one really liked much in school. The trauma of two of the people he loved most dying and leaving him alone. You see a lot of your own fears in Peter, it’s why you never run away from it, because you understand that something as small as admitting his back is a problem might seem like a bigger issue entirely. He’s always the capable one, always the one everyone needs to solve his problems, if he can’t do that? You know he wonders if people will stick around. 

“Last week you crashed through the grocery store, then fell on a taxi and got thrown through a bus…a bus, Peter….Just, you’re not getting younger and…” You reach for him as he pulls away, knowing he wants you to follow. He wants you to persist, to prove to him you’re not fed up with him. So you grab his hands and interlock your fingers together, holding him close and squeeze his hands a couple of times. 

Peter lets you draw near, stepping into his space. “Baby, are you calling me old?! Do you…are you going to find yourself a younger man, is that it?” It’s said as a joke on his end, but…it’s not really. You’re not that far apart in age, but he feels older and he feels like he’s not as good at loving you anymore. Maybe he’s too much like hard work now…the truth is he's not sure what he would do if you didn’t love him anymore. He loves you so much, so deeply that he can’t imagine a life without you next to him. When he thinks of the future, he sees you and him with rings on your left hands, maybe there’s a couple of kids involved or…or maybe you just get a pet. But, you’re always part of that plan, no one else. The thought of you leaving…it hurts. 

For you, he’s never going to be too much like hard work to love. Loving him feels easy, is easy, even when things get rocky or bumpy. There’s never been a moment when you’ve felt that feeling slip, where it’s disappeared, not even for a second. 

“Peter, I love my older man,” You say as if he’s ten years your senior and not just a year older. As if he’s in his forties and not his twenties. “But, I'm serious. Maybe you should see an actual chiropractor, just so it doesn't get worse. I will love you till the end, but I want you to look after yourself. I’m good, but I’m not a licensed chiropractor, baby.” You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him in for a tight embrace, one you know he needs. 

You’re so warm, so soft, so you. You smell like your favourite perfume and that hair mask you put on when you’re treating yourself. You mold your body against his, so tight there’s barely any gaps between you and he doesn’t mind even when his back twinges a little at the embrace. He’s just happy to hear those words. That you love him, that you’re not stopping. That this is just you making sure he’s okay, not anything else. He loves you, God, Peter loves you. He never thought he’d love again after Gwen and he hopes he never has to love another person again. Just you.  

“Yeah, honey, sure, how am I gonna explain why my back hurts? Oh, yeah, so I'm Spider-Man…and a giant gorilla threw me through a building last week and my back hasn’t been the same since?” Despite the sarcasm, he’s smiling at you, hands slipping into the back pockets of your jeans as he pulls you closer. He can be the most difficult man on earth. 

You roll your eyes at him, always so defiant whenever you suggest professional attention, all in the name of his secret as if lying isn’t an option. It’s not like he told you the truth about all those bruises when you first became friends. You’re beginning to suspect your boyfriend just really doesn’t like seeing doctors or medical professionals. “American football? Rugby? Gymnastics? Maybe you’re an acrobat at a circus? You can’t keep avoiding help, Peter!” You supply some pretty plausible excuses, if you do say so yourself.

“Baby, sweetheart, love of my life, pain in my ass.” he pinches your ass as he says it and you poke him in the stomach and Peter pulls back just a little with a laugh and then a gasp of pain, before his smile drops into something softer as he presses his forehead to yours. “I’m fine. Really. Your back rubs always help and it’s not like you don’t get back ache too. We’re both getting old, two cute old people, together with our achy bones and our little zimmer frames. ”

You try to resist the smile that brings out of you, but it’s impossible. He’s so cute that despite your attempts at stopping it all that happens is your smile comes out scrunched up. “Stop being cute, Pete.” You look away for a moment, composing yourself, before returning to the seriousness at hand. He hates that he can never get you off topic, you’re like a dog with a bone sometimes. Distraction doesn’t work. You’re too smart for that. Your attempt at not smiling is cute though. You’re cute all the time, he thinks. “I just worry…I’m not the one falling on top of cars from a great height.”

“I know you worry. I love you for that, but it’s okay…I’m okay, baby.” He pulls you closer, hands still in your back pockets like you’re in high school and kisses you. It’s sweet and familiar, the way his lips press against your own and his tongue traces your bottom lip lazily. He’s so familiar at this point you’d be able to pick his kiss out from a line up, the way he tastes, the way he always pushes as close to you as he can get, the press of his nose into your cheek, dimpling your skin. Even the way his hands move to grip your hips, firm and secure. You couldn’t mistake Peter Parker’s kiss for anyone else's.

He loves kissing you. You’re a sweet kisser even in the throes of passion, you kiss him like you love him (which you do). You’re gentle with him and constantly drawing him closer, like he’ll never be close enough. He kisses you because loves to, but…there’s a part of him that hopes it’ll distract you from your worry about him. That you’ll let it go. He knows that’s a fool’s errand though. You’ve never let anything go in your entire life, especially not when it comes to caring about him and how he’s doing. Even when he thinks you’ve let it go, you’ve just put it aside for a moment to bring up again later. You’re stubborn like that, it can be a pain, but…he loves it about you too.   

You pull back first and he follows your lips pushing forward and you push him back by the shoulders. He blinks at you with a pout, hands tightening on your hips to drag you back towards him, your next words stop his attempt at kissing you again. A great distraction you know he’s trying to employ. You know all his tricks by now, whether he realises that or not. 

“You hurt anywhere else?” You take the time to look him over, noticing a couple of scratches and a few holes in his suit, easy patches, but the skin underneath is scabbed over and angry. You can’t see anything major, but with Peter it’s hard to tell sometimes. 

“No, not really. Couple of bruises, a couple of scratches, nothing major. I’m fine, I promise, baby.” He can see you cataloguing his body, what might be wrong with him, you have it down to a fine art, often knowing the answer before you ask the question. He knows better than to lie to you or hide anything major, if he did…he knows you’d be angry, he knows it wouldn’t end well, and Peter values your relationship too much to risk it because he’s worried you’ll know about some broken bones or cuts.

You pull back from him, grabbing his hands as you go to remove them from your hips. Peter groans at you, “Babe?” You just smile and lock your fingers together, tugging him towards the bathroom as you go. 

“C’mon, we’re getting you a bath and one of my world famous massages.” He stumbles after you, only now realising just how tired he actually is after a whole day of work and an evening of patrolling the city. His feet ache as you pull him after you. 

“You’re treating me to the whole works tonight, huh? Is it a special occasion? Did I do something?” You sit him on the lid of the toilet when you make it to the bathroom, running your hands through his messy brown strands, trying to tame them for a moment. His deep big brown eyes seem to glitter when he looks up at you like that, a warm flush to his cheeks as he leans into your touch like a cat seeking warm sunlight on a windowsill. 

“Only being your handsome-” you cut yourself off to lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose, “funny-” the apple of his cheek, “wonderful-” that spot between his brows that he furrows so much “sweet self.” He’s bright red in the face, even the tips of his ears are warm and you giggle at it, adorable as he can be before pulling yourself away to run him a bath. 

He’s not as fussy as you when it comes to his baths, but you know he needs a nice warm one right now, to help get him clean and limber him up a bit before you have a go at unknotting some of that tension in his back. It’s not an uncommon ritual, but Peter tends to shy away from you caring for him, especially if he could be caring for you instead. He often prefers to give than take, it’s a similar situation in the bedroom too. Always the giver and rarely a willing receiver. 

He watches you as you run the bath for him, sitting on the edge of the tub, running your hand through the water to make sure it’s not too cold or too hot. He can imagine you doing it for your future kids, a small child sitting where he is, waiting for bath time as you check if it's safe for them to go in. He can see you bringing out rubber ducks and bath toys, making up silly scenes for them, can see and almost feel the tender way you’d smooth the top of their hair and press a kiss to it. God, he wants that with you. A family. He wants it so badly he can feel his chest ache with a yearning inside him. 

“What’ya thinking about, Tiger?” 

“Mmm?” Peter shakes his head and refocuses on you, you’re watching him with soft eyes, but scanning his head now as if looking for a bruise or a bump. You push his hair back from his forehead and use it as a pretence, he can feel you searching his head for a bump or cut, any indication that his spacing out isn’t just him being Peter.

“You, you’re thinking hard over here…or are you just concussed?” He shakes his head, no he’s fine. Not a single knock to the noggin’. You seem content when you don’t find any indication of a bump. “What were you thinking about, baby?” 

“Just you…”

“Just me?” You feel warmth run through you, a little smiling tugging at the corners of your mouth as Peter watches you. There’s a little guarded look behind his eyes as he continues, like he’s worried he’s going to say the wrong thing. 

“And maybe…” You reach for his hand and squeeze, just enough to remind him who he’s talking to. You’ve seen him covered in blood, barely standing. Nothing he could say would make you run away. “You can tell me, Pete, have I run off yet?”  He shakes his head no. No. You’ve been here the whole time, staunchly loyal and so very, very wonderful to him. Even with nightmares and traumas and worries. Even with villains and robbers. “I just…I was thinking about h-how I'd..I'd like to have a family with you one day.”

He gets twitchy when you don’t respond immediately. You’ve pulled back a bit, a look of surprise on your face, those eyebrows of yours so high up he’s worried he’s given you a heart attack. His shoulders drop in relief when that look turns into a soft grin, your teeth showing from between your lips, eyes glittering. 

“Really? You want kids? With me?” You’ve thought about it. Yeah, of course you’ve thought about it, but Peter…you’d always thought he’d be reluctant, worried about the safety of a family and his double life. You’d let the hope sit in the back of your mind and tried not to dwell on it too much. 

“Yeah, if…if you want that…someday…” 

“If you play your cards right, Parker, yeah, I'd like that.” You’re both grinning at each other like idiots, even as you turn the taps off to the bath and pull him to his feet.

Peter struggles out of the suit today, more so than usual. His back twinging and screaming at him as he tries to shuck it off. Your hands help pull the top half over his shoulders and head, even as every muscle yells at him to stop moving. He struggles to bend, so you help him roll the bottoms off along with the shoes. You’re careful with him, taking your time. When he’s finally free of the suit it’s a relief and you urge him into the tub as you remove your own clothes.

He scoots forward, a hard feat with his long legs, as you step in behind him, wrapping your hips around his from behind. 

“You can lean back, baby. Let me take care of you, okay?”

He doesn’t really have much energy to argue as you pull him back against your chest gently. Your hands brushing back his hair and roaming over his shoulders. He can’t help but sigh loudly, the water is warm and it soothes some of that ache in his back. Your hands are gentle as you grab the bar of soap off the side and run it over his skin. 

Peter loves taking care of you, but sometimes, he has to admit that it’s nice to be taken care of too. 

You’re gentle with each cut and bruise as you run soapy hands over his body. Dirt and dry blood washed away into the water, like worries drifting away from his mind. You take extra care with his hair, pushing his legs forward and leaning him back gently, mindful of his backache as you cup water to pour over his hair. You take your time lathering and massaging the shampoo into his locks, and it’s impossible for him to keep his eyes open as your nails drag across his scalp and down to the base of skull, working at a couple of knots there. 

You don’t need to spend ten minutes washing his hair, carding your fingers through brown strands and massaging against his scalp, you both know that, but you do it anyway because you know he loves it. Peter melts whenever you touch his hair, it’s the same for you too, something so intimate and tender about it all. He doesn’t always let you take care of him, so you make the most of the opportunity while you can. 

He feels practically boneless by the time he’s fully clean and the water has run cold, other than that awful sharp tension in his back that hasn’t gone away, only dulled slightly by the warmth of the water. 

Peter doesn’t want to move, to get out of the water, but you force him out anyway and dry him off with a towel. He’d normally insist he can dry himself, but he feels heavy and you smile softly at him when he lets you do this sort of thing. 

He follows you to your shared bed, hand being tugged by yours , urging him forward despite his heavy steps until you encourage him to lie down on the bed on his front. He falls more than anything. Letting gravity force him face first onto the bed, before you urge him to scoot up higher so his legs don’t dangle off the end. Ridiculously long as they are. 

He hears the click of your knuckles as you crack your fingers, feels the weight of you as you straddle his hips and sit down gently on his thighs. It’s vulnerable like this, his body bare, his face hidden in your pillow that smells like your shampoo, his back turned to you. His trust in you is implicit, he doesn’t doubt you have his best interests at heart, that you love him or that he’s safe with you. 

You take a moment to admire his back. The strong muscles carved from every swing through the city, every punch thrown. He has beauty marks and freckles dotted over his skin like constellations of stars and you reach out a finger tip and trace a few, smirking at the shiver that runs through his back at the light touch. 

“Someone’s sensitive,” You tease him, as you lean forward breathing warm air across the back of his neck, before placing a delicate kiss at the base of his skull.

His voice is muffled in the pillow, “Not funny, m’too tired for that, baby.” 

“I know, tiger…I know.” You have no intention of having sex with Peter tonight. He’s far too tired and you’re far too concerned about his back to suggest any rigorous activity. No matter how handsome he is. 

Every touch from that moment on is innocent and meaningful. There are no more teases or light strokes as you make your way down his back, searching for every tight spot and point of pain in need of your attention. 

His shoulders are tense, rock solid underneath your hands and you're careful not to hurt him, but apply a bit more pressure there than his upper back. Peter groans and preens under your hands, sounds of relief more than anything else and you feel pride when you feel his body relax underneath you bit by bit, muscles unwinding and unfurling. 

His mid and lower back are a mess of tight knots of muscle and tension, worse than you’ve ever felt it before. It worries you, but you know you just need to persist with bugging him about it, know that all you can do for now is put your less skilled hands to the task of easing his discomfort. Until he accepts defeat and visits a professional. 

He’s always loved you, but it’s moments like this where his heart feels so full of affection for you and how you take care of him, moments like this where the thought of marrying you is so strong and overwhelming that he has to bite his tongue, lest he ask the question without the fanfare you deserve. 

“Fuck, you have magic hands, baby.” He feels more relaxed than he’s ever been. The ache in his back subdued by your hands, he doesn’t ever want to move. 

“I know, you say that everytime, webhead.” You’re careful as you make your way off of him and pull the covers back from underneath him, with very little help from Peter himself. He’s rather boneless, only having enough energy to roll onto his back and kick his feet under the covers. 

You’re quick to join him, curling up to his side and resting your head in the crook of his neck. He smells like soap and shampoo, clean, fresh. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, his arm is heavy and comforting as it wraps around your waist and pulls you tighter into him, your legs twisting and locking together. The weight of you against him, the feel of your lips pressing a kiss to his skin, is a massive comfort. 

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He mumbles it into the top of your head, a kiss pressed against your hair in those last moments before the two of you fall asleep. 

“I’ll always take care of you, Pete. That’s my job.” It’s a promise, he knows it, but as always it’s heavy and too meaningful for him not to make a joke about. Even as he wants to find some meaningful words to say in return.  

“I thought you were a teacher?”

“Shut up and go to sleep…” You roll your eyes at him and gently bite the skin of his shoulder, small and playful, a nip more than anything and he chuckles at you in the dark. 

“Night, baby. Love you.”

“Love you too, old man.” You squeal out one last noise in the dark of your room as Peter pinches the bare skin on your side, letting the silence envelope you in the same way the darkness does. 

  You stepped through the fizzling portal, and warm air enveloped you like an embrace.  It was a pleasant change from the frigid cold you’d been standing in for some time.  Your heart raced.  Goosebumps bloomed along your skin, but not from the change of temperature.  It was from the feeling that something incredible was happening.

   The last thing you expected when entering the strange portal was to find yourself standing in a cozy dining room with five people staring at you.  Two pairs of eyes were wide with amazement and confusion, belonging to a couple of teenagers.

   “Peter’s…a…girl?” The boy asked.  The teenage girl’s mouth fell open in shock.

   You quickly swiped the back of your sleeve across your damp cheeks, sniffling.  “What?” you asked, choking back a sob.  The timing of the portal was rather unfortunate.  It caught you in a moment of despair, but…it wasn’t like you could tell it to “hold up” while you composed yourself first.  Wait, why did you decide to go through it in the first place?

   “Hey, are you okay?” One of the older males asked, extending a hand.  He had unkempt, wavy hair and tender brown eyes that reminded you of a puppy’s.  His features were soft with concern over your state.

   You had to do a double-take because of the red, webbed costume he wore.  He held a mask that you recognized all too easily in his other hand.  All at once, the ache that never seemed far away flared up into a stab of agony.

   “I’m fine, just…”  You turned your face away to break eye contact.  It took you a second to find your voice again.  “I’m sorry, I was just visiting someone.”

   “You know Peter?” The oldest man of the group asked, brow furrowed as he tried to piece everything together.

   “Knew him, yes,” you replied.  At that, the others craned their necks to peer past you at the portal, narrowing their eyes to focus on the location you’d just arrived from.  You wiped your eyes again.  Silence fell over the room as they took note of the outlines of tombstones in the darkness just as the portal came to a sparking close.

   “I’m sorry,” he said.

   “May I ask what’s going on here?  Where am I?  Who are all of you?  And why…why is he dressed like Spider-Man?”  You made a vague waving motion toward the first man who had originally asked if you were alright.

   “It’s a long story,” the teenage boy in front of you chuckled nervously.

   “In short, I’m Peter,” the oldest man said.

   “And…I’m Peter.”

   Your eyes darted back and forth between the two.  “I don’t understand.”

   “We kinda’ have a multidimensional crisis on our hands,” the teenager said.  “I’m Ned, by the way.  This is M.J.  We’re all friends of Peter.”

   “Our Peter,” M.J. piped up.  “We’re just meeting these…Peters.”

   “Nice to meet you all, I guess?”  You breathed a quiet sigh to clear your thoughts.  The unique situation brought old feelings and pains back to the surface, which addled your focus.  After the initial shock, you were beginning to pick up on the tension in the room.  Muscles coiled in apprehension.  Expressions were bewildered.  You wondered if anyone here really knew what was going on.

   Apparently, there was a third Peter that needed to be found.  While the others discussed the matter, the Peter Parker in the Spider-Man suit approached.  Those brown eyes of his met yours, and he swallowed.

   “Look, I…” He ran a gloved hand through his messy hair.  “I just wanted to say that, uh, I’m…I’m sorry for your loss.”

   You drew in a sharp breath, fighting the urge to shrink away under his sympathetic gaze as a tear decided to fall against your will.  It shouldn’t feel so strange.  That’s what people typically do when you lose someone- offer their condolences and comfort.

   You and your Peter’s relationship had been anything but typical, though.  You had kept things quiet for the sake of your safety and his.  After his departure, you kept your true state of mourning private.  Even when it came to his funeral, you only attended as a colleague and friend.  His Aunt May, who always had a sneaking suspicion about you two, gave you one heartfelt embrace.  You allowed yourself that comfort.  A long squeeze, breathing in the scent of her aged perfume, and a pat on the back.

   Beyond that, you endured the loss primarily in silence.  The visit to his grave was the only time you let yourself cry outside of your apartment.

   More tears spilled down your face before you could get ahold of yourself, and the Peter standing in front of you looked as if he were at a loss for what to do.  He ventured closer, extending an arm.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, pulling you to his chest.  “I’m sorry.”

   The dam was broken.   You let out the saddest cry and buried your face in his chest.  Two strong arms wound their way around your torso and held onto you tightly.  You returned the embrace wholeheartedly, letting the tears fall and fall.  The teeniest part of you felt embarrassment at the breakdown in front of someone who was practically a stranger, but the comfort his hold offered put it away.

   “I know,” he whispered into your hair.  “I lost someone too.”

   You squeezed him even tighter after that, hoping to offer even a fraction of the comfort that he was giving you so selflessly.  It’s all you could do.  You weren’t entirely sure what to say, and even if you did, there was no guarantee that anything other than a sob would come out if you parted your lips.

   How long did you stay there in his arms?  You weren’t sure.  All you knew was that the room had grown quiet, and you felt the need to separate.  Wiping your eyes, you cleared your throat and turned to the others.

   “We have to find Peter.  Our Peter,” Ned explained, his gaze directed at you.  “You don’t have to come with us, or anything, especially since you kinda’ ended up here by mistake.”

   “Yeah, for whatever reason, it pulled you from your own dimension?” M.J. noted, though the statement sounded more like a question.

   “I’m gonna’ be honest with you all, this entire thing is so confusing,” Ned shook his head.

   You released a shaky breath and tried your very best to speak evenly.  “I don’t think I was brought here by mistake.  I’m going to help you find your Peter.”

   “So this is it?” the Peter next to you asked.  “We’re doing this?”

He sighed, shaking his head as he stood, “I’m saying I feel like you’re someone else these days! It’s like, I call you and you don’t even listen to me! How am I supposed to take that?”

It was pointless to replay the fight in your head, having grabbed only your zip-up hoodie by the door and the umbrella. Even your phone had stayed on the nightstand, the keys to your apartment tucked away in your pocket of your tattered jeans. You had run outside, unthinking, into the cool air. But it was raining. Scratch that, downpouring. The world around you, midnight, was drenched.

Time had slipped away while you had run out, desperate to get away. The umbrella did very little to keep you dry, your black chucks drowning in the puddles of the New York City sidewalks, having wandered to the lower ‘burbs, though still within distance of your apartment. Not that it mattered, you had no plans to return there any time soon. The walk had seemed like the only refuge you had, not wanting to get into the run-down car you had, not wanting to wait for an Uber or Lyft. The man you had loved so solidly for two years was practicing his break-up speech and you’d heard it many times before.

But it felt soothing in a weird way, the world drowning around you, and you caught up in the chaos of the storm. Few people were on the streets, and rightly so. Even with the hoodie on you could feel the air cold and biting. The water was soaking through the fabric, but it wasn’t slowing you down. Being amidst chaos felt right in the moment, able to make out lights and windows as you maneuvered effortlessly down streets without looking at names.

You couldn’t do it forever, though. Thinking as you walked, you understood you had no money in your pockets, not even having had the time to grab your purse. Turning back right now would mean entering the home while he was still awake, the one you shared, and you didn’t want to see him right now. You’d hoped, perhaps, he’d pack a bag, spend time at his friend Aaron’s house, his buddy from college he still kept in contact with. He did that sometimes.

Looking to your right, you heard a car speed past, mentally admonishing the driver for being so reckless on a night like this. Not that you were any better.

Pulling yourself towards the left, near where the apartment buildings and small homes were, you felt the warmth of a window ahead call to you. Not literally, of course, but the light that came from the large square windows was warm and inviting, surprised that it was coming from a store. Looking up, you saw a wooden sign, squeaking and fighting with the wind, reading, “Rainy Day Antiques: Open Always”.

A strange sign, to be sure, you had briefly wondered why an antique store would need to be open “always”, but it seemed interesting enough. You needed to be out of the rain, you did love antique stores, and without money in your pocket to buy a coffee with, a diner was out of the question. It was placed there for you, to be sure.

Sighing, you walked over the cracks in the sidewalk towards the large, black door. Grasping the bronze handle, you pulled it towards you, stepping in and greeted at once by an area enclosed by a black, velvet curtain. You could see it hanging from a curved bronze rod, likely there to keep the elements from getting in when individuals such as yourself came traipsing about. Snapping your black umbrella shut, you pushed the curtain aside and stepped in.

It was like walking into another world, you had considered briefly. Before you the shop, deceptively large, was bathed in a warm glow, lit somewhat as well from a fireplace on the wall to your right. Shelves lined the store, a dark cream color wallpaper with golden trim covering the walls. Shelves lined the walls and stood upright, trinkets, books, toys, vases, glasses… everything. It felt both overwhelming and surprisingly quaint.

Looking down by the door you noticed a place for the umbrella, as well as the hoodie which you had peeled from yourself, rather unfortunately soaked. Hanging it up, realizing you were really the only customer here, you heard a male voice call from the back, “Make yourself comfortable.” He sounded chipper, more chipper than you imagined someone working an antique store at midnight would sound.

Your black shirt was damp, though not as wet as your hoodie, but your jeans were soaked as well. Standing awkwardly, you felt your feet ‘squish’ in the shoes, frowning. Before you could do much else, however, you felt a presence. Looking up you spotted a young man, looking to be in his mid-to-late twenties, scruffy brown hair and a sort of goofy smile, brown eyes sparkling in the soft lighting of the shop, “Rainy day?” He smirked.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, nodding, “Yeah, could say that. Though, more rainy night,” you corrected him.

He grinned now, his taller form somewhat lean, though you could make out muscle shape even with the long back sweater he had on, “I stand corrected. Listen, you look… damp. So feel free to take off your shoes, put them and the hoodie by the fire. Here,” he handed you a soft, grey blanket, looking almost crocheted, though it was much too thick for that.

Part of you had wanted to argue against it, perhaps to say no to this handsome stranger inside a 24/7 antique store you’d never heard of before. But the shop was empty, it felt safe, and he felt safe. It seemed… okay.

And so you took the blanket, nodding softly as he stepped away, giving you space as you carried your hoodie over to the fireplace, burning and crackling. Seeing a chair nearby, you draped it over, pulling it somewhat closer to the fire, the warmth now captivating you and calming you. The rain and cold had done well to shake you from your trance of anger and despair, but now you needed something else. Slipping off your shoes, and socks, you pushed them close as well, wrapping the blanket around yourself. It felt cozy and it felt right, in a way you couldn’t have explained. More to the point, as you were settling in, this all felt very right. But that in itself seemed off.

A guarded person by nature, you had trouble believing that this place had never been on your radar before, especially someone so into the interesting, different things of the world, “Hey, how long have you been here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place before?”

The man paused, looking up as if thinking, “Uh… my boss told me ‘forever’ when I asked him, so… forever?” He smiled, a large smile that for a moment felt so absolutely familiar you could have sworn it was deja vu.

“Wait, what’s your name?” You tilted your head, smiling softly. He seemed kind. Looked kind. But there was a sort of sorrow in his eyes as he connected to yours and you felt it.

“Peter. Peter Parker,” he smiled, matching yours, his own sorrow lifted for the briefest of moments.

“Peter? Well, Peter, I’m Y/N,” you were teasing him now, a bit of jab at the lack of introductions.

He smirked, feeling himself lighten, “Y/N? All right. I’ll remember it. Hey, I gotta get some stuff out from the back. You can wander around if you want, just don’t steal anything. Boss would kill me,” he made the motion of a knife to his neck and you found yourself chuckling.

Peter backed up, the smile still on his face as he watched you, heading to the back of the store, lifting the drop-door of the counter with a sort of ease and grace before disappearing behind a deep red curtain towards the back.

You had watched, intrigued by this person who you hadn’t expected to bump into inside of a 24/7 antique store. Frankly, you hadn’t expected to be in an antique store at all. For the life of you, you could have sworn this place didn’t ever exist before today. Had you your phone, you would have looked it up and found out that perhaps it was an underground organ smuggling ring, and you were the next person up. But the name Peter Parker seemed too sweet to be someone fake, it felt real. At least, he did.

Stepping towards some of the large, cherry oak shelves, massive pieces that held within them dozens of different items, you wrapped the blanket around yourself. It felt sort of regal to be wandering about a dimly lit store, blanket draped over you like a cape. Perhaps like that one Avenger, Doctor Strange, right? His didn’t look nearly as comfy.

-

“Heeeeyyyyy boss, I know you said not to call you when it was late except for if it was an emergency, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is,” Peter was ducked behind the curtain, walking towards the back, passed the different oddities Wong had directed away from the Sanctum, the pieces meant to be cared for in the In Between. They were pieces that needed to be used by other sorcerers, magic users, travelers, and the occasional TVA-runner. Sylvie had been in many a time, always pretty nice. Peter was terrified of her, of course, but mostly because he was pretty sure she could kill him before he even noticed it himself.

Pulling the phone away from his head, Peter clicked it off and removed the small antenna that allowed him to connect to Earth proper. Where Doctor Strange was working to understand his own predicament. He had told Peter to watch over the shop in his absence, the one filled with the magic and the mysterious. The dangerous and the nostalgic. While everything in here was special, it was all for different reasons.

And now Peter found himself for the first time since… since Gwen, feeling the way he was now. There was no way he could have known just about anyone would come through the door. The front door was guarded by magic, a cloak if you will, the water and rain something that existed in an other worldly sense. Magic users and magic seekers would open the door and always be dry within an instant. It’s how it worked.

So what had happened to you? You were a normal person. He had given you a quick once-over, his own Spidey Senses not picking up anything dangerous or harmful. He had, however, found himself terribly drawn to you. The way you looked so stunning, even soaked from the rain, a smile on your face, cheeks pink, eyes warm and kind. There was something very important about you and he had done his best to appear as though he wasn’t shaken. He was, though.

After the events that rocked the timelines and universes alike, Peter had been given the option to stay in this world. He had told Strange, after Tony had given the order he and the older Peter go home, he couldn’t. His Aunt May would be fine, he had assured. In fact, without him there, he knew she’d be even safer. Other heroes had even begun cropping up, guys like Daredevil, Jessica Jones. Loki, even. A good one, the only one he knew, had been keeping people safe. And so knowing the pain that waited, the punches no longer pulled, he had asked to stay back.

“You can’t stay in our world, Peter. Having two Peter Parkers could disrupt the timeline. But what I can offer you is a change to stay between worlds. You wouldn’t be Spider-Man here, just a friendly neighborhood shop owner. Or rather, shop owner assistant. Does that sound fair?” Strange had felt the sorrow from the boy, barely yet a man, and he had known sending him home was cruel. He had explained as much. At least being here, at Rainy Day, he could keep an eye on him. And, being one of the multiverse, he could be here long term.

“Thank you, Doc. Really, thank you so much. I promise I won’t break anything, ok?” His eyes were wide, excited as he almost jumped up and down.

Strange sighed, “I’m going to regret doing this. I know I am. Just don’t make me regret it for a few months.”

Well, he’d kept his end of the bargain, it seemed. In his defense, this wasn’t really his fault. In fact, he had no idea whose fault it even was. Wong hadn’t come running through screaming about a break in reality, nor had America sent word about the timelines. Even the TVA had left him alone, the ones who sometimes came prying for others.

Softly pulling the curtain back, Peter watched you, him just out of view. The warm glow from the fireplace had cast itself over you, your smaller form looking adorably overwhelmed by the blanket that you were clinging to. A sort of amorphous blob, he kind of liked it. He had felt the anger leave you as you entered the door just moments ago now, anger that had melted and dripped off as the water had done to the floor. Now, you were calm. He could see your form relaxed, a hand outstretched and fingers dancing over the porcelain of one of the gray vases, silver inlay. It was a vase, he knew, from the Tokyo Sanctum destroyed eight hundred years ago. It had come here to remain safe until the new one was built, though none had retrieved it.

He wondered if you could feel the dreams it kept inside, the pure and lovely dreams it kept, dreams meant to pull one from a place of absolute darkness. They were dreams meant to bring people back from the brink. A dream Strange had given him. And now you were touching it gently, seeming to understand somehow just how delicate it was.

Drawing back your hand you looked to the side, feeling eyes on you, though seeing nothing. Peter was still in the back, you had assumed, and as far as you knew there was no one else here. But a book caught your eye, one of detailed paintings dating from the 1600’s of different flora. It called to you, too. Lifting it, you drifted towards the large sofa in front of the fire, placing your body that was already warming and drying, down into the supportive cushions. It felt like it was made for you. It was.

Back behind the curtain, Peter answered the phone that was going off, vibrating softly, putting the antennae back on, “Hey! Doc I- Wait what? How’d you know? Yeah, she’s- no no, wait. Wait! She’s fine. She’s just… sitting reading a book.” He peeked out once more, watching you in the warm light, peaceful, tracing your fingers over the pages.

“She what? No way, dude. Are you sure? I’m telling you, she’s just reading a book! It’s the weirdest thing. She came in, through the door- yes, that’s what I’m saying, through the door, soaking wet. That’s what I said! Do you need a hearing aid old man? Fine, fine. Sorry! Yeah, she just took off her shoes, she’s drying her hoodie- how was I supposed to know that? She’s just a girl…” his voice trailed off as he looked back again, his voice hushed as he tried not to disturb you, watching as you appeared sort of far away now.

Pulling himself back out of your sight again, he shook his head, “All right. Yeah, I can bring her back if you want, Doc. She’s from your world, Doc. Nope, nothing on her. Wait, are you sure? We don’t know-”

“No, Peter, I do know. She’s dangerous. She’s too dangerous to go back to your world, both for herself and for everyone’s sake. She’s lived her entire life unaware of this world around her. For her safety, for yours, and for everyone’s- we need to keep her here. And you need to keep her safe.”

Of course, you always had the customary FaceTime call with your own mother but with the prices of plane tickets constantly increasing, going home to spend the day with your family just wasn’t possible when all your money went towards rent and school expenses. 

So spending the day with Peter and May became tradition, and quite frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

May Parker had practically inducted you into the family after only a few months of dating her nephew, and she was the very definition of what you thought motherhood was all about. She was understanding whenever Peter found himself in trouble - whether it be as Peter Parker or his masked superhero alter ego - and she was always willing to lend an ear whenever you or Peter needed to rant about something (even if it was about each other). She worried about Peter - of course she did - but she let him have his space to make his own mistakes and learn from them. 

She may not have been Peter’s actual mother, but damn did that woman deserve the best Mother’s Day that you and Peter could muster.

You’d stayed at May’s apartment the night before rather than at yours and Peter’s apartment on the other side of the city to save yourself the commute in the morning, and you were infinitely glad that you’d done so. An extra hour of sleep was definitely worth you and Peter squeezing into the small bed in his old bedroom. 

Peter still woke up early, though.

He always did, unable to really sleep in the days leading up to Mother’s Day. He grew restless and quiet, and you didn’t need to ask to know why. 

He pressed his lips to your cheek before he left for his visit to his mother’s grave that morning, his jacket tugged on to protect himself from the early morning chill and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He whispered a promise of coffee when he returned, and your appreciation for him doubled in an instant.

By the time he returned, you were busy making pancakes and humming along to the song on the radio while May tittered around the kitchen despite your insistence that she let you take care of making breakfast.

It was her day, after all.

“Good morning,” Peter greeted, pressing a styrofoam cup into your hand. He pressed his lips to your temple before greeting May with a hug and wishing her a happy Mother’s Day. He set a small, wrapped box down on the counter, making you cock your head in curiosity.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the box in question with the spatula. You were sure that you had already gotten May a Mother’s Day gift. In fact, you had wrapped her gift yourself the night before. Had you forgotten something? 

“Just a Mother’s Day gift,” he replied vaguely, a smile curling his lips. “You’ll see after breakfast.”

Your gaze kept flitting back to that mysterious little box as you finished stacking pancakes onto a large plate, as you filled three glasses of juice and set the table, and as you and Peter caught May up on all of things that you had accomplished over the course of the last semester. You were just barely managing to contain your curiosity enough to actively keep up the conversation and not be rude, and Peter wasn’t helping any. 

The way that he seemed extra fidgety and the way that his gaze kept flitting to you more than usual while he talked to May about his plans once you were both finally done with grad school had you wondering if you did something wrong or even worse- if he was planning something that you didn’t know about.

Oh, God. Was he going to propose?

Outwardly, you were smiling brightly and nodding in agreement to what Peter was saying about your plans for the summer, but inwardly, you were panicking.

You loved Peter, you really did, and you’d be happy to marry him. Just not now. You’d had the discussion about marriage over a year ago, knowing that you both wanted it at some point, but you and he had both agreed that marriage was off the table until you were both done with school. You both had at least one year of grad school left, and that was only if you - ever the academic - decided to not continue your education with further certification. A proposal was at least a year away, so long as Peter adhered to the agreement you had made nearly two years ago.

You cleared the table with lightning speed once everyone had finished with their breakfast, wanting nothing more than to know what Peter was hiding. You retrieved May’s gift from Peter’s bedroom and placed it in front of her while Peter held onto the small mystery box, his fingers flexing and unflexing nervously. 

Jesus Christ, you were about to implode from impatience and anxiety and-

“This is so cute!” May exclaimed, holding up the small succulent in a pot shaped like a dinosaur. “Did you find this at that shop on 47th?”

“I think so?” Peter looked to you for confirmation, but you only shrugged in response. “Y/N picked out most of the stuff in there. She has a better eye for things than I do.”

“Peter did pick out the wine, though,” you pointed out, nodding towards the fancy bottle of white wine that had cost more than your electrical bill last month. “I will, however, take credit for the plant and the memory foam slippers.”

You shared a small smile with Peter as May looked over her gifts happily. “This is so sweet. Thank you.” She leaned across the table and pulled your both into as tight a hug as she could manage with a table in the way.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” Peter told her, and the few happy tears she swiftly brushed away with her thumbs didn’t escape your attention.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” you repeated, feeling so incredibly grateful to have May in your life. “You literally deserve the best Mother’s Day for putting up with this guy for most of his life.” You gently nudged Peter in the side with your elbow as you teased, chuckling as he rolled his eyes at you while struggling to fight back an amused smile.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, and it only made you and May laugh harder. “You both love me.”

And suddenly your laughter died as your attention was dragged back to that mysterious little box, now pushed in front of you by Peter. “What’s this?”

“It’s for you,” he answered as if it wasn’t already blatantly obvious.

“I get that, but why?” You observed the small gift nervously. “It’s Mother’s Day, Pete, and I’m very much not a mother. Not unless you count being a plant mother. You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“What?” His face twisted in confusion, brows knit together and lips slightly parted. “You don’t know? I thought you knew.”

What the hell? Your brows knit together as you looked from Peter to May, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Know what? I think I would know if I was a mom, Peter.” You let out a breath and started to pull at the wrapping paper. “I mean, thank you for the gift, but this was really unneces-” Your words died on the tip of your tongue as you saw what was tucked neatly into the small box.

You lifted the mug from the box, staring at the words written across the front in pretty pink script. 

‘Happy (Expectant) Mother’s Day’

You blinked, too confused to speak.

“I thought you said she knew,” you heard May whisper to Peter.

“I thought she did!” your boyfriend whispered in return. “I thought she was waiting for today to tell me!”

You finally snapped out of your trance, placing the mug down on the table and turning to Peter. “Can you please explain what’s happening?”

After a beat of silence, he answered, “You’re pregnant.”

You snorted in disbelief. “I think I’d know if I was pregnant, Peter.” You took a second to mentally count the days, and your heart began to beat erratically once you realized you had been so busy with final papers and projects to remember when your last period had been. Well, shit.

“You are,” he said confidently. He draped an arm around the back of your chair before taking your hand in his. “Some nights, when it’s really quiet, I can hear the baby’s heartbeat. Scared the hell out of me when I first heard it.” Instinctively, your hands dropped to your stomach, cradling it tenderly. Leave it to your boyfriend to find out you were pregnant before you did thanks to his hyper-senses. “I thought you knew and you were planning to tell me today, you know, because it’s Mother’s Day.” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously, his gaze flitting to May before he met your eyes again. “I, uh, realize now that you didn’t know.”

“We’re gonna have a baby?” He nodded, lips curling into a smile. “I’m gonna be a mom?” Another nod. “I thought you were gonna propose! I was so nervous!”

“I mean, I can still do that if you want,” he offered, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

“No!” you exclaimed. “I think one big life change is enough for today.”

You shared a soft, sweet kiss with Peter before turning your attention back to the mug on the table. Your fingers curled around it, holding it gently in your hands as you stared at the words again and a smile tugged at your lips.

When MJ and Ned arrived at school the following day, they were completely unprepared for the pettiness their two best friends were about to display towards the other. Both you and Peter refused to acknowledge the other’s existence, and when there were moments in the day that your eyes met they only showed daggers. The tension was suffocating for MJ and Ned, who were trying their hardest to advert their friend’s anger but it was to no avail. The both of you were sure that they didn’t do anything wrong, and that the other is the one to blame for their childish attitude. At one point MJ and Ned just had to give up, and they just had to sit back and watch as you and Peter seethed at each other throughout the day.

On Friday you awoke, groggy and disgruntled. The alarm had interrupted your much needed rest as you were working until 12 a.m. Additionally, you received an email from Ms. Lee, asking that you meet up with Peter again for your tutoring session. The e-mail left a sour taste in your mouth, which you could still feel as you recalled the message whilst getting dressed. Hopefully, the taste could go away with a nice breakfast.

As you headed downstairs, you noticed that your dad was at the dining table by the window, drinking his black cup of coffee while typing away on his laptop. You don’t say anything as you make your way to the fridge, grabbing the tub of cream cheese then snatching a bagel from the bread box on the counter beside it. You began to fix yourself a cream cheese bagel sandwich when your dad spoke up,

“What did you get on your chemistry quiz?” The butter knife you were using to cut the bagel froze in your hand, and you felt the sense of dread weigh over your shoulders again.

“I don’t know,” you lie, resuming your bagel cutting. There is silence, though you could feel his gaze on you, hoping to catch you off guard. In the past, whenever you failed an exam, you would’ve done everything to avoid telling your parents your true grade. It wasn’t an honest tactic, but you feared the wrath of your father if he were to know about your grades. And when he did find out, you had to hide in your room while he yelled insults behind the door. Thankfully, because of your fight regarding your wish to be less dependent on him, it’s been easier to evade his interrogation. Well, almost. You heard him let out a low grumble.

“I was told by your mom that Peter Parker is going to tutor you,” he speaks, “Your councilor called her to let her know.” You continued with your silence and focused on spreading the cream cheese on the bagel in a haste. You knew where he was going with this, and you wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible. 

“It’s tragic that he has to be the one tutoring you,” he says with a sarcastic sigh, “If only you weren’t such a lazy brat it could’ve been the other way around. Yet you chose to waste your time fooling around when you should be studying to get to the top. I raised you better than that.” A lump formed in your throat and you tried to swallow it, despite the pain it caused. Instead of saying goodbye to him you instead grabbed the bagel and headed towards the front door, avoiding eye contact with him. When you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, you made sure to shut it with a slam.

 The school day came and went with nothing interesting happening, though you and Peter were still giving each other the cold shoulder treatment. The e-mail Ms. Lee sent was still on your mind, though you were hoping that Peter wouldn’t fall through with her demands. This was not the case, though. As you were grabbing your sketchbook from your locker after your last period of the day, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket and take it out only to find a text message from Peter. 

Meet me at the library. It read. This made you let out an obnoxiously haughty scoff. There was absolutely no way in hell that you were going to see that stupid boy’s face. You knew if you had to see him again the first thing you’d do was swing a fist as his dumb rectangular face. Then, an idea lit up in your mind, making you smirk mischievously. Why should you have to listen to him? All he did was cause you trouble, and you didn’t need any more of that today. So instead of heading towards the locker, you turn your heals towards the entrance of the school. Making sure to look around for any sign of Peter or Ms. Lee, you blended into the crowd of students pouring out of the school, and made your way towards the nearest subway station.

-

You trudged your way up the exit of the musty-smelling subway station, where you found yourself stepping into NYC’s colorful Chinatown district. This was one of your favorite places to go in Manhattan. Every time you come here (which was very often), you get mesmerized by the aroma from the restaurants, large, bright signs written in Cantonese or Mandarin, and the soundtrack of shop owners offering their wares to anyone passing by them. Despite your parents wanting to actively avoid the area, you absolutely loved it. Plus, it was the home of the best boba tea in NYC.

Weaving through the bustling market area, where sellers were shouting deals in their native tongues as well as English, you made your way to your favorite boba tea joint in the district. It was tucked into a small, secretive courtyard away from the craziness of the main street, where it was inhabited by humble mom-and-pop shops that were nestled under apartment buildings. Just as you entered the alleyway, your phone vibrated. Pulling it out of your green sweatshirt pocket, you saw another test message from Parker, though this one was much more passive-aggressive than the one he had sent you before. You rolled your eyes and angrily shoved your cracked phone back in the pocket, adamant about ignoring your responsibilities today. 

You finally made it to Hi-Tea, the boba shop that you have been frequenting ever since you moved to New York. It was a small hole-in-the-wall establishment that you had found on a whim while you and your mom were exploring Chinatown upon your first week arriving in the state. Your mom found the place tacky, but you thought that it’s pastel color palette was quite charming. The glass doors leading you into the shop would always be painted every week to promote the flavor of the week, which you thought was really smart on their end. You practically came here once a week, sometimes twice if you were having an especially bad day. So, because of your frequent visits, you became friendly towards the staff that worked there, in particular Grace and Frankie. 

Both of them were in college, though Grace was older than Frankie by a year. Grace was much more outgoing and bubbly than Frankie, who was more reserved and soft spoken. Though you were also pretty shy around strangers, especially college kids, your recurring presence and Grace’s naturally charming personality allowed you to warm up to the two young adults. To your pleasure, you saw from the store’s front window that both of them were occupying the shop today. You excitingly scamper to the door, where upon opening it, the petite golden bells tied to the top alerting the two employees of your presence. They turn to look up and when they both spot you, Grace breaks out into a smile.

“Hey there (Y/N)!” Grace cheerfully greets you as she’s adjusting her cat themed enamel pins on her pastel green apron, “It’s so good to see you! Are you here for your usual? Brown sugar bubble tea with oat milk?” Yeah, you knew that boba was called bubble tea here on the East coast, but because you were an arrogant Angeleno you still referred to the tasty tapioca balls as boba, much to the annoyance of your fellow MSST classmates. You scrunch up your face in thought comically and stroked your chin, earning a giggle from Grace. Upon briefly scanning the menu that was placed on the counter with your eyes, you say “Could I have a jasmine milk tea today?” 

“Of course!” she cheerfully exclaims. As she gets to placing your order, her expression changes as if something occurred to her. She looks up at you and asks,

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be at work today?” 

“I can’t work on Fridays anymore,” you reply in a huff.

“Huh? Why not?” she asks, a curious expression upon her face. You began to tell her all that had happened the past few days; meeting with your counselor, her forcing you to be tutored by the one person you despise, and you getting into a very heated verbal fight with said person. Then you told her that because of the circumstances revolving around the tutoring, you were forced to cut your Friday work hours to accommodate to your councilors demands, much to your chagrin. Frankie, who was listening in on the conversation as he was cleaning up the drink assembly station, looks to you and asks,

 “Wait, then aren’t you supposed to be at school right now?” You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but I decided, fuck it!” you cried and shrugged with raised arms, “I had a shitty past two days! I should treat myself!” Grace and Frankie look over at each other, exchanging expressions of concern and disapproval. 

“So,” Grace looks back at you, raising a brow, “you ditched your tutor?” 

“Yeah, but I don’t give a shit,” you reply, waving your hand dismissively, “It’s what he gets for being a prick.” 

“Still, don’t you think that’s kind of rude?” Frankie questions as he walks to the counter to join in on the conversation, “I mean, I know you guys fought, but can’t you come to some sort of truce?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Frankie’s absurd suggestion.

“Please, I’d rather jump off the Empire State than apologize to that shitbag,” you brashly say, rummaging through your backpack as you looked for your wallet, “No way would I say sorry to someone who constantly makes my life a living hell.” Grace and Frankie looked at each other, unsure of what to say. 

“But...what if he catches you ditching?” Grace asks as she looks back at you, dismayed. 

“There’s no way he can catch me,” you reply with a cheeky smirk, handing over the due amount for the boba to Winnie, “And even if he did, what’s he going to do? Drag me back to school?” To this you let out a short laugh, though Frankie and Grace didn’t seem to find this amusing. Frankie gives you one last judgemental look but says nothing, then goes to work on your order. Winnie opened her mouth to say something but then closed it, deciding it was pointless to get you to see the wrong in your doing. She takes the amount and gives you back the change, though you drop it in the tip jar for them. You moved to wait patiently by the pick-up section of the store, and in just about two minutes Frankie presented you with your drink. You took it excitingly and bid goodbye to the two young adults before heading back outside into the courtyard. A vibration from your phone rumbled in your jacket pocket, so you took it out again to see yet another text from penis Parker.

    Where are you? It read, You need to get here now or else. You narrowed your eyes at the text as you read it again, then let out a pretentious scoff. What the hell, was he trying to threaten you now? Little shit was getting a bit too confident! You shoved your phone back into your pocket and focused back on your chilled treat. Just as you were about to stab the plastic cover with the straw, something from above grabbed at the drink and yanked it right out of your hand. Bewildered, you looked at your hand then around your surroundings. 

“Shouldn’t you be at school right now?” a voice called out to you. You looked around until your eyes wandered up then widened. Spider-man was casually sitting on the edge of a fire escape, looking down at you with your boba tea in his hand

“You can’t drink that without the straw, you know,” you say loudly, holding up the straw. Suddenly, a web sling shoots at your hand and recoils back to its sender, who thanks you with a nod.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says, stabbing the top of your drink with the straw, “You’re supposed to be at school right now, right?” 

“N-no,” you said, looking away from him.

“Really?” he holds up your beverage and looks at it, “Because Delmar told me you moved your Friday shifts to Thursday since you had a study date with Peter Parker today.” Gosh damn Delmar and his blabbermouth, now you were caught in the act! You shoved your hands in your jacket pocket and continued to look at everything around you but him.

“Care to tell me why you’re near the Lower East Side instead?” he asks, looking down at you. His tone sounded much less playful than usual, making you feel uneasy.

“I-,” you were flustered, unsure of what excuse to come up with on the spot. Then, you looked up at him, brows furrowed and ask,

“W-why are you so concerned?”

“I’m concerned because you ditched someone, which, by the way, is a pretty shit thing to do.” he replies cooly. You then watch as he lifts his mask up to his nose and takes a sip of your drink. At this moment you realized that this was the first time you had ever seen any part of Spider-man unveiled. Though you wished that he wasn’t high up, as the angle made it a bit hard for you to see much of his features. “Mmm, is this jasmine tea? I like the aftertaste. Very floral.”

“Did you steal my boba so you could lecture me?” You loudly ask him and you put your hands on your hips. 

“Not necessarily,” he says with a shrug, taking another sip of your drink, “Though the bubble tea is a nice bonus treat.”

 “Why does my personal life concern you?” you said, crossing your arms, “This is between me and that dumbfuck. And that dumbfuck deserves to get his ass ditched.” 

“That ‘dumbfuck’ is willing to help you out,” he simply says, then takes another sip, “By the way, I think you’re being a little harsh with those insults of yours.”

“Not my fault I tell it like it is,” you snap back, “He’s just wasting my time and his! I don’t need his help, or anyone’s! Plus, he has no idea how to tutor anyone! You should’ve seen how irritable he was!”

“Well, it’s his first time tutoring, right?” he asks you, “Maybe you need to cut him some slack. He means well.” To this you let out a short, cynical laugh.

“So what? He’s supposed to be the smartest kid in our grade!” you cry “It isn’t rocket science; it should be easy for him! Just like everything else is!”

“Have you ever tutored someone before?” he inquires, looking down at you. You didn’t respond. Instead, you ask him,

“What’s your deal with defending him, anyway?” 

“Because you’re being unfair to someone who’s trying to help you,” he replies, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous claim.

“Help me?!” you shout out passively, “He does nothing but make my life miserable! I don’t want his help!”

“You need it whether you like it or not,” he says sternly, which you found was very out of character for him, “Just like that time I saved you from getting hit by that taxi.” The anger that was boiling inside of you was reaching its peak. All rational thoughts were replaced with the need to defend your ego. And when your ego got involved, it brought out the worst in you

“I didn’t ask for your help!” you spat back out of anger. 

“So what should I have done?!” he angrily shouts back, “Let you get killed?!”

“Maybe!” you roar back, your voice echoing within the courtyard. A heavy silence hung in the air, as the two of you glared at each other, a familiar setting to Wednesday. Your fists were clenched so tightly you could feel your shoulders strain. Finally, the masked hero lets out an irritated scoff.

“Fine, if you don’t like my help,” he stands up from the railing of the balcony, “Don’t ever expect it again.” You felt your heart drop into your stomach, regret immediately sweeping into your senses. You just fucked up big time. You wanted to shout back an apology, but before you could he shoots a web sling at a nearby building and begins to swing. You ran after him, calling out to him in anguish, but he was much too fast. Soon you found yourself back in the middle of Chinatown, desperately looking around for Spider-man as he disappeared into the city, leaving you guilt-ridden and ashamed.

    -

Misery plagued your emotions for the rest of your Friday through Sunday. All you could do was wallow in your sorrow over pissing off your crush. You couldn’t feel more humiliated!

You wondered, though if you were being as unreasonable as Spider-man claimed. Of course not! you think countering yourself. That little twerp always acts like he’s the best at everything and constantly rubs it in your face! Well, not literally, but it happens when he gets the highest exam scores, when he wins first prize at the school’s annual science fair, and when he boasts about how he’s working for Stark! Ugh, he just pisses you off!

It annoyed you how enamored your parents were by his success. Why couldn’t they set the bar lower, like comparing you to Flash! You’d at least beat him! But no, it’s always Peter. “If you studied harder, you’d be at the same level as Peter!”, “I bet Peter gets straight A’s in all of his classes!”, “You should pick a more practical major, like Peter!”. The constant praise they give him in contrast to the scolding you received only fueled your hatred for him. And Spider-man knew this! You had expressed your dismay with your classmate several times since you met him so it only made you more upset that he decided to defend Peter!

Yet you still felt guilty about snapping at him so harshly. Not only did you ruin your friendship with him, but all chance of finding out who his true identity was! Now you were never going to see him again! It took all the willpower you had in you to resist slamming your head against a wall. This regret was consuming you alive, so in order to relieve yourself of it, you turned to MJ for advice.

On Sunday you related to her the past two days as well as your emotional roller coaster while watching Pride and Prejudice through facetime together (the 2005 version, though MJ was very vocal about the historical inaccuracies of the costumes, but you didn’t care because Kiera Knightly was so damn good looking in this). She listened to you intently as she watched you explain everything, and as you wrapped up she leaned back onto her bed frame, taking all of this in.

“Well, that’s...something,” she finally says after a long pause, “You managed to piss off Spider-man...that’s pretty incredible.” 

“Now isn’t the time to be sarcastic, MJ!” you cry out as you hang your head in shame. MJ was the only person you had confined to about your friendship with the blue and red hero of Queens, as well as your harboring feelings for him. MJ teases you about it every now and then, but she overall has kept her word of secrecy on the matter, which you greatly appreciated. 

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she continues, “But I think he had a point about Peter. Listen, I love to poke fun at that little white boy, but you take it to a whole other level.” This makes you frown in response.

“He deserves it,” you mumble back, but just loud enough for her to hear. Now it was her turn to frown.

“Does he?” she asks you, “I can’t believe I’m taking his side, but Peter’s hasn’t done anything wrong. I think your jealousy is taking things out of context.”

“I’m not jealous of him!” you claim, “Why should I be!? I don’t want to be a stupid science nerd like him.”

“I’m a science nerd,” MJ points out, “So is Ned. Are we stupid?” 

“You’re different,” you retort back if a huff, “You’re cool and weird but in a good way.”

“As I should be,” she replies with a shrug, “But I still think that you have been a bit too hard on him. Which is kind of funny, because I remember that you had a crush on him.”

“T-That was in the beginning of the year!” you hastily quip back, feeling your cheeks flush up out of embarrassment, “That was before he started getting on my nerves!” It’s true, the first time you had met Peter, you were at a game shop with your mom buying a console. It was the first week since you moved from Los Angeles to Queens, and the both of you were still trying to navigate the city. To make you feel better about the move, your mom promised to buy you a console that had just been released which you had your eye on ever since it was announced. 

When you were in the game shop, you noticed him with Ned, who was accompanying him. The two of them were gushing over the release of a new Star Wars video game which had just been released recently. His smile was the first thing that attracted you. It really lit up his whole face so nicely that you couldn’t help but blush. Then you remembered the horror you felt when your overly extroverted mother approached them and started sparking up a conversation with them (her excuse was that they seemed to be about your age, which she wasn’t wrong about, but it seemed a bit unnecessary!). Peter then noticed you, awkwardly standing a few feet behind your mom with a bag of cupcakes that she had gotten from the city’s famous cupcake shop. He and Ned introduced themselves to you, and the kind smile he gave to you made your heart jump. 

The memory made you frown. Now you just felt embarrassed for having a crush on him. Yet again, you didn’t expect that you would be attending the same school, where you found out just how incredibly talented he was. It impressed you in the beginning, as soon as your parents got wind of the bright young boy with the Stark internship, it all blew up in your face. Watching you reminisce upon this, MJ asks you, 

“You sure you still don’t have a crush on him?” You answer with a profound and loud no, which MJ interprets as a good time to drop the subject. So decided to get back on track.

 “You’re going to hate me for suggesting this,” MJ says, then takes a bite at a pretzel stick from the bowl she had beside her, “But I think you should apologize to Peter.”

“WHAT?” you shout so loud that the crows in the tree out in the backyard were startled.

“Here me out,” MJ begins, her hands held up in defense, “You feel guilty about yelling at Spider-man, right?” You reply with a nod.

“Well, wasn’t the reason why he was upset with you was because you ditched Peter? Maybe if you apologize to Peter, Spider-man could forgive you.” 

“I don’t need to apologize to him!” you retort, crossing your arms in a huff.

“Even if you don’t want to, you should,” she replies, taking another bite of a pretzel stick, “It’s that or you never see your Spider-boyfriend again.” This makes you frown out of dissatisfaction, and you ask her,

“How would Spider-man even know that I apologized to him?!”

“Doesn’t Peter work at Stark? I remember him mentioning that he and Spider-man were buds. You could ask Peter if you could talk to Spider-man.” she answers. Though you doubted the possibility of this happening, MJ might not be wrong. If what she’s saying is true then that means if you apologized to Peter then you could make up with Spider-man! 

“How do I make up with Peter?” you ask her with a determined look on your face. MJ smirks in satisfaction, pleased to have gotten to you. She tells you,

“First you admit what a big dingus you’ve been towards him.” This makes your frown, much to the amusement of your friend. She continues,

“Then you should get to know him better, not as who you think he is, but for who he really is.” You frown in thought.

“Look at Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s relationship, for example,” she suggests, “At first she judges him based on her assumptions about him. She thinks he’s stuck up, cold, rude, and selfish, which leads her to probably one of the best roasts in literary history. Though it turns out that he’s just very socially awkward and that she was misled by false information about him.”

“What’chya getting at?” you ask her, suspicious of her ramblings

“Well, maybe like Elizabeth, you’re letting your pride misjudge Peter.” she proposes.

“Maybe my pride is correct.” you say firmly. 

“God, you are so stubborn!” MJ groans, “Do you want to see Spider-man or not?!” This makes you shut your mouth, and you allow her to continue.

“Okay,” she lets out a huff, “Whether you’re right or wrong, taking the time to get to know Peter will benefit you. You could learn a lot about him. And who knows? Maybe you can find out something about Spider-man, too?” This peaks your interest. Could she be right about that? You had no idea how close Spider-man and Peter were, but the tutoring lessons could be helpful in trying to use Peter to figure out who the masked hero was. It sounded sleazy, but it felt like good motivation to make up with him.

“Tomorrow, as soon as you get to school, talk to him privately and apologize to him,” she tells you, “And sound like you mean it, even if you don’t.” You let out a groan. It was annoying that you had to make up with him, but with MJ’s suggestion (and your grade on the line) you knew you were out of options. It was either suck it up and go with it or fail your classes and lose the potential freedom from your parents. As you and MJ continued to watch the movie, you could yourself ponder over your first feelings towards Peter again.

-

The next day at school you arrived early in order to locate Peter. The weather had chilled considerably, so today you dawned your red down coat that was perfect for the cool, overcast morning. You hustled yourself quickly to the lockers, hoping to catch Ned and Peter. Instead, you spotted Ms. Lee by your locker, staring down at you from across the hallway. His made you immediately stop you in your tracks, a cold sweat rushing throughout your body. She beckoned you to come towards her, to which you sheepishly complied. By the sour look on her face, you could tell you were in deep shit. She greets you with a cross-sounding “Good morning”, which you meekly wished her one as well. 

“Mr. Fill informed me that you didn’t show up to meet with Peter on Friday,” she tells you, “I was also told that you two also made quite the scene on Wednesday. Would you care to tell me what happened?”  You gulped. There was no way you could fabricate a response believable enough for her to take right now. She was visibly upset with you, and you could feel it weigh you down. The right thing to do was to tell the truth, but you were horrified by what would come out of that (see: your parent’s reaction). As you struggled to come up with a response, you didn’t notice that someone was approaching the two of you. 

“Hey (Y/N)!” a familiar voice called out to you. You turned about to see who it belonged to and were very shocked to see a cheery Peter Parker walking up to you.

“You left this at my place on Friday,” he hands you a blue spiral bound notebook, which you take with utter confusion. Ms. Lee shared your perplexed expression as well, looking at the teen boy with a raised brow. 

“Good morning Mr. Parker,” she greets him, regaining her authoritative aura, “I was just asking (Y/N) about your study session on Friday. Mr. Fill told me that while you were at the library on Friday, (Y/N) was nowhere to be seen. Did this have something to do with your bickering on Wednesday?” You looked over at Peter, wide-eyed with terror at what he would say. Knowing him, he was probably going to use this to his advantage and throw you under the bus-

“Oh, right!” he snaps his fingers as if he remembered something, then turns to Ms. Lee, “(Y/N) texted me the day before and said that the library was too distracting for them. So we agreed that we would study at my place from now on. For some reason I forgot about that and was waiting for them until I remembered! It’s my bad, Ms. Lee.”

…Huh?   

There was no way you were hearing this right now. Was Peter covering for you? Was this a prank? It had to be, right?! You sneaked a pinch on yourself and surely enough, this was all happening in real time. While you were busy being confused by your current reality, Ms. Lee and Peter continued conversing.

“I see,” she says, though she sounded suspicious, “And I presume you two made up?” 

“Of course!” he replies gleefully, giving you a nudge to help him sell the lie. You snap out of your confusion and give her a hasty nod.

“Well, I’m glad you were able to work things out,” she says with a pleased smile, then turns to you, “I do think it’s better for you to work in a more personal setting than a public one. And if it works, then who am I to complain.” She then bids you two a good day, where you and Peter both watch her walk down the hall. Just as she was out of earshot, you decided that this would be the perfect chance to apologize to him. 

“Peter,” you quickly turned to him, “I-”

“Meet me at the football bleachers during break,” he cuts you off coolly, still looking towards the hall, “We need to talk.” The first warning bell chimes throughout the school, and the hall begins to bustle with high schoolers desperate to make it to their first period on time. So he leaves you alone, perplexed with all that just occurred and anxious for what’s to come during break.

-

As soon as biology wrapped up, you sprinted past some students towards MSST’s football field. The chilled air hit you as soon as you opened the doors to the field , tickling your cheeks. You jogged across the football field, where students were spending their break tossing playing catch, jogging around the field, or just sitting on the grass and chatting. Halfway into your jog you spotted Peter, who was sitting in the mid-section of the bleachers. You hurried yourself towards his direction quickly, the anticipation clenching your stomach. He notices you and gives you a surprised look. 

Guess he didn’t expect me to show up, you think to yourself as you trudge up the metal bleachers. You finally reached him and sat beside him (leaving space between the two of you, of course) in a huff. There was silence at first, besides the sounds of the schoolyard. You wondered if you should speak up first, but for some reason you couldn’t think of anything to say. The cold air made you shove your hands in your pockets, and you look towards him, where he continued to look out to the field, a very serious expression plastered across his face. This was the first time you had ever seen the awkwardly goofy Peter Parker look so stern, and though you would usually find pleasure in seeing him so pissed, it actually scared you a little. After what felt like an eternity, Peter finally spoke up,

“You have a real shit attitude, you know.” The cool bluntness takes you by surprise. In all of the months you have bullied Peter, this was the first time he has ever cussed at you. You wondered how long he’s been waiting to do that. He exhales a long, controlled breath and continues to talk,

“I would love to know what I did for you to hate me so much. Because last time I checked, I’ve been nothing but nice to you since you moved here. Was it something I said? Something I did?!” He turns to you, his glare piercing through your soul as he waits for a response. You opened your mouth, but words evaded you. For the first time Peter has left you speechless. The cockiness you usually had towards him was nowhere to be found. No snarky comeback, no rolling of the eyes, all you could do was gape at him. Peter, seeing that you weren’t answering, turns back to look at the field and continue speaking,

“I’ll be honest, I don’t think this is going to work out. Us working together. I’m going to talk to Ms. Lee and see if she can set you up with someone else.” Shit, this wasn’t good! You were going to lose your chance at apologizing to Spider-man! You had to do something, quick!

“No!” you reply with a shout, grabbing his arm out of impulse. The shout was a little too loud as it echoes throughout the field, catching the attention of everyone there. He looks at you, startled by both the shout and the grip. Noticing the eyes turned to you and Peter, a blush flushing your cheeks. You immediately retreat your hand as students went back to minding their own business, then take a breath to control yourself. 

 “I-I mean,” you looked at him, sheepishly. Come on, (Y/N), it’s now or never!

“I’m sorry.” you say.

To say Peter was shocked was an understatement. He gave you the most puzzled you have ever seen anyone give you, and who could blame him? An apology from you wasn’t what he was expecting from you. He thought the most you would do was scoff and walk away, unbothered, so now he was caught off guard.

“I’m sorry for being such a huge asshole on Wednesday” you continue, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes, “And for ditching you on Friday. It was uncalled for. I should’ve talked to you instead of ignoring you.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, “I still want to work with you. Please forgive me.” There was silence yet again, and you could see that Peter was still processing your apology. You look at him, concerned and wondering if he was malfunctioning because he hadn’t said a word. He finally lets out an exhale, and you felt relieved that you hadn’t short circuited him. Finally, he says,

“Okay, I forgive you.” he says. You blink in surprise.

“What?” you say.

“I forgive you,” he repeats, amused by your reaction. Though today was just full of unexpected surprises, you felt a sense of relief from his words. However, a sense of guilt sat in your stomach, remembering that you were doing this for your own personal gain. 

As long as he doesn’t find out, you have nothing to worry about, you convince yourself, though the feeling didn’t go away. 

“Though if we’re going to continue working together, I suggest we make my lie a reality.” he says.

“What do you mean?” you ask him quizzically.

“I mean that you actually come over and study at my place.” he says. You widen your eyes in surprise. Was he being serious?! It was impressive that he wanted to be so committed to his fabricated tale, but didn’t this seem like a little much? 

“A-are you sure?” you ask, perplexed by the idea. He nods.

“I am,” he says, “My aunt wouldn’t mind. She likes the company, anyway.” You take a minute to think this through. Going to Peter’s place would mean you were going to spend much more time with him, considering the travel time from Midtown to Queens. And there would be no doubt that Flash would catch you two together and relentlessly tease you for being with his rival. However, being at his place means that you could get one step closer to finding out more about Spider-man. This was an opportunity you couldn’t refuse. You decided to take up his proposal.

“I’m in.” you finally tell him.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing his hands, “Because if Ms. Lee found out I lied to her we’re dead meat.”  

“Let’s shake on it,” you tell him, then hold your hand out towards him. You wait for him to take it, but instead he says,

“I want you to promise that you’re not going to ditch me again,” he says, “I’m doing this to help you pass.” This pinches you in the gut. The guilt you had felt before returned, making you second guess the sincerity of your actions. Why is he taking this so seriously, you wondered, does he really care about whether or not you pass? What benefit is he getting out of this. You didn’t have time to ponder this, so you shook off the thoughts and sincerely say,

“I promise.” Peter watches you, looking for any signs of feigning, but you held yourself up long enough for him to finally take your hand. You give each other a firm shake, settling on your agreement. As you pull your hands away from each other, you remember something.

“Oh, I should give this back to you.” you say to him as you grab your backpack. He watches as you rummage through it, your eyes lighting up when you finally locate it. You pull out the blue spiral-bound notebook he had given you in the morning. 

“I think you’ll need this,” you say, holding out the notebook to him.

“Oh, thanks, I need this,” he says, taking it from your hands, “U-um, so do you want to meet up Wednesday after school?” 

“Sure.” you say, giving him an awkward smile, to which he returns. Good, now your plan can kick off. All you had to do now was get through studying with Peter. Maybe MJ is right, it might not be all that bad. As the bell rang the two of you headed to your next class together, though the both of you were unaware that a folded slip of paper from Peter’s notebook was not sitting at the bottom of your backpack.

-

On Wednesday, you were waiting at the school’s front gate, as you promised. The chilled weather made you bury yourself into your coat, and you just hoped Peter would get out soon. He told you via text that he had to grab something from the chemistry room, and though you offered to wait for him by the classroom he insisted you waited for him outside. Watching students pass by, you began to wonder about Peter’s aunt. You had never seen her before, but MJ told you that she was very pretty and was very protective of her nephew. You then realized that Peter has definitely talked to her about you, and now you were beginning to grow anxious. You wouldn’t blame her for wanting to take you down for being a shithead to her nephew, but you obviously didn’t want to deal with her wrath. You could only hope that she wouldn’t be at home so you could be spared.

A tap on your shoulder breaks you from your thoughts and you look to see who touched you, only to be facing Peter.

“Ready to head out?” he asks you, motioning his head towards the closest subway station entrance. You nod, so the two of you begin to make your way towards Queens.

The two of you didn’t talk as you headed down to the subway station, and upon entering the car you grimaced over how it was practically full of people. The next train wouldn’t be until twenty minutes though, so the both of you squeezed your way into the crowd. The both of you were practically shoulder to shoulder, with you gripping the nearest stabilizing pole and Peter keeping himself up with the rail above him. Being so close to him made you feel so uncomfortable from the awkwardness, and you tried your best to avoid eye contact with him as you guys rode. That would only last so long, though. Halfway through the ride you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Foolishly, you let go of the pole to retrieve it, but you didn’t realize that you were reaching another stop. The cart began to halt, the force of it all making you lose your footing. You tried to re-stabilize yourself but you felt your body fall backward, making you let out a scared yelp. Suddenly, you felt a hand grab your waist, stopping you from falling on top of the surrounding passengers. You turn and see it was Peter who had caught you. He pulls you back up and tugs you near him, making you even closer to him than before. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you, sounding genuinely concerned. Still dazed from the catch, you nod back and straighten yourself up. You realized that this is the closest you have ever been to Peter, and he seemed to recognize this revelation two and the two of you were stuck in this position for what felt like eternity. He suddenly realizes that he’s still got his arm around your waist, and he immediately retracts it, and you noticed that his cheeks were a slight tint of pink. You took a small step away from him to grab the pole again, and for the remainder of the ride the two of you avoided eye contact.

Soon the stop to Queens approached, and the two of you hopped out of the train car. You followed Peter closely as he navigated through the bustling Queens and eventually got to his apartment complex. Like all the buildings in the area, it was much smaller in size compared to the giants in Manhattan (though you didn’t mind; tall buildings weren’t your favorite thing). After he buzzed in, he let you inside of the complex, and like a duckling you followed him up two flights of stairs and into the second story hallway. Soon you were watching him as he approached a eggshell-\colored door with the numbers 205 plated in bronze above the peephole. He grabs his keys and puts them into the worn door handle, and with a twist and a click he pushes the door open and enters his apartment, where you slowly but carefully enter in suit.

While taking off your shoes you gazed around the space, which was small but it didn’t feel cramped. Peter leads you to the dining area, which was connected to both the kitchen and the living room. Upon the table were several papers and letters, to which Peter apologizes for and quickly gathers up the mess to make space for both of your study materials. Once it was clear of it’s chaos, you slink yourself into the bench situating your bag to left as he sits himself on the right side of the table.

“My aunt May told me she’ll be working late today, so don’t worry about any distractions,” he tells you, pulling his backpack beside him. This makes you internally exhale in relief. He goes into good host mode, offering you snacks and water but you declined it politely since you felt weirded out by your rival trying to be nice to you. The both of you shift uncomfortably in your seats, waiting for the other to speak up so the tension could be broken. Peter, always trying his best, decides to start,

“O-okay! Let’s get started! Um…” He looks at you as he begins to fiddle with his hands nervously, “We can work on inter-molecular forces! Or maybe we should go back to the basics and review atoms and ions? O-or look over the periodic table?”  You could tell by his body language that he was trying to be careful with your words, considering how you reacted last time. Though you were slightly amused by how hard he was trying, it did make you feel a bit bad for your reaction last week. You were starting to reconsider what Spider-man had said. You realized that you should probably respond before he throws out more suggestions, so you say, 

“Can we work on the quiz from last week? I mean, we got it back today, so maybe it’ll be good to look over it.” Peter was quite surprised by your input, and immediately you feared that you had said something wrong. Expecting to receive some sort of snarky comment, you were amazed when he smiles and agrees,

“Y-yeah! S-sounds good!”

It was quite embarrassing for you to see him look at the 19% grade that was scribbled in bright red on your quiz, while he gloated a proud 100%. Without thinking you made a stank face, until Peter pointed it out while he was looking over your quiz answers. You immediately dropped it, feeling embarrassed at getting caught, though you could help but stare at his perfect grade. For you, it was rare to see those triple digits on your assignments and tests, and when you were gifted with that lucky gem you felt invincible. Is that what Peter feels whenever he gets his scores back, or is it so common for him that he just shrugs it off? Before you could sink into your thoughts even more, Peter flips the quiz back to the front page and looks up at you.

“You didn’t finish the quiz?” he asks you, a brow raised, “Did something happen?” Immediately you felt ashamed, but you tried to hold your ground, not wanting to expose it to Peter. Instead, you say with attitude,

“Why’s that a problem? I just didn’t finish it. Happens to the best of us.” Peter gives you a look, not being fooled by your act.

“Did you run out of time?” he asks you. You didn’t respond, but instead looked away from him, which gave him confirmation.

“I noticed you got stuck on question three, and I get it, I had a though time with that one, too.” he tells you, looking back at the question.

“Don’t try to humble yourself.” you quip back.

“I’m not!” he cries, “Really!” You look at him as you’re not convinced, making Peter sigh in defeat.

“Look, why don’t we just go over this question and the ones you didn’t answer? Then I can get a better read on what’s troubling you with this subject.” You made a small groan, but reluctantly agreed to the proposal, and for the next two hours the two of you went through the quiz. Unlike last time, where he was just talking you ear off, Peter instructed you to write down notes and even re-do the questions, which actually turned out to be much more helpful to you. A few times Peter had to coax questions out of you, which was probably the hardest thing for you to do since you feared ridicule over what you asked. However, Peter didn’t find them ridiculous at all, and would even provide a simpler, straight to the point answer that was much easier to comprehend than Mr. Cobwell’s complex ones. After what felt like forever, the both of you were beginning to exhibit signs of burnout. Peter caught onto this after he watched you stare at your notebook in a daze.

“Let’s call it a day,” he suggests, stretching his arms out to relieve the tension built in them.

“Yes, please,” you mumble, blinking hard as your eyes were tiring out, “I think my brain is going to fry up if I look at another molecular equation.” While you were packing your stuff up, you looked out the window beside you and noticed that it’s already getting dark outside. You wondered if you’ll be back home in time for dinner. Not that you were anticipating it, anyway. The sound of keys being inserted into the apartment alarm the two of you. You and Peter look at the door, which opens to reveal a very beautiful middle aged woman, and you could help but gape at her aura.   

“Hiya Pete!” she happily exclaims as she takes off her jacket and hands it up on the hooks next to the door, “So sorry for being late, the manager had me sweep before I clocked out.” Realization hits you like a brick. She’s Peter's aunt?! Well, MJ wasn’t wrong about her looks, but you were not expecting her to be this attractive. It seems like she could feel your eyes on her, because she immediately takes notice of you.

“Pete, who is this?” she asks, pointing to you. You feel your body freeze, remembering that you were most likely going to meet your maker when she finds out who you are.

 “Oh, this is (Y/N),” Peter says, pointing his thumb to you, “The classmate I’m tutoring, remember? They moved from California last summer?” Out of fear you forced yourself to stand up straight and gave her a small, shy wave.    

“I-it’s nice to meet you, M-ms. Parker!” you stutter sheepishly. May took a second to remember your name, and when she recognizes her eyes light up in surprise. She looks over at you, then to Peter. May raises her brows at Peter as asks him,

“Are they…?” To which Peter nods in response. You watched anxiously  have their silent conversation, trying to decipher what on earth they were talking about. Was it about the bullying? Crud, you were going to be in deep shit! You glanced at the door, thinking that you should just book it, until May’s expression melts and is replaced with a bright, welcoming smile.

“Oh! You’re (Y/N)!” his aunt exclaimed with delight, then immediately makes a b line up to you, “You’re the one that works at Delmar’s, right?! Peter has told me so much about you!” 

“R-really?!” you expressed with confusion.

“Oh don’t worry, nothing bad,” she assures you, waving her hand dismissively, “Actually, quite the opposite!” This makes you turn to Peter, where you give him the most perplexed look you could give a person. Did Peter not tell his aunt about how you’ve treated him? If not, why would he withhold this information from her? Peter reads your expression, but instead of saying anything he looks the other way and rubs the back of his neck. Okay, you needed to ask him about this another time.  

“I was just about to invite Peter out for some Thai food!” she tells you, “Would you like to come with us?” Though you were flattered by the invitation, you felt like it wouldn’t be a good idea to tag along, so you say

“I think I should head home. I don’t want to overstay my wel-'' Before you could finish, an incredibly loud gargle emitted from your stomach. You blushed, horrified and betrayed by your own stomach, as Peter stifled a laugh. You give him a glare, making him shut up, which May finds very amusing. 

-

It seems like every other day the world kept challenging your expectations. 

Who would’ve guessed that you would be spending your Wednesday evening dining with your rival and his aunt at their favorite Thai restaurant located five minutes away from them? MJ was going to have a field day when you tell her this tomorrow. Well, at least this was better than eating at home, you thought to yourself. You and Peter were seated beside each other, while his aunt sat across from her nephew. The three of you were helping yourselves with servings of the sour and spicy tom yum soup, the sweet but flaming yellow curry, and juicy larb lettuce wraps (Peter’s favorite, or so his aunt claims). 

“I’m so glad your mother agreed to let me take you out for dinner, dear,” May says with a smile, “I can finally get to know you a little better!” 

“U-um, yeah. I’m kind of surprised she let me come.” you admit to her, then take a sip of your serving of soup.

“Why is that?” she asks you. It would be awkward to admit to her that you kind of expected your mom to make you come home to eat, which would have saved you from this very odd situation you got yourself into. On the other hand, it did save you from having to spend dinner with your parents. It was a strange blessing in disguise.

“My mom is usually strict about me going out with people she hasn’t met before.” you tell her, which was true. Your mom has always been adamant about meeting people you hang out with, though you usually tried to avoid such as she is pretty judgemental about other people. Thankfully, you have been able to save MJ from her unfair shrewdness. It also explains why you never mentioned to her about your acquaintance with Spider-man, as you knew she’d have a handful of shit to say about him. To you, the more you had your parents out of your personal life, the more at peace you were. 

“I can understand why,” May says after she swallows her bite of yellow curry, “Especially since you guys are still new to the area. New York is full of wacky characters, after all. Wouldn’t want you to get mixed up with the wrong kinds of people.” You take a glance at Peter, who hasn’t said much during the conversation, instead carefully watching the two of you as he munches down some larb. 

“So Peter told me you work at Delmar’s,” she says, “Why is someone as young as you working for him? Especially during junior year?” 

“Oh, I wanted to earn some extra cash,” you explain to her, “I want to be more financially independent, you know? So I was looking at other service and retail jobs, however the ones that had openings were full time or had a strict part time arrangement, which wouldn’t work out for school. But Delmar was nice enough to be compliant with my school schedule, so he took me in.” 

“Wow, lucky you!” she exclaims with a smile, “Then you must like working there, huh?” 

“I mean, it’s a bit boring at times, but it has its perks.” you tell, thinking about a certain someone. This makes your heart heavy again, making you look down at your food. 

“Has Delmar told you about what happened to that place last year?” she asks you.

“Oh, you mean the explosion caused by those bank robbers?” you say, perking your head up, “Yeah, he mentions it every once in a while. He always talks about how Spider-man saved him and Murph from the wreckage.” 

“Really?” May asks, an amused smile creeping upon her face as she looks over at Peter, who you noticed had froze up mid-bite.

“Yeah,” you say, raising your brow at your classmate’s odd behavior. You turn back to her and tell her, “Actually, Spider-man was one of the reasons I got hired by Delmar.”

“Is that so?” she asks with a delighted tone, her eyes watching her nephew as his eyes shift from her to you. This was just like their weird silent conversation at the apartment! Were they always like this? Maybe this is where Peter gets his uncanny behavior from. You had to pretend to not be bothered by it, so you continue,

“Yeah...he actually introduced me to Delmar a few weeks into my move. I was trying to get to know the Queens area a little more so I took the bus to this area. However about two hours into exploring I got completely lost, and on top of that I had left my house in a rush so I didn’t check how much battery life my phone had, so it had died. I tried to ask around for help but no one bothered, and I pretty much thought I was screwed.” You paused for a moment, feeling like you were saying too much, only to notice d that Peter and May were listening to you intently. Realizing you could continue, you say,

“But by sheer luck, Spider-man was in the area, and he found me by chance. I told him my situation and he offered to take me to a bodega that was selling portable chargers, and since he was the only other person I knew at the time I went with him. And that bodega was Delmar’s! He introduced me to him, and told him about my situation. Since Delmar was such a fan of Spider-man, he actually allowed me to charge my phone in the outlet behind the counter, but I didn’t have a charging cable so Spider-man offered to pay for one. 

“While I was waiting for my phone to charge Delmar was telling Spider-man that he was looking for a part-time employee, as his son who used to help him out was off to college in New Jersey. I mentioned that I was looking for work, but Delmar was hesitant about taking me in. For some reason Spider-man vouched for me, and because Delmar is a Spider-man fanboy he agreed to consider me. Next week I got a call from Delmar asking if I’d like to take on the job and I said yes.”

As you wrap up your tale, May was still watching you, seemingly fascinated by it. Peter, on the other hand, had resumed eating, but his expression had changed into a serious one.    

“Now that I think about it, I never paid him back for the charger,” you say without thinking. 

“Well, Pete here knows Spider-man,” May informs you, making Peter choke on the larb he was currently chewing on. 

“Y-yes, I am aware of this,” you say with a forced smile, “Everyone in our school knows about that.”

“Well, maybe Peter can help you out with paying him back, if you want,” she suggests. This makes your eyes perk up in hope. Maybe your initial mission will be finished sooner than you thought! You were just about to express your willingness for this, but Peter jumps into the conversation,

“I-I think Spider-man doesn’t care if you paid him back or not,” he says, still recovering from his sudden choking, “He was just happy to help you out. A-also he’s been really busy lately, so it’s been hard for me to get into contact with him.” Damn it! You hiss internally. You try your best to hide your disappointment, but May seemed to have caught onto it.

“Well, maybe next time you run into him!” May reassures you, but you highly doubt this. For a moment you thought you were going to be ten steps ahead, and now you felt like you were all the way back to the start. For the remainder of dinner, May carried on with talking, while both you and Peter continued to silently eat your food.  

-

 After the three of you finished up dinner, May offered that she drive you home, but you politely declined and said that you’d just walk to your bus stop. So then she offered that her and Peter escort you to your stop and see you off safely. Once all of you reached it, you turned to her and Peter, pulling your backpack strap higher to your shoulder and said,

“Thank you for taking me out for dinner. And for walking me here. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, no problem, dear!” May exclaims as she takes your hand and clasps it between hers, “I’m just so happy I finally got to meet you!” You give her a shy smile, still taken aback by her kindness but appreciative of it. You turn to Peter, who met your eyes as he was fiddling with his hands uncomfortably.

“Um…thanks for today,” you say to him, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“U-uh, yeah,” he nods, “Get home safely.” You nod in response, and luckily just in time your bus pulls into the stop, freeing you from this delicate air.

“Please text Peter when you are home, okay dear?” May asks you as you make your way to the bus. 

“I will, ma’am!” you assure her, and then hop onto the vehicle, making yourself comfortable as you head for home. As May and Peter watch your bus drive off, she comments,

“(Y/N) is just how you described them to me. Definitely a shy clam, but they seem like a good kid.”

“Yeah.” Peter responds, his eyes still watching the bus disappear into traffic.

“Are you ever going to tell them?” she asks, looking down at her nephew

“I don’t know,”    he admits, frowning, “Honestly, I’m afraid of what will happen when they find out.”

----

Grace is based off of Chinese pop idol FeiFei Zhong

"What club?" Steve asks as he refills his cup. Tony takes another sip before replying, "Stark Naked, something like that." The room goes quiet for a few seconds as you, Peter, Ned, and Michelle all look at each other through wide eyes. Suddenly, you're piping up.  

"Oh," you say quite nonchalant. The kind of nonchalance that Tony knows he'll hear something shocking. He should be used to it by now. "We own that."

Once more the room is stunned into silence. Tony doesn't know exactly what the club is. He doesn't know if it's a night club, a bar, a strip club. He just knows that it's some type of club and it's been making lots of money. On top of that, it's been attracting attention towards Stark Industries, people have been assuming that SI has been dipping their toes in the nightlife scene. Which couldn't be further from the truth.

"What?"

"Yeah," you say as you approach the coffee maker, mug in hand. "We own that place, it's a night club with strippers."

Tony begins to shake his head and Pepper has to hold back a chuckle. What's next? You've adopted three children from Africa and Europe each? Have you had children behind his back? But now that the thought enter his mind-

"Do you and Peter have some children I don't know about?" Tony blurts. The question takes everyone by surprise. Like always, Sam and Bucky have to hold back their laughter.

"Oh god no! If we had children, everybody would know the minute I pissed on the stick!" you complain, your face contorting into one of disgust. Peter giggles from his spot next to you as you return back to your seat.

"Well, you keep fucking hitting me with all this random news. You were an ordained minister out of nowhere, you're married to Peter as well! Now you own a club with Peter-"

"And with Ned and I!" Michelle cuts in. Tony rolls his eyes.

"Anyways, you've done all this shit behind our backs, it's beginning to make me question what else I don't know about. Are you in a polygamous relationship with Michelle and Ned as well? Are Shuri and Harley part of it too? Actually, I don't want to know, an-"

"Ew! No, we're not in a polyamorous relationship, dad. Yeah Peter and Ned kiss each other here and there and Michelle sometimes sees me in my underwear, but it's all normal friend stuff," you explain. Tony shakes his head meanwhile Bucky and Steve look at each other as they shake their own heads. What kind of friend stuff are they talking about?

"I don't think all friends do that, Y/N," Sam responds.

"How did you guys even open a nightclub? How did you guys even get strippers for it? Are all of you guys even old enough to get into the very club you own?" Nat asks.

"We bought the building after somebody went out of business and the owners couldn't keep up with the expenses. So we had this empty building for three months, we'd bought it a month after dad and Pepper's two-year-anniversary," you begin to explain.

"So, we sat on it for three months, unsure of what to do when Michelle talked about wanting to be able to go to a gay club and wanting to be able to see some strippers. A lot of the strip clubs are not welcoming of people under 21 or aren't the cleanest places," Peter continues. Everybody seems to follow along, not seeing why to disagree.

"So, we began to make the plans on our club. We wanted to make an LGBTQ+ friendly club that could make people feel safe. Not just the customers but the workers too. We wanted it to be a fun place for any and everybody. We also wanted to give room for sex workers in the area, so we made sure to give jobs to people in the area who were more along the poverty line because we care about people," Michelle continues.

"So Y/N dipped into your lawyers and accountants as well as other business assets that could help us start out business and since Y/N is the oldest, the most experienced, and the richest of us all, we had her be the main shareholder. We built a plan with your team and they helped us put it all into fruition," Ned continues.

"So, they helped us get contractors, plumbers, electricians, and so much more. They got to build our dream place and once the furnishing was coming to an end, we held interviews in our shared office at the club and we hired some strippers, bartenders, DJs, and some security guards. So far, it operates as a normal nightclub, but we plan on doing some big events in the future," you finish, seeing everyone's impressed expressions. Pepper was the one who seemed the most impressed.

"But you're already 21, Y/N. You can drink and get into clubs," Tony says.

"I know, but Ned, Peter, Michelle, Shuri, and Harley are not. Especially not Harley. Our club is 18+, everyone gets carded, and there are 21+ only sections in the club. We keep our place clean and we also go every night for an hour to check up on it. We have a manager overseeing it all every night, so we got everything down."

Tony was stunned into a silence, so now he's just letting everybody else ask the questions. He just wants to know so much, but he's beyond impressed. His daughter definitely has it down much better than he did when he was her age. He couldn't be more proud. Sure, a lot of it was done because she fucked around too much, but in the end, it was all going visibly well. She's been married for almost three years to Peter, she's the heir to SI and now she's running a nightclub successfully with some of her best friends and her husband. She's doing so much better than Tony could ever ask for. It almost makes him want to cry.

"How long has the club been up and running?" Bucky asks.

"Three months, so it's still fairly new," Ned responds.

"And why doesn't anyone know who owns the place?" Steve asks as he looks up from his phone, most likely having done a bit of research of his own about the club.

"We wanted to remain anonymous for the first three months or so. On our 100th day, we plan on doing an event where we unveil the owners. We wanted to give our workers a purpose, a reason to stay and if we proved that all the success of the business comes from their hard work, then that would be proof enough that they are important," Michelle responds.

"Were we gonna be invited to this event?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just we were gonna do it next week. The event is in two weeks," Peter responds.

"Why are we always finding out about this stuff so late?" Nat adds in.

You can't help but shrug. No one really ever asks you what you're doing, so there's no reason to tell them. Plus, you just kind of do things with as minimal thought as possible. That's not to say you don't think about it, because you do put at least some thought into the things you do. You just don't think everything through thoroughly, which seems to be working in your favor thus far.

"So what's it like to be the second Stark to have their spouse as their business partner? Or are you a Parker?" Sam asks, realizing nobody ever asked about the name change or if there was one.

"We took each other's names, so we hyphenated. Stark-Parker. But it feels cool because I get to say 'hey you don't talk to my husband like that, he also owns this company!' when people tell him things," you explain.

"It's still crazy, y'all have really been married for two years?" Steve asks.

Peter blushes when he looks over at you. After having come out about it to everyone, the two of you finally relished in the glory of it. You can now openly call him your husband and he calls you his wife. Sometimes he'll call you Mrs. Parker and sometimes you'll call him Mr. Stark, but then you'll switch to Mr. Stark-Parker because the former just makes you think about your dad and it kind of ruins the moment.

"Hey, it's fun being married. Peter makes it an adventure," you say, making Peter rest his head on your shoulder.

Tony couldn't be happier about it, actually. His biggest fear, when you got with Peter, was that you would end up heartbroken, but here you are, with who he thinks will the love of your life. He sees how Peter has nothing but respect and love for you. He praises the very ground you walk on and he treats you like his equal. He treats you how you deserve to, and Tony can't help but love the young man for that. He's never seen anyone more in love than the two of you, him and Pepper being a close competition. For some odd reason, two things finally dawn on him. One, and it’s only two years later, it finally hits him. Peter is his son-in-law. Peter is his fucking son-in-law. The wimpy kid he met 4, almost 5, years ago who now owns a strip club with his best friends is his son-in-law.

Also, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man owns a fucking strip club!

"Okay, can we just ask, no more surprises? If you get a child in any way, let us know before you physically have a child with you. If you make a big life move, will you promise to tell us ahead of time? One of us is gonna die from a heart attack because of this type of stuff!" Pepper chimes in. Through chuckles, you nod. It's the least you can do.

"Well, to celebrate, do you guys wanna go visit the club tonight? In preparation for the event?" you ask after everyone seems to calm down from all that was thrown at them. The first to excitedly agree is Sam, who claims he's so totally not in it for the booty. Next to chime in is Nat, who claims to be in it solely for the booty. Everyone begins to chime in not too long after and everyone seems so excited about it.

Later that night, you'd all showed up at the club at around 9 PM. You'd reserved one of the VIP lounges for yourselves, which was a room within the bigger room that fit at least twenty people in it. It included two stripper poles, a mini bar and one large table that connected to the stage for the strippers. Tony was impressed at how well thought out the place was. Michelle admitted that most of it was her and Shuri, but Ned and Harley played a part in it as well. You and Peter admitted to being more of the administrative leaders but helped with creative ideas as well, ultimately being the ones to approve it all in the end. Pepper was more than impressed as well.

"Hey," Tony begins once you shut the door to the office. It's a giant room with black and purple walls. There are plants and shelves everywhere. There's a giant couch along one of the walls where Tony takes a seat. He'd asked if he could talk to you in private, so you lead him to the office. "I just wanna say I'm proud of you kiddo," he says as he pulls you into a tight hug.

"For what?" your muffled voice asks.

"For all of this. Starting this place up, where all the workers are so genuine. For putting so much effort into not only creating and making your dreams come true but for your friends too. For finding someone who loves you as much as you love them, for being a role model not only to Peter but to your friends. For everything. You're doing so much better than I was at your age and I couldn't be prouder," he admits. You smile up at your father, wrapping your arms around him.

"I get it from you, father. I am my father's daughter," you joke. "I'm proud of you for dealing with my bullshit, from surprise marriages to surprise businesses. I have one more surprise, but as I promised Pepper, I'm gonna tell someone and it's gonna be you," you continue.

"Oh god, you're pregnant. I'm too youn-"

"No! I'm not pregnant. If I was I wouldn't have downed three consecutive shots like I did!" you tell him. You let out a shaky breath before pulling a key out of one of the books on the shelf. Tony watches as you use it to open the lock on one of the drawers on your desk. He watches as you nervously pull a small velvet box out of the drawer and open it to reveal a gold band with a big diamond encrusted into the ring, smaller ones woven around the band. Tony's eyes widen, it had to have been at least 100 grand. While Tony loves Pepper a lot, he only dropped a good ten thousand on the ring he got her.

"I'm thinking of proposing to Peter, properly."

If there's one thing natural born Starks are, it's being deep lovers. A little too much.