#tasm fic

His body was currently nestled between your spread legs, eyes roaming your body before fixing on your face. Your lower half is entirely exposed, the breeze from his open window nipping at your skin making you squirm. “This wasn't what I thought you meant when you asked for help, and I said yes Peter” you whine and buck your hips into his touch as his hands roam up your sides, rubbing and caressing your body. You can feel the cool metal of the singular web shooter strapped to his left wrist. “Oh this is fully what I intended when I asked baby, tug all you want, squirm all you want” he coos as he uncovers your breasts by pushing your shirt up to reveal them. “Need to test how strong the new formula is” he explains softly as his right hand falls between your open thighs, middle and ring fingers nudging open your slit and rubbing through your folds. Slick immediately collecting on the tips of his slender fingers.

With a sharp intake of breath you twist your body and try shifting your hips away from his hands. His free hand that has the web shooter aims towards your writhing leg and shoots webs that wrap your ankle tethering it to his foot board. “You sure this wasn’t what you intended, princess? You're so wet for me” he emphasizes his tease with a tilt of his head, smirking softly as his two fingers push at your hole.

You whine and push your hips back on his hand trying to get them inside you, your hole clenching at the small intrusion. “I missed you Pete, you've been so busy” you explain and look through your lashes at your boyfriend hovering over you, your eyes full of longing and love. “Awww well i'm here now baby” he leans down and presses his lips to yours just as his two fingers push knuckle deep inside you. You let out a short surprised moan against his lips as you kiss back greedily. You tug at the webs around your wrists, hands desperate and itching to touch Peter. “Keep tugging baby, try your hardest, you can do it” he mumbles into your mouth, his words both encouraging and mocking before humming when you whine in response. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the pleasure, his free hand coming to pin your hips down holding them still.

Pumping his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt, a sloppy squelching sound filling the room along with your muffled whimpers and moans. “Fuck!~” you let out a plaintive cry and pull away from peters mouth when his thumb is added in, stimulating your clit. Rubbing small circles on your bundle of nerves as his fingers speed up their movement, making your mouth fall open and your head fall back against his pillows. Your hands tug as well as your leg at his webbing, the action doing nothing to tear or unstick it. A heat spreading through your body, you liked this idea of him tying you up with his webs more than you could’ve guessed, the heat settling and growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Come on baby, i don't think your tryin’ hard enough to break out” he taunts as his long fingers find that spongy spot deep inside you and start abusing it, the rough pad of his tongue speeding up its circles. “Gonna have you cumming before you break the webs princess” he chuckles softly and leans down to kiss along the exposed column of your neck. Your head goes fuzzy from his mouth on you, his fingers ruthlessly thrusting inside you, the feeling of him all over you. “Can’t- I can’t do it Pete, i cant break em’ fuck- please baby im gonna cum!” you whine and cry out, your eyes squeezed shut as you teeter on the edge of your climax.

He grabs ahold of your chin and moves your head up the movement forces your eyes open, you stare into his deep brown eyes, his pupils blown.

“Not yet baby, the experiment hasn't gone on long enough, need to see if they break” his voice comes out sweet yet concedesing as he crashes his lips against yours to muffle your wanton moan.

Truthfully Peter had gotten enough information from all your squirming and pulling that he figured it was strong enough, he was just having far too much fun playing with his pretty girlfriend.

"I uh, that- that thing back there? Well— yeah, of course!" He scratched the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.

So both parties may or may not have trouble in delivering a full sentence without slipping a stutter or a gazillion amount of um's. Yet unfortunately that's just how things go when an awkward person and a shy person likes each other.

Too busy smiling at you, Peter almost tripped on his own untied shoelace, which you couldn't help but bite your lip at to stifle the tiny laugh trying to escape your lips, "See you around...?" You chuckled, stepping back.

And he certainly did see you around. A coincidental groupwork pairing somehow led to the two of you sending texts after texts some nights. In which, some nights turns into most nights.

Even with his lip cut, lungs terribly out of breath, and his spidey mask slightly ripped and in desperate need of tailoring, he'd still have a smile on his face once he open his phone to find an unread text under your name.

Though every little interaction would have five to six sentences only from Peter, he would still occupy your mind day and night, and so did you occupy his mind, no matter what bad guy he had to defeat behind the red mask at night.

Peter thought about you so much that at this point, his motivation to go through his Spiderman missions isn't just "for Queens" anymore at this point, but for you, knowing you could be one of those people in danger in the dark of the night.

"What got you grinning?" Aunt May teased one day when he came home with a wide smile, cheeks just slightly rosy, "Is it that sweet Gwen girl?"

Peter's smile almost faltered, groaning out a laughter, "No, May... It's not Gwen Stacy." He shook his head, "'M just happy, y'know?"

Thanks to Uncle Ben, he learned his lesson to not put the girl he had a crush on as his desktop wallpaper. Instead, he kept candid pictures of you, which he took by himself, inside his drawers. Hidden, yet opened every now and then. He kept a smaller copy taped onto the underside of his skateboard.

"You need to stop taking pictures when I'm not looking..." You once scolded him playfully, huffing and blowing away a piece of hair that was in front of your eye, "Wasn't even my good side."

Peter's eyes darted away from his camera to your face, "I... What?" He chuckled softly, "Not your good side? This one?" He poked a cheek, his tone showing disbelief.

Your cheeks became a shade of pink, warming up as that fluttering feeling fills your stomach, "Yeah," You nodded, "It's... odd-looking."

"No, it's not." Peter shook his head, smiling gently with his eyebrows creasing in confusion, "If it is, then I... I don't believe in the existence of good sides."

What started out as awkward convos and looks in the hallways, gradually shifted to spending time with each other most of the time— and when you're not, you're thinking about one another.

And even that sweet dynamic gradually shifted into something new. An even more special connection between the two of you quietly blooms, no loud confessions or dramatic plans. (Not that he had the time or money)

Just you and him sitting on the edge of a rooftop, an empty box of New York-style pizza, when he finally shot his shot and leaned forward to capture your lips in his, hands gentle as they cradle your face.

Because no matter how much duty being Spiderman involves, it was a matter of time before he gets his heart pierced forever by cupid's arrow.

It wasn't like you were only competitive and hard-working because of Peter. You would never give him that satisfaction, even if it was the case it was the truth.

No, you had always been this determined and hard working, even in simple high school chemistry labs. But the pool had certainly widened since high school, high achievers with much sharper teeth swam alongside you now.

You had to prove yourself more than ever before, but the reward of the Deans List and praise from your family and professors was worth the endless work and study-sheets.

You had actually worked hard to get to where you were now.

Unlike some people, where it came naturally. Or their parents had money, and could weasel their way into the Dean's mind like snakes, to cater to their golden child.

The mere thought of Peter Parker made your jaw clench so hard you worried teeth would crack.

No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction, even though this was in your mind, and your mind alone- that you gave him even the slightest bit of time in your day. Or night, in this case. It was now 12:05.

Six minutes after the deadline for your secondary thesis, your countless months (years really, you always just used a near dying pen and a napkin to jot it down) of jumbled ideas, random thoughts and hypotheses spewed out onto a nice, neat document.

Organized, somehow, when your mind felt like it was moving a mile a minute, jumping from one thought to the next.

And somehow, he was in the mix. Of all the things you could think of, he was right up there with the worst of the worst.

You should be celebrating, it was done, and you were free. But all you felt was built churning in your gut, making you queasy.

Whether it was the lack of sleep, the limited and very poor diet and the endless stress and perfectionism, or if it was Parker on your mind- you didn't know. It would be funny if you told him the thought of him actually made you sick.

But that would tell him that you thought about him. And you couldn't have that.

You were winning. You had to stay winning.

You dragged yourself from the mirror, slamming the laptop shut before you let out a deep sigh. It was as if the weight had lifted, just a smidge from your shoulders, but there was still the pressure of nerves.

You had to win this. Winning this meant a free week at an all inclusive resort in Mexico, with a guest of your choosing. You needed a heavy handed pina coloita, and a beach with clear waters more than anything after this year.

If you lost that… if you lost that to Parker…

You shook your head, trying to rid the cobwebs of dread and anxiety that coated your mind. You were free, for now, at least. In a few days, you’d present your research. The next week, you’d have plane tickets to Mexico in your hand.

Tomorrow, you’d go to a cafe with your best friend Gwen, buy nine dollar iced vanilla lattes and check out a new antique store you’d been dying to explore.

It was going to be a good day.

And for now, you had to just focus on taking the days, one at a time. And not think about Peter Parker, and that charming, smug smirk. 

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The nerves had threatened to consume you alive a week ago.

They started to slither their way back to the surface as you tried to enjoy your much deserved break from school work.

It had been nearly seven days on the dot since you had presented your findings, Dr. Banner silently cheering you on from the back corner of the room, which was much needed, a contrast from the cool and collected looks of the committee staring at you as you presented.

You had worn black that day, knowing it would save you from the embarrassment of visible sweat stains, thank god. You had even traded your three espresso shots for a measly one and a half, knowing it would churn with the nerves in your stomach and possibly make you a jittery, vomiting mess in front of everyone.

All and all, it had gone as well as you thought it could go. Dr. Banner thought so at least. Not even the sight of Parker could break your stride as you left the little meeting room, his eyes being the first thing that met your gaze as you left.

He was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on.

And that pissed you off even more.

How’d it go bunny? He had asked, a twinkle in his eye as he took you in.

You refused to let yourself curl inwards as much as you wanted to, it was something you would not allow in his presence. Your eyes had rolled at the pet name he had refused to drop, despite your countless requests to drop it.

You were not a bunny. You were not his bunny.

“Excellent. Break a leg Parker.” You had snapped, brushing past him, the smell of his husky cologne choking you. He sucked the air out of every room and hallway he was in, not just because of his larger size, but because he was just that much of a cocky prick.

You almost guaranteed he had called every girl something sweet to get into their pants.

Over your dead body you’d ever be one of them, the rake.

He chuckled at your comment, knowing you meant it literally. You never filtered yourself around him.

“That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble someday bun.” he called as you walked away, turning the corner before you could let yourself react. He did not ruin the perfect, checking items off your list day.

And he wouldn't ruin it today.

In a week, you’d know if you had scored two tickets to Mexico, and the excitement mixed with anxiety made you want to stay curled up in bed, under twenty blankets. You squeezed your knees into your chest, attempting to take deep breaths, though they came out shaky.

You had to pull yourself together, rip it off like a bandaid. Tune everything else out, make everything into a list.

You pulled yourself out of your tangled position, reaching for a notebook you always kept handy at your bedside table, for exactly this reason.

All that could be heard was your shaky breaths, the loud hum of the wonky AC you begged your landlord to look at for the last month, and your pen scribbling on the page so hard you thought it would rip.

1. Put on an outfit

2. Fix my hair

3. Make my bed

4. Fill up water bottle

5. Check the stove is turned off

6. Subway

7. Find out if I did all that work for nothing (I don't care about the ‘experience’)

8. Start making my packing list with Gwen, or drink myself sick in sadness

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧  🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 

You arrived with five minutes to spare, and you had cursed everyone in existence for your lateness.

You scrambled to try and fix your hair before stepping inside, but it was no use. The wind was picking up, despite spring being in full swing. If you had spent less time panicking, and picking your outfit, you honestly could've used the walk.

Maybe then you would've avoided the subway delay, and the hundreds of people that lacked spacial awareness to move out of the way, rather than standing around in congested herds.

Shaking the past from your mind, there was no use in dwelling on the what-ifs now, you carried yourself forward, headstrong and confident through the doors.

You would win this.

If you told yourself that enough times, maybe it would come true.

You blinked to adjust to the flickering buzz of the fluorescent lights as you stepped inside the older building, making your way up the stairs to the same conference room you had entered a week earlier. You followed the low mumbling voices, surprised there were only a handful of people hanging around the doorway.

Had the other students already gone inside? Or had they been eliminated already?

You rubbed your hands subtly on your skirt before fidgeting again with the rings on your fingers, before an older woman directed her attention to you. Her face lit up.

“Ah Miss. Y/L/N. Right on time. Come on in and we’ll get started.”

You swallowed, trying to plaster a smile on your face despite it most likely looking something like a grimace as you stepped past some people to make your way inside.

All that waited for you was empty chairs- almost, all empty.

Peter sat at the desk that faced the dozens of other chairs,his long legs brushing the chair you assumed was yours. You avoided his gaze as you sat, smoothing out the wrinkles in your skirt before folding them neatly in your lap.

“Not even a hello? I’m hurt, bunny.”

“Not now Parker.” you bit out, not sparing him a glance as everyone sat in their seats.

“You’re late, you know. I was beginning to get worried.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

“I was not late, and you are so self absorbed and lack the human decency to worry for anyone but yourself. I could be skinned alive in front of a live audience, and you would be at the concession stand.” you snarled, earning a chuckle out of him.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Are we set to begin Miss. Y/L/N?”

You felt heat rise across your body as you quickly averted your eyes, trying to fix a smile on your face. “Yes ma’am. I apologize."

“Good. So to begin, we all want to thank you both for your hard work, time and dedication with your work. Both of you should be proud of your hard work.”

You nodded, trying to seem engaged as she droned on about academic honours and such. You needed her to get on with it. Your attention started to wane, zoning in as soon as she grabbed her score sheets from last week.

“It was extremely tough to decide who to give this award to. Your scores were identical. Both of you are tied for first.”

You closed your eyes, clenching your fists and started to pray for a genie to come in, and give you three wishes.

This could not be happening.

“You both scored a 97. That is something you should each be extremely proud of. Therefore, you both are winners.”

Yes, yes she had said that already! Jesus fucking Christ woman…

“Does that mean we rock paper scissors to see who wins?” you asked, eyebrow raised as you shifted your gaze to look at Peter.

“I always throw a rock, but I’m sure I could mix it up this time with paper.”

“Well don't give away your tricks now.” he muttered under his breath.

He was calm and collected, as he always was.

Why the hell wasn't he concerned about this?

“As fun as that would be, we collectively agree it is not fair to give someone the pair of tickets, rather than the other. So, for the first time in the history of this competition, you will each be receiving one ticket.”

Your eyes widened. Oh. Fuck.

“Oh?” you sputtered, feeling Peters stare on the side of your face as you collected yourself.

Everyone was smiling. You felt like smacking your head off the table in front of you repeatedly, until you were unconscious and blood coated the walls.

“Congratulations you two! Start planning matching outfits. We will send all the details to your emails within the next few days.” Someone said, who you couldn't focus on, as your head was buzzing so loud it was as if mosquitoes had swarmed your ears.

You felt dizzy.

All this work, the effort and countless nights you had put into this project.

And you were to share the celebration with Peter fucking Parker.

Your arch nemesis.

The universe had played some sick, cruel, twisted joke on you, pointing down from above and laughing so hard the earth had begun to shake. Chair legs began to push against the tile, squeaking as a steady buzz of chatter hummed in the room, and yet you felt frozen in your seat.

“Matching outfits eh? What do you think, pineapple, or Hawaiian button- ups?” Peter's teasing voice broke you from your spell, making the room come back into focus, and then some.

It was too loud, too hot, too much.

And he made everything worse. He always made everything worse.

“I cannot believe this. I cannot believe you.” You pointed, shooting up from your seat- your eyes sharp enough to stab daggers into his chest. Steam might as well have been spewing from your ears.

He was hazed over in a paintbrush stroke of red, anger clouding your vision. He swallowed every single frame of vision you had, whenever he was in a room.

This time, it was no different. He threw his hands up in mock defense.

“Congrats to you too bunny. We’ll be in touch soon, I’m sure.” was all he said, and you couldve sworn a sliver of hurt was etched across his features, before it had adjusted itself back into the cool, calm and collected nature he displayed so well: with that taunting smile, those stupid fucking dimples appearing as he brushed past you, too close to be anything friendly.

You heard his name called by someone, another voice calling yours to talk more about where you had landed marks, and where the three had been taken off.

You didn't care anymore.

You just needed to call Gwen, and tell her about the nightmare that had just taken place, in real time.

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It had been two weeks and you still could not get the last conversation with Peter out of your head.

You had gotten everything out of your system, when you were out at the bar with your friends, when you had started packing your bag while on the phone with your mom, and now in the car as Gwen drove you to your terminal.

“I wanted to go with you so bad Gweny.” you sighed, looking longingly out the window as the rain pattered down. There was no point lingering on the past now, you knew that. You had psychoanalyzed the whole situation to a tee, including Peter's reaction.

You don't know why that little flash of emotion had stuck with you so much.

Was it the fact you were the one who had cracked his facade? Or was it just suppressed joy that your harsh words had landed their blow as intended?

You hadn't seen him since that moment in the room, and it wasn't exactly like you wanted to seek him out. What were you going to do, apologise? You had meant what you said, and he needed to hear it.

You had to stand your ground, and you were going to continue to show him, and others- for that matter that you weren't one to be walked all over.

“I know babe, but its okay! WIth all the juicy drama deets I’ll get, it will make me feel like I’m right there with you.” she laughed as you rolled your eyes. “There won't be any updates because as soon as we land I am getting as far away from Parker as I can get.”

She sighed, watching the wipers move back and forth, the traffic pretty well at a standstill. “I’m sure it will be a fantaboluis love story for the ages. The one bed trope, enemies to lovers and all.”

“If that's the case I’m drowning myself in the ocean.” you snorted, popping a gummy-bear in your mouth.

Traveling made you nervous, which made you snacky, and somehow, hangry at the same time.

“You know, my dad has been thinking about another vacy soon. Would you want to come back to Mexico together?” she asked, reaching over to squeeze your hand, noticing you had begun to fidget.

Gwen's parents were quite wealthy, and something like a week long Mexico trip was pocket change to them. Still, it didn't make her offer any less meaningful.

“That would be awesome Gweny. I’d love to. I’m sorry again about this all not working out..” you sighed, admiring her freshly manicured fingernails.

They were sparkly and long, compared to yours, which were torn up and chewed from anxiety. You cursed yourself for not stopping your nervous tics, the skin around your nails all bloody and scratched. You picked at your skin, your nails, your lips.

And it was ten times worse this week, for obvious reasons.

Still, you had at least tried, painting them a bright, summery colour. You tried to stray from anything dull and flat for this trip, focusing more on bright colours and fun patterns. You had a whole compartment in your suitcase just for whimsical jewellery and hair pieces you couldn't wait to play around with.

You tried to hold onto that as Gwen found a spot to briefly park, close to the automatic doors that allowed the chill and crisp breeze inside.

“Dont you dare apologize! It’s going to be great. I promise. Pinky.”

She stuck out her pinky, and you couldn't help but let yours entangle in that security of oath.

“If you say so.” You sighed, sad to leave her side, as you stepped out of the car, pulling up your hood before you started to grab your bags from the trunk.

The warm smell of florals clouded your senses as she wrapped you in a warm embrace, not caring the rain was spilling down into her seat, her door slightly ajar.

“Be safe. And remember this is a vacation. It's supposed to be fun. Let yourself have that, babe.”

“I love you.” was all you could whisper, trying not to cry.

It was only a week. A week, seven days, you kept telling yourself.

You blamed it on the nerves, and the fact you hadn't traveled alone before. And the fact you got homesick. And because you were going to be on a four hour flight crammed next to Peter Parker.

“I love you too. Next time.” she smiled, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Send me pictures! Love youuu!!” she blew kisses as she got back into the driver's seat, speeding off into the rainfall, as you waved- knowing she’d spot you in her rearview.

You collected yourself, hastily scrambling to get inside before your shoes soaked from the inside out, when you bumped into something hard and solid.

A flannel you knew all too well was what you grabbed onto to steady yourself, looking up to see your walking nightmare staring back at you.

You quickly regained your composure, shrugging him off as you took off your coat, praying you didn't look like a drowned rat when he looked like… well, that.

The backwards baseball cap and watch that adorned his veiny arms really was doing something wonderful for him. You hated it.

“Well that was a very sappy, romantic goodbye. I almost shed a tear.”

“You had nothing better to do than to watch me say goodbye, like a pervert? Do you always just watch women do mundane things and make snarky comments about it?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged, and you fought the urge to run his feet over with your suitcase wheels.

“You couldn't have been useful and I don't know, maybe checked in?”

“I wanted to wait for you.”

“Oh so this is a bonding exercise.”

“Would you like it to be? I can get really personal if you want me to, bunny.”

You turned away, heading towards the check in desk. Wanting to get this over and done with, because the nerves had started to claw their way back up, not hindering due to Peter's stupid banter.

“I can be anything you want me to be.”

“I want you to be quiet and check in your bag.” You snapped, turning and almost causing another crash between the two of you again.

He was getting under your skin already. You needed to calm down, and get a grip.

“Noted.” he nodded, grabbing your bag, rolling it over to get your luggage tags. There was nothing but silence between the two of you as you each scanned your passports, letting the machine whirl and print out passes, before silently putting them on your bags. He grabbed your suitcase before you could protest, heading off to the desk.

You huffed in annoyance, hating when others did things for you without asking. Did he not think you were capable of weighing your goddamn luggage?

A loud laugh echoed from his direction, the airline worker beaming from ear to ear at a joke he must have made. She looked love-whipped, and you pitied her. So many girls looked at him in the same way, like a newly fostered puppy.

What effect did he have on people, and why did it not work on you?

You shook the thought from your head, because if anything you should be thankful his charms didn't work on you. The last thing you needed was to be a fly in his spiderweb entrapment. He would eat you alive, if you let him get close enough.

After what felt like forever, he finally made his way back to you, a look of achievement on his face as the lady at the desk watched his every move, whispering to her coworker beside her.

“All good. Security?”

“Oh, you didn't want to eat her face off first?”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. You tried not to look at his biceps.

And failed.

“What makes you think that?”

“Maybe because she looks like she wants to eat yours?”

He laughed.

“What?” you said, annoyed beyond belief. This trip was going to be a lot more difficult than you thought it would be. And you hadn't even gone through security yet.

Oh brother.

“Are you… jealous?”

Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. Did you sound jealous? Oh god. This was bad.

“No! Of course not. I’m pissed off you took your sweet time.”

“Our flight isn't for another two hours. Are you seriously worried about being late to sit in chairs and people watch?”

“Yes.” you grumbled, adjusting your carry on bag on your shoulder, fidgeting with the strap anxiously. He didn't know of your travel anxiety, or more so your overall general anxiety, not that you expected him to or planned to inform him of such info.

Everything tended to make you a little anxious, but crowds, airports and overall travelling made you super anxious. It was the last place anyone wanted to be at, of course- and the nervous energy that hung in the air like a thick cloud made you feel queasy.

What if something happened, where you were late to the flight? What if you had troubles at security and they thought you had a bomb and pulled you aside for a five hour long interrogation? What if the flight was delayed? What if you were sick…

“Hey? Helloooo bunny?” Peter waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your dazed trance.

”I was just kidding bunny. I’m sorry I took longer than expected. She had a lot of... personal questions.”

“Of course she did. Lets just get this over with.” you mumbled, trying to ignore the fact he had actually apoglized to you. That had to be a first, possibly ever, for him to do to anyone.

Once the hard part was over (no secret bombs on you, as expected), you followed your airport routine checklist to keep you grounded as you waited for the flight.

1. Find your gate

2. Grab a much needed caffeinated beverage (why was the flight so god damn early?!)

3. Grab snacks for plane

4. Fill up your water and use the bathroom as many times as needed once it was scouted out

5. Wait at your gate

As the minutes grew closer to boarding time, you began to get more anxious, and it had gotten to the point Peter had for sure noticed it. Your very visible leg bouncing and constant surveillance of the gate was noticeable to anyone who had eyes, really.

“You okay?” he finally asked, breaking the silence between you two. You nodded, barely registering what he said. You just wanted this over with. To be in sweet and sunny Mexico, away from the large crowds, the loud noise, the constant movement and rush.

“You sure? Because you look like you're two seconds away from becoming Twitchy the squirrel. Was that second coffee needed?”

“I’m going to punch you.”

“Oh so she speaks. Finally.”

You sighed. “I just… really hate airports okay? Sorry.”

You turned to meet his gaze, and you could've sworn something like sympathy was reflected back at you.

“What about them do you not like, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Everything.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

And that was that.

When it was finally time for you to board, you practically leapt out of your seat, headphones nearly sliding off your head from the force. You felt yourself shut down again as you both made your way onto the jet bridge, but you knew it was the exhaustion heavy in your bones from the constant stress.

You prayed you would be able to get a wink of sleep on the plane, but that would be unlikely. It was only once you were both seated, the plane starting to make its way down the runway you felt yourself trying to speak again.

Your tongue felt thick, your mouth filled with invisible, weighted sand. You needed a distraction during this takeoff, or else you would have an anxiety attack in the bathroom, no matter how many flight attendants yelled at you to take your seat.

You needed Peter Parker to say something.

Anything. And thats how you knew you were completely and utterly fucked.

“I think we may be lucky this time if the plane crashes.” he muttered, making you tense up even more.

Okay, maybe you didnt need him to speak anymore.

“What on earth could you possibly mean?” you gritted out between clenched teeth, your hands wrung in your lap.

“I mean we definitely have a doctor on board. I think I also saw a guy from the military. And I know the girl we passed two aisles ahead is a therapist.”

“How on gods green earth do you know that?” Your legs began to bounce as you felt yourself starting to leave the ground, tilted up on an angle.

“I saw her reading some fancy book. And she has the glasses they all wear.”

“And we’re talking about this because…?”

“Its good to be prepared. Or its just a game you can play.”

You sighed, your hand instinctively reaching for Peters as you started to soar, pinching your eyes shut.

His hand was warm and soft, enveloping yours with a gentle squeeze on reassurance.

“Do you think the therapist could help me with you?” you asked, not fully grasping the situation at play. The fact you were holding onto Peter's hand for dear life, and the fact he was letting you squeeze his hands so hard his bones were sure to ache afterwards.

“I think you’ll be needing my assistance if we end up stranded on an island.”

“To attract bait?”

“Exactly.” he smiled, looking down to where your hands were intertwined.

You quickly adjusted yourself, flustered as you settled back into your seat, in hands and arms in your own arm rests.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. Just shrugged.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself now.” you quickly looked away, smoothing the wrinkles in your sweatpants as you stumbled over a one sided conversation.

This was weird. You were making this weird.

“You don't have to.” he murmured, before slipping on his headphones and shutting his eyes as he leaned back in his seat.

Conversation done. Ended.

So why in the hell were you slightly upset at that, when all you wanted for him was to shut up?

It was nerves. It was just nerves, and this flying day was making you antsy.

Of course you wanted the distraction to continue. But instead of making another scene, you tried to do the same- by shutting your eyes and trying to make yourself comfortable (never going to happen).

You gave up and started making a list of things for when you landed.

1. Grab carry on

2. Unboard the plane

3. Grab luggage from correct area

4. Find your driver

5. Triple check th-

“Wake me when they come by with snacks please n thank you bunny.” a featherlight whisper tickled the hairs on your neck as he adjusted himself back in his seat, hands folded in his lap as he drifted off.

Leaving you alone with endless depths of worry that pooled in your mind.

 🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧  🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 

You couldn't fully let the tension out of your shoulders until you were within the safe confines of your room at the resort, your bags dropped and your shoes kicked off.

The tile was cool against them, the air conditioning humming steadily in the background.

It was a beautiful resort.

Nothing within your tax bracket, to say the least. Though everything seemed to be as a broke university student.

Everything had been smooth from exiting the plane, your bags were a) boarded on the correct plane, and b) were not lost or damaged (though it always too forever for them to emerge from the plane, which made you think the worst of the worst happened).

Peter had continued his endless jests on the drive over, and they refused to cease until you had practically shut the door in his face. Not even the warm towel and complementary drink when you arrived shut him up (though why were there warm towels in Mexico)?

But now you were here, you were alive in one piece.

You had survived the travel day, and once your suitcase was unpacked, because of course- you couldn't possibly think of resting until that was done and you had changed out of your dirty outside clothes, you could plop down on that comfy looking bed and doze… wait.

An anomaly broke you from your peaceful moment, as you observed a door.

A door that led directly to Peter's room.

Oh fuck.

You quickly ran over to it, locking it firmly. Not that you thought he would barge in unannounced, but Jesus you felt better with it secured.

Of course it was like this, because why would it not be? You were a shared party, so it made sense there would be a shared door. Still…

You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned against the wood, trying to ground yourself. You were just overly tired and emotional from the long day, you couldn't let these little, insignificant things get to you.

Plus, it could be a benefit if there was an intruder. You could just lead them right to his room instead.

For now, you had to focus on what you could control, aka oragnizing.

You got to work, letting your mind carry you away before you heard three quick raps on your door. Your other, door.

You frowned, quickly unlocking your shared door, wondering why the hell he was choosing to abuse this method of annoying you.

It was truly cruel. You werent even this low.

“What?!”

“Dinner time.” was all he said, inviting himself in.

“Uhm,come on in?”

He beamed from ear to ear, that little dimple appearing like an old friend, always showing when he knew he truly got under your skin.

“Damn you’ve unpacked?”

“You havent?”

He shrugged, spinning around to get a glimpse of your room. “The same as yours, I imagine.” you grumbled, stomping off to the bathroom, for no reason other to get rid of him.

“No one really unpacks on vacation bunny. Anyone who told you that was a liar.”

“I like my things the way I like my things.” was all you said as you grabbed your makeup bag, trying to fix your mascara.

“You sure do like your things…” he muttered, making you scoff.

Now it was two in the mirrors reflection, and you wanted to turn around and stab him with the wand. “Why are you here Peter? I’m busy.”

“Telling you it’s dinner time and we should go.” he said, leaning against the doorframe like some kind of book boyfriend. All tall and broading, swallowing the frame as he crossed his arms, biceps bulging against his crisp white button down.

He needed to get a grip.

“Okay first off there is no universally set dinner time. I know people who eat at 9 o’clock, thank you very much.”

He just raised an eyebrow. “And secondly, why do you not get the hint?”

“Am I not allowed to watch you do a simple task?”

“No.”

He scoffed. “You wound me.”

“Good. I’ll stab this mascara wand in your eye.”

“That is surprisingly very arousing.” he commented, making you whip around in disbelief.

“I suppose anything you do is though. Even when violent.”

“Peter.”

“Fiesty.”

“Get. Out. Please.” you gritted between clenched teeth. You had to fix your hair and get dressed before you could make an appearance at dinner, and if he argued about staying for that, they’d find a body and a note.

He thew his hands up in mock surrender as he moved away from the doorframe, disappearing from your view. It was only when you heard a door open and shut you could feel your chest sag, the air whooshing out of your lungs.

You fixed yourself, slipping on a dress Gwen picked out for you. Gwen.

You quickly shot her another text, telling her every last detail that occurred over the last five minutes. Tossing your phone on your bed, you gathered your wits about you before you opened the door- your door, to yet again be met with Peter's broad chest, which you almost ran directly into.

“Shall we go?” was all he asked. You couldn't even get a response out, shocked at the mere audacity. To be fair, his headstrong attitude was quite attractive, even if it was just to piss you off.

But you tried to not mix the words “Peter Parker” and “attractive” together, even though you repeatedly failed. It was like Pavlov's dog with the bell. How could you not slightly salivate when he looked like that?

But it was his damn attitude.

And you hated him, you reminded yourself as you trailed slightly in front of him, letting your hips dramatically sway as you made your way to the main buffet.

“I got us a reservation at one of the nicer sports here.” he said, his words guiding you in the opposite direction of the original plan.

“What if I said no, I’m not going to dinner with you?”

“Well you did say that. And now here we are. I can be persuasive.”

“You can be a real pain in the ass.” you snapped, falling back to meet his long strides, as he was now the one in charge.

Clearly.

He gave you no more details, so you had no choice but to follow him. It was nice honestly to not have to plan for once. But it still made you uneasy.

“I think you like me, sometimes.” he shrugged, a smirk growing on his face at your clear annoyance and disbelief at his audacity.

“I can tolerate you.”

“I can handle tolerate.” He guided you with a warm, calloused palm on the lower of your back, into a dimly lit restaurant, tables flickering with candles, illuminating the dozens of roses scattered among the premises.

It was beautiful. Far out of your wallets reach.

A glass of wine was poured into your glass as you sat down, curtsy of the house. Whatever that meant.

You basked in the silence, the murmured chatter of the tables around you, filled with couples. You felt like a sore thumb. But the way Peter was currently looking at you, made you feel as if you fit right in.

He looked at you like you were his.

And you liked it. You hated that you liked it.

“Why so fancy?”

He shrugged. “It was the best I could give you.”

An eyebrow perched to your forehead at his statement. “You do not like me.”

“I never once said, or implied that bunny.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes-”

“Are we seriously going to bicker back and forth like children on vacation?” he asked, amused with a tinge of annoyance laced in.

“Yes.”

“Jesus I need a drink.” he laughed, raising his glass to yours.

A truce. “Amen to that.”

 ⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･

Peter was a sensible man.

At least he thought he was.

He tried to be smart, but with you, he seemed to turn stupid.

You made him excited and eager to engage in whatever it was you two were playing. He yearned to figure you out, you were a puzzle stuck in his mind, one he wanted to unwind like a rubrics cube.

How he could find someone so attractive was beyond him.

He hadn't met anyone before, who had made him this stupid.

This need for attention, only from one person. And now, that need to figure you out had changed course to figure out how to get you back to your room without you vomiting everywhere.

Dinner had been fun. He never figured that would be possible with your instant bickering, but the two of you had settled on something of a truce.

He had suggested dropping any hard feelings, just for the week. Friends, or something of the sort. Not that he had any hard feelings to begin with, and not that he wanted to be friends. The word almost pained him to say.

But it was better than the annoyed glances you spared him, mixed with hints of attraction.

He had to embrace those longing gazes you gave him when you thought he didn't notice, because confronting that without a hint of sarcasm in his voice would likely scare you away.

“Am I scaring you?” you had asked, somehow concerned with his well being as you stumbled back to your room, gripping his arm like it was a teetering life-ring thrown at sea.

He smiled gently, unable to control it around you. “You could never scare me, bunny.”

He didn't know why the nickname had stuck, but it had. You claimed to hate it. But those concerns weren't vocalized now, and hadn't been in a while.

Peter remembered the exact moment he had assigned it to you, the first day you walked into lab, dressed in frilly pinks and whites. Your nose had scrunched at something your friend had said as you two sat down, and it had reminded him of a little baby bunny.

It was adorable. He wasn't sure if you had picked up on the habit, but he refused to spoil it, for fear you'd stop. That, and the constant nail strumming across any hard surface, before you wrung them in your lap, fidgeting with whatever clothing hugged your pretty curves that day.

The way you gripped his arm this time, a painful, nails clawing into skin in warning grip broke him from his trance as he led you closer to the rooms, eager for you to lean on him instead of the walls for support.

“Did we overdo it bunny?”

“No, no I just feel dizzy. And I really, really fucking want Goldfish.” you admitted, fumbling for the room key in your little bag.

He always wondered why women's clothing never had decent, or any pockets, for that matter. It drove him mad, at the mere thought of such inconvenience.

As mentioned, he was a sensible, practical man. You were the smartest person he knew. Maybe you knew the answer.

“Because designers hate women and the whole world hates women.”

“I don't hate women”. he shrugged as you finally pushed your door open, with much more body force then required, stumbling into your air conditioned room, yet the chill did nothing to soothe the pink tinge in his cheeks when he was around you for too long.

“I know you don't. You try to get into their pants and get more benefits on flight packages.” you mumbled into the sheets as you face planted into the bed, causing him to bark out a laugh.

“You’re cute.”

You mumbled something else, too muffled by the sheats to be heard by him. He wanted to help you get comfortable, knowing that it would especially help with any anxiety you'd have, whether it be about organizing, getting an alarm scheduled, even though you were on vacation he was sure that aspect didn't matter…

“Are you going to be okay, bunny?” he asked softly, coming over to the bed to rest a hand on your back.

Your skin was soft and smooth, smelling of vanilla and citrus.

He wanted to bask in it.

“Yes, yes promise. Pinky.” You weakly held up your hand, extending a pinky in offering. He quickly accepted it, wanting nothing more than to touch you, even if it was brief contact.

The promise hummed true in his chest, warming his insides as he slipped from your room, unable to stop looking over his shoulder as he made his way back to the hallway- determined and on a mission.

You were mumbling more nonsense, the sound drowning out in the background as he made his way quickly down the hall, in order to find the nearest convenience store, or something of that establishment within the resort.

He needed to grab you Goldfish, and a nice little drink, like a Gatorade . That always made him feel just a wee bit better when he had thrown back too many beers back in his day (when he actually used to be a serious partier, now he just smoked weed and drank wine with beautiful women aka you).

Even if it was just a placebo effect, he hoped it’d do the same to you when you’d find yourself batting in and out of consciousness, blindly grabbing the nightstand and willing to drink plant water you'd be so parched.

After a few more minutes of looking, he managed to navigate his way around to pick you up everything you needed. He was almost positive you had packed your entire apartment, you were so organized and prepared and he admired that about you.

You were just so smart. It drove him wild.

Jesus Parker okay keep it in your pants until you're back in your room.

With quick haste, he managed to sneak back into your room, through the shared door that was unexpected, but welcomed.

You looked like you had fallen asleep, by the steady sound of your even breaths, and the way your lashes had fluttered against your cheeks. But as he neared, it started to stir.

As if you were excited to see him. Or maybe you just hated him that much.

But if she hated you so much, why does she look at you like that sometimes? Why is she letting you comfort her, when she cannot stand to be aided?

The thought made him smile to himself, and he placed a gentle, soothing touch to your lower back again, just to make himself known.

“I’m not sure if you're awake or not my love.” he murmured softly, knowing damn well you were. “But I brought you some treats, including some Goldfish.”

He placed down your snacks, drink and various over the counter meds that helped him when he was under the weather. Additionally, he placed a chilled washcloth down, one he had brought from his room.

He felt guilty going around your room when you weren't fully awake and alert. It didn't feel right to him, even if it meant only grabbing a mere washcloth.

“I hope you feel better and we can continue this truce tomorrow.” he smiled, placing a kiss to his fingertips before letting them brush the exposed skin of your back, your dress cut and tailored perfectly to reveal your beautiful skin, teasing him for a taste.

Before he could let his mind wander any longer, he wished you goodnight, shutting the door behind him. Letting his hand linger on the knob, he sighed.

Cursed himself.

And after he had stripped naked, pumping himself dry in the shower to the thought of you- the way you laughed when you thought he wasn't around, the little smile you did when you thought he wasn't looking, the way your heartbeat fluttered around him when he was close enough… the little sounds he was sure you’d make, the way you’d look under him…

And he had finished the night by cranking the handle to ice cold, forcing himself to sit in misery until his mind could settle enough for some semblance of sleep.

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･

My love.

He had called you my love. His love.

It had made your heart kick into overdrive.

It was a silly reaction to something so simple but fuck.

You were fucked.

You were not as drunk, and or hungover as you thought you would be. Your heart nearly melted when you broke from your spell of unconsciousness, noting all the little things he had left you. Including goldfish.

The little bugger was sneaking his way into your heart more than your logical mind could combat it. Maybe it was the lack of academic drive that had you place your guard down, to make this little truce with him.

Maybe it was because you felt you were on equal ground, in the here and now. Maybe it was because you secretly wanted to be truce-like with him, and there were feelings that were hidden that were now being shifted and thrown around like a tsunami when you had somehow managed the storm thus far.

It was terrifying, the way you had let yourself cave in so easily.

Was he that bad?

Yes, yes inner monologue, he was.

And even though a truce had been put in place, thankfully before you had finished that first glass of wine, you still had to be at least semi-cautious.

It was vacation afterall, so you figured it couldn't be the end of the world if things went to shit. You could just leave it all here, and never speak of it again.

But what if it was more? What if you wanted more?

You quickly snatched your phone, texting Gwen a much needed update before you managed to drag yourself out from under the sheets you did not remember putting yourself in, barrelling towards the washroom for a much needed shower, to wash away the icky wine feeling that gave a slight weight in your temples.

The hallway was quiet when you emerged from your room, nothing but the chirp of birds and the breeze swaying the palm tree leaves.

It was beautiful.

The realization that you had made it, you were really here hit you as you made your way down to breakfast, watching the sun rise fully, the sky tinged slightly with pinks and oranges before it gave away to a light blue.

You had made it, and you were free from work.

This was a reward, and a relief.

You had to appreciate the little things, and let yourself indulge just a bit this week. You finally had time to read all the fun fantasy books you had been stockpiling for school to be briefly over, which you could read by the pool and bathe in the sun.

There was nothing you had to do today. And that slightly scared you, but the feeling of relief was that much stronger.

1. Eat breakfast

2. Change into my bathing suit

3. See if Peter wants to hang out

4. Read my book by the pool

5. Possibly ingest a fruity cocktail…

Peter didn't join you for breakfast, the dining hall was rather empty as it was rather early considering everyone was here on vacation. But you enjoyed your food anyways, happy for the peaceful quiet, to get your thoughts in order as you nibbled on some fresh cut fruit.

And yet as you continued to eat, you wondered if it would have been nicer to have some company from someone.

Maybe even Peter himself. 

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧  🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 

A day or so later, you made the bold decision to knock on Peter's door, and invite him for breakfast. Part of you wished you hadn't, because whenever you were around him, your body seemed to betray you.

You were in tune with it now.

You refused to ignore it any longer, as much as the deceptive part of your brain tried to tell you otherwise. Your breathing quickened, your heart rate sped up, your skin grew hot, not just from the warming sun. It was vulnerable, and you didn't like it one bit.

You prayed he didn't notice your longing glances when he wasn't looking, conversing with another, or merely distracted.

You wanted to study him, his mannerisms, the outlines of his muscles, the defining ridges of his cheekbones…

“Bunny? Your move.” his gentle voice broke you from your trance,leaving you blinking at him stupidly.

Fool. You were a damn fool of a Took.

Over the last two hours, he had tried to teach you the rules of chess. It wasn't something you always wanted to learn, and now that you had all the time in the world (and a master of chess to teach you), why not learn?

Because you can't even focus on the fucking rules, you just focus on his face which makes you look like a love stricken idiot.

You cleared your throat, fingers hovering over your side of the board as you tried to remember what each piece did.

“This is hopeless.” you sighed, placing your head in your hands. His laughter made your heart sing, a steady melody against the ocean lapping at the sand of the private beach.

He had managed to score you two a cabana, and how- you didn't know. All you knew was it was a perfect place to learn chess. And you were failing, miserably.

“It's okay bunny, it takes time. I didn't understand this for days.”

“It's been days!”

“It's been two hours.”

You sighed. “I should've stuck with my books. They're much nicer than this.”

“You can get back to your fictional boyfriends soon, I promise. I’ll even buy you an iced latte if you win.” his eyes sparkled with amusement, knowing that was one of your weaknesses.

“With-”

“With vanilla and oat milk. Promise.”

“Pinky? That's law.”

“Pinky.” he wove his pinky with yours, letting his hand fall and caressing your bare thigh gently.

“Remeber the knight is in a L-shape.” he noted, pointing to the piece you were caught hovering over. It was at least another hour of this, wanting to make a move, then pandering the million moves you could do, and what he’d do, and what moves even existed for each piece.

He had let you win, smiling as you cheered, hands thrown up in the air in celebration, a cheer loud enough to have the neighbouring cabana peer their head out in alarm.

He hadn't left your side as you read your book (minus grabbing your iced beverage), asking questions about the plot, the characters, what books you liked and wanted to read.

And on top of that, it seemed like he was genuinely interested.

It was becoming harder and harder to hate him. And you hated yourself for it. But it was near impossible to do so when his woodsy cologne engulfed your senses, his touch so soft and gentle, yet filled with teasing and determination as he’d draw shapes with his fingers on your thighs.

His presence was comforting, when once it made you annoyed. But you had never truly given him a chance, and all you had to blame was yourself, and your anxious, closed off tendencies. 

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧  🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧 

You had no idea why you had waited here, now, unlike so many other nights.

You believed yourself that you couldn't stand the thought of him, and yet- he had consumed every thought you had this vacation.

You couldn't deny yourself any longer.

The lingering glances you felt on your skin, that caressed your skin like a gentle breeze, despite one being present. The way the air seemed to suck out of your lungs when he passed by you, a gentle hand on your back as he passed by, even if it was to talk to another woman.

Christ you couldn't even think about that.

You had avoided the shared door between your room and his because you feared of hearing another woman in his room would make what you had been trying to hide from yourself come to light.

That you did get jealous. You were jealous at the airport, when the worker had eyed him up like fresh meat. When countless number of girls sunbathing had slipped their sunglasses down to catch a better look, or those who attempted to make small talk with him at the swim up bar, which he happily engaged in.

You didn't want to know if he had found women to warm his bed, even though you had zero claim over him.

And you hated that. You hated the fact you cared. You also hated the fact you had no claim over him.

You let the shoes that dangled in your hand clatter to the floor as you ran a hand over your face, letting yourself feel.

For once in your life, you were going to feel this, to let it swallow you whole and spit you out in its tidal wave. You were not going to shame yourself for how he made you feel, even though you hid it with annoyance and snarky comments

He could see right through you.

You knew he could.

He made you feel cared for and heard, even if you tried to change the topic or shut him down. He made you feel funny, and beautiful, and smart…

He made you feel wanted.

And that was why you wanted him.

Not only because you had two glasses of wine at dinner, and that he was extremely attractive. It was because you had buried this for so long, it had gone through all five stages of grief within the span of this trip.

You didn't want it to end without you and him knowing how you truly felt.

Maybe it was the gentle breeze that pushed you forward through the opened windows, or the hum of excitement in your chest that made you want to surge yourself on, you didn't know. You just knew you needed to see him, now.

You wanted to take up on his offer, no matter how much teasing had been in his tone when he suggested you come over through the door to visit whenever you wanted.

And you were going to let yourself have this.

You were tired of fighting it any longer, and you didn't know if you were thinking rationally. If you wanted it to stay in Mexico, it could.

But you didn't think you wanted it to.

Which is what drove you to rapt your knuckles three times on the wood, the sharp inhale you took so quick it made stars appear in your vision.

A muffled, “come in” allowed you to slowly turn the handle, easing yourself through the crack to peer into his room. It mirrored yours, but his sheets were ruffled, his body now turned towards you- but you  saw the book tossed half hazrdly on the bed.

His glasses slid down his nose slightly, he adjusted them, a small smile on his face as he took you in, still in your little dress from dinner.

“I’m sorry, were you reading?”

He nodded. “Come in bunny. I told you to come whenever, did I not?”

“Even when its reading time before bed, grandpa?” you giggled, making him roll his eyes, the veins in his arms gleaming in the soft bedside light as he crossed his arms.

You felt your breath hitch, your heartbeat start to kick up and hum like a war horse whenever you allowed yourself to enjoy him for too long. When you started to really feel the effect he had on you, individually- rather than just that overarching effect of fuzziness.

“You wound me.”

You slipped inside, shutting the door behind you as you plopped beside him in bed, falling back into the sheets with a huff.

”You look beautiful, bunny.”

You felt your skin heat, tingles erupting over you as your nipples tightened, thighs clamming together as his molten hot gaze swept over you, taking his sweet time.

He feasted with his eyes, voice low and throaty as if he had just woken from a dream. As if he were truly admiring you.

You realized then how crazy you looked, hair messy, makeup old and probably slightly smudged, your dress hugging you tightly, but probably revealing more skin then intended from the angle he was at as he looked down on you.

You bit your cheeks, eyes quickly moving away from his, before it became too much.

“Thank you. I figured you’d be out longer, with everyone else around the fires.”

He shrugged. “I like my down time. I could say the same about you.”

“Same here.” you said quietly, realizing you knew less about him then you thought.

For the amount of time you spent around him, you had made a lot of unfair assumptions. Like he would have different women in his bed every other night, or would be drinking until 4am everynight, as a frat boy would.

“Do you feel weird about that, sometimes?” he asked, reaching over, as if he were going to brush your cheek. He hesitated, hovering over your soft skin, eyes meeting yours to ask a silent question.

You nodded, and his finger came down to softly stroke your skin, twirling around a strand of your hair that had fallen out of place. “So many questions.” you teased, making him blush.

You liked making him blush. You liked it a lot.

But you also enjoyed how many questions he asked, because it meant he was genuinely interested in what you had to say.

“Sometimes I do, because I know we’re in school and the whole thing is that we should be ‘living it up’” you scoffed.

“But I’m at peace with myself and knowing what I like and what regulates me into the same as other people my age. I don't care about fitting in, I just… I guess I just like what I like.”

He nodded. “You’re being kind to yourself. That's good. For a minute I worried you laclked any kind bone in your body.” he teased, and you smacked him playfully.

“I’m trying to be.”

“Thats all you can do.”

You adjusted yourself, turning so you faced him on your side, as he adjusted himself to do the same. As if you were at a sleepover, trying to keep quiet so your mom wouldnt wake up and shush you both to sleep.

“That was a good answer, by the way. I’m the same way.”

“I am glad to hear that. I am also glad we share the same passion for Dorian Gray.” you smiled, taking note of the frayed, and very loved book that sat close to your head.

“But you didn't come here to discuss Dorans cruelty, did you?” he asked, tugging on the strand gently, before dropping it.

You wanted his touch back. You reached for his arm, your nail trailing his bicep as you drew little patterns, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“No.” you sighed. His eyebrow raised, expecting you to elaborate.

“Well?”

“You did say I was welcome in here at any time.”

“This is true. But why are you taking up on my offer now?” he murmured, capturing your hand with his, bringing your knuckles to his lips, his kiss feather light as you felt your breath catch.

“Am I not allowed to actually take you up on offers you give out?” you asked playfully, knowing he would extract the information out of you eventually.

You sighed. “I came to confess.”

“Your undying love for me?”

“Something like that.”

Your answer stopped him short. He wasnt expecting that.

“I like you Parker. Like, I like-like you.”

“You like-like me? What are we, in middle school?” he laughed, in a way you knew he wasn't teasing you, but was just surpised.

“I just-”

“I like-like you too, bunny. But I have to say, I’m surpised to hear it’s mutual, with all the snappy remrks that have been stabed into my chest.”

“I’m sorry.” you looked down, feeling bad for how your cruel remarks must have gotten under his skin over the years.

Yet, he still managed to look at you as a work of art, and take up the challenge of going head to head with your banters. “I have never once taken it personally. I know it's just your way of…expressing your feelings.”

“My feelings?!”

“You tease and taunt because you wish for nothing more than for me to put you in your place. Is that not it?” he asked, his fingers slipping back to cradle your chin, thumb teasing your lower lip.

If it weren't for the truth in that statement, you’d shame him for being so outrageously cocky.

“Bold of you to assume that.”

He smirked. “I know. But you’ve seen the way I’ve looked at you. I have to be bold with you, bunny. I’d lose all my senses if I told you how I’ve felt.”

He paused. “What do you see when I look at you?”

“Desire. Admiration.” you confessed.

It was how you wished he would look at you. You had projected that onto your shared moments of silence longing looks. He tilted his head, studying you as he always did in those moments.

“So you see, I have to be bold- to get you to see those moments. How I feel, how I’ve always felt. You are so beautiful, Y/N. So beautiful it hurts to not have you. To share those secret moments together, all the time, because if I am not bold, I do not get to continue our little exchanges. To hear your laugh, or those smart comments. Because I do not want to scare you away.” he confessed, and you felt your eyes start to well with salty tears.

You refused to cry, blinking your lashes rapidly, but his words were so tender it hurt.

“So yes, I want to put you in your place. I want you to do the same. I want the push and pull, and I only want it with you.”

You were stunned into silence. Yet another thing you underestimated, his way with words.

He gave you a second to catch yourself from free falling down the cliff of emotions, all of them churning in your stomach and making you warm.

Sensitive.

A heat settled between your thighs, pooling like honey.

His eyes searched for something in yours, a confirmation and a blessing. You nodded before your mouth could catch up to you, clearly your throat- words becoming stuck.

“Do you want the same?”

“Yes.” you said, so gently it came out as a throaty whisper.

There was no turning back now. But it wasn't the feeling of shame that coated you so thoroughly- it was want.

It was need.

His thumb captured your bottom lip again, the smell of his cologne intoxicating as he inched closer, eyes searching yours for permission.

You nodded, feverishly. “Please.”

A low groan left his throat at the word, his lips capturing yours delicately at first, then something rougher, passion driving you to lean into his body until it was flush with yours, rolling on top of his much larger frame to cage him.

“You never have to beg with me. Never.” he growled, sending jolts of energy as his hands began to wander, slipping from your hips to cup ass, drawing you flush against his hardened cock that fought against his shorts.

You moaned, his mouth swallowing the sound as his tongue begged for entrance, which you happily granted. You shifted down, needing the friction as his hand guided you, letting you take and give as you pleased.

It became hot and messy, teeth clashing as he bit down on your lower lip, hand coming up to grip your hair, tilting your head the way he wanted to taste you, truly.

Nothing but breathy moans and pants could be heard as you grinded against him,letting his lips wander down your neck, where he bit down on the skin, the sharpness of his bite making you jump.

“I think I’ve found the sensitive spot.” he murmured against your skin, licking the little mark left to soothe the skin.

“Don't tease.”

“Oh I wouldn't dare.” he smiled, planting kisses across your skin until you squirmed against him.

You needed more.

“You are my favourite form of torture.” he whispered as you bucked your hips, his hands sliding down your hips to slip under your sundress, fingers tickling the lace scrap that separated you from his delicate fingers.

“Torture?” you questioned, kissing him gently again.

“It has been torturous to not have you all this time, bunny. Like this. To have seen you in this dress…”

“But I’m here now.” you promised, kissing down his neck as he did to yours, with equal amounts of precision and care, not wanting to leave a single inch of skin untouched.

He groaned, his head sliding back to give you easier access, his adams apple bobbing as you left little marks across the skin.

This was the push and pull you both craved. The little moments of control to then be dominated by the other.

“And I thank every god in the universe for that.” he panted, fingers slipping across the folds of your underwear, slowly parting it to the side as he let a finger drag across your folds, collecting the wetness.

“Is this all for me?” he smiled as you moaned, hips bucking to lean more into his touch.

There goes the control.

“Yeah bunny? You’re such a greedy girl.” he tsked, slowly moving so you were underneath him, a yelp escaping you as he removed his fingers, pulling you like a rag doll so your hips were slightly off the bed.

Before you could wrap your head around what was happening he had tugged your panties off, his fingers resuming their motions as they glided along your slit, before two dipped in, curling that sweet spot that had you seeing stars.

His hands were so much bigger than yours, he fit so nicely and stretched you just right…

“Please don't stop..” you panted, pushing up on your shoulders to watch as his thumb came up to rub little circles on your clit, making your lower half shake.

“What did I say about begging bunny? You never have to beg for me. You want my mouth?”

You nodded. “I wanna hear you say it sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

He smiled, pushing his glasses farther up his nose as he bent down, admiring you as if you were a five star meal. Pulling his fingers out, he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a mischievous glint in his eye, your lips parted in shock.

It was so dirty and crass it should've disgusted you but all it did was turn you on even more.

“You taste so fuckin sweet.” He came down, tasting you as if he were a man starved, lapping at you with no mercy, his tongue swirling and sucking on your nub.

Hard.

“F-fuck Peter r-right there-”

“So- fuckin-sweet” he panted with each flick of his tongue, his hand slipping up around your thigh to hold you in place as your hips wiggled, the pressure building so tightly in your core it felt like you were uncurling a hot wire.

“I can’t tell how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I’ve thought about you like this, tasting how sweet you are.” he whispered, his words driving you over the edge.

You came with a cry, his name echoing on your lips as he held you in place, his tongue never stopping as he lapped at your juices, coaxing you through your orgasm.

“There we go, atta girl. Such a good girl for me bunny.”

You shivered, legs starting to shake as he emerged from his kneeling position, towering over you again. You wasted no time to sit yourself up, palming the bulge that was unhideable within his shorts.

He hissed through clenched teeth, head thrown back in pleasure as you touched him. The ridges of his abs were hard against your soft hands, fingernails scraping the happy trail that had tempted you for the last few days.

He was beautiful. So, so beautiful, and for the time being, he was yours.

“If you keep doing that I’m not gonna last bunny.”

“Good.”

He moaned, hand coming up to grab your hair again, tugging on it gently, your neck now angled up to loom into his hungry gaze.

“Do you want this? Truly? Because I don't think- I don't think with you I can control myself if you let me.  I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

His voice was as rough as granite, Adams apple bobbing with each swallow.

Trying to contain himself. That wouldn't do.

“I want you, Peter. I want you, however you’ll have me.”

That was the snap. His mouth captured yours again, and you tugged his undergarments off as quickly as one could manage with a handsome man on their lips, dominating them.

You found yourself with your back against the sheets, his arm caging you in as the other guided his cock to your entrance, your legs parted and mouth watering in anticipation.

“Can you take this off for me bunny? Show me everything?”

You nodded, letting him aid you in prying the dress over your head, tossed down somewhere on the tile floor. The way he looked you over sent your heart fluttering into overdrive, like prey knowing it was caught by the predator.

He looked at you with such a visceral hunger you knew deep in your soul there was nothing else, no one else he wanted.

“You are so fucking beautiful, my love.” he murmered, sliding the head of his cock between your folds, gathering the wetness that dripped for him.

My love.

“I’m yours.” you blurted out before your brain could let you think it over, before he slowly eased himself in, sending your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

“And you're mine.” he whispered, caging you in completely, planting kisses and nips down the column of your throat, down to your breasts, his tongue swirling and sucking your nipple before moving to the next, giving them equal attention as he eased into you, before you were filled to the hilt.

The stretch was delicious, he consumed you in every way as he was fully seated inside you.

“Is this okay?” he asked gently, and you nodded.

“Words, bunny. Use them.”

“I’m- I’m good Peter.” you confirmed, the air whooshing out of your lungs as he slowly dragged himself half way out before slamming you full again, a loud cry of pleasure leaving your lips.

“I wanna see your pretty little face when you cum, bunny. Wanna hear those beautiful sounds again, they sound just how I thought they would. So, so damn pretty.” he purred, adjusting your legs around him as he found a steady rhythm, the sound of your cries and skin slapping echoing around the room.

His sweet coos and condensation drove you wild as you felt yourself reaching that finish point, before he removed himself fully, slamming into you again.

It drove you fucking wild.

You clenched around him in warning, his noises spurring you on as much as yours did to him.

It was bliss.

“We’ll have endless time for fun my bunny, all the ways I’m gonna have you. You make me so greedy.”

You moaned, gripping his biceps so hard your nails dug into his flesh, threatening to break skin.

“But right now I just wanna have you cum for me. Can you do that for me, my love? I’m right here with you.” he cooed, kissing you softly as you nodded frantically, not able to hold off your organism any longer.

“Peter I’m-”

“There we go my love, that's a good girl. Thats a good- fucking-girl.” he moaned as he spilled inside you, leaving you feeling all warm and fuzzy.

And as he cleaned you up, held you close to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, to trace each curve with a gentle touch and a kiss to follow, you realized you were past the point of saving yourself from Peter Parker.

he tried focusing on his project again as you chuckled, the kind of chuckle that sends tingles all over peter's body, “sorry pete, but you are just so very pretty.”

wow. okay he didn't expect that.

peter chocked on his saliva, his body hot all over, nearly dropping the pieces of his homework.

“baby, you can't just say things like that.” he looked at you, eyes wide and soft. and it makes you grin.

“it's the truth.” you shrugged, “you're my pretty boy.” you know you're testing his limits, but it was fun teasing peter.

peter's mind malfunctioned. he's trying to ignore you, but the way you said my pretty boy is replaying over and over in his head.

“damn it.” he quietly swore, putting down whatever left of his project and turning to you.

your eyebrows rose in a teasing manner as a smirk finds its way to your face. “what?” you innocently asked, but you know exactly what you're doing, and he knows it too.

peter chuckled as he walks to where your laying at the bed. the sound send a shiver up your spine and now you're the one who's nervous.

he leaned closer to you, you could feel his breath on your lips as you both took a moment to admire each other. peter was staring at your eyes to your nose and your soft lips, bringing his eyes to connect with yours again and you could feel your stomach doing flips.

“and you're my pretty baby.” he whispered softly before cutting off a whine that rose up your throat with his lips.

his lips were a little chapped, but it fits your perfectly. your hands move to tangle on his hair, giving it a little pull making peter groan into the kiss. he leaned back, his warm hands move to find comfort on your waist as he brings you onto his lap.

peter felt like his heart was about to burst. every single sense of his is override and all he can focus on is you. you. you.

his home.

reblog for a kiss <3

Brow perked up in amusement, your arms cross over your chest, weight shifting onto your left leg. “Peter? Like, um... like Peter Pettigrew?”

His face scrunches up a little. “Ha-ha,” he feigns a laugh, earning a proud smirk from you. “Yeah, I guess so. But nobody’s ever called me Peter Pettigrew before.”

A hint of amusement crosses your face, before you whirl on your heel to walk further into the shop. “Well, it’s an honour to be the first one to do so. Now, would you like to create your own bouquet, or choose from the ones we’ve already assembled?”

Peter follows you unwittingly, his eyes flickering around the store as he tries to keep up. “I think the bouquets here are beautiful.”

You hum in agreement. “So, you’d like to pick one?”

“Yeah.”

You stop in your tracks at what you believe is the best aisle, in which there’s the widest variety of bouquets in the shop.

“Alright then, Peter Pettigrew, what kinda flowers are you looking for?” You gesture towards the assortment of flowers displayed in front of you both.

Peter does a double-take in your direction, shaking his head at your Harry Potter references, but he lets out a genuine chuckle fall from his lips nonetheless. “Uh, I don’t really know. That’s kinda what I need help with.”

“Right.” You place your hands on your hips, eyes narrowing in thought for a moment. “Okay, I’m gonna need some details to figure out what they’d like. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Peter seems a little shocked by your question. “Oh, uh... not really a lucky lady—”

“Oh, my apologies. Lucky man?”

“No, no, it’s no one like that,” Peter mumbles, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s for a... family member.”

With a reluctant nod of the head, your lips purse together. “Got it. What’s their favourite colour?”

“Uh...” he hesitates, his desperate, brown eyes meeting yours again.

Your eyes widen, urging him to answer the question. “Well?”

“I–I don’t remember.” He gapes at his own words, mentally scolding himself for forgetting such a detail.

“Oh, come on, Peter.” You flail your arms jokingly, but your face immediately falls when you notice the frown upon his face. He’s genuinely upset, and you can’t help but feel guilty for making him feel that way. You swallow thickly, before feigning a cheerful voice, “You know what? That’s not even important.”

“It is—”

“It’s not,” you say firmly, holding out your hand. His eyes flicker between your hand and your face, and you send him a comforting smile. “We’ll figure something out.”

Peter sighs gently, returning the smile before contently slipping his hand into yours.

You haul him around the store, and Peter follows behind you like a puppy on a leash. When you stop at the rose section, you glance at him with your eyebrows raised in question, silently asking if he liked them.

To your dismay, Peter shakes his head. “Too red,” he murmurs. Humming in agreement, you point at the bouquet of white roses that are sat just above the red ones, but once again, he shakes his head. “Too white.”

You roll your eyes, catching onto what he’s hinting at. “No roses, then?”

Peter shakes his head once more, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. “No roses,” he confirms.

You resume tugging him by the arm until you arrive at the next section of the store: the tulips section. “You like these?” you suggest.

Peter’s eyes narrow in thought, pouting slightly. “Maybe. I think I should look around the rest of the shop before making my decision, though.”

“Good idea.”

So, the pair of you pace the shop hand-in-hand, searching high and low for the perfect bouquet. Granted, Peter is rather difficult to satisfy; it seems like he doesn’t like any of the flowers at all.

Just as you approach the end of your second lap around the shop, you sigh in exasperation, practically dragging him at this point. “Peter, we’ve gone around the whole store twice now. There must be at least something that you like—”

“Wait!” He tugs at your hand from behind, causing you to yelp as you stagger backwards a few steps and fall onto him. He instinctively releases your hand, his own hands shooting forward to catch you, grabbing your waist to hold you upright. “Oh, my God, a–are you okay?” he asks, worry lacing his tone as he scans your body up and down quickly.

Heat creeps onto your cheeks, feeling his intense gaze lingering on you. “I’m fine. Don’t do that again!”

“Sorry,” he says with a small grin.

You laugh a little in disbelief, shaking your head gently. “It’s okay. Why’d you stop me?”

His head jerks in the direction of an incredibly colourful bouquet of flowers in front of you. “I like those,” he announces. “Nice variety of flowers and the colours are pretty.”

You reach forward to grab it. “Good choice,” you muse, but as your eyes trail the shop shortly after, you notice something. “Peter...”

“Yeah?”

“We’re back where we started!” You scowl at him, shoving him in his side jokingly and causing him to stumble the tiniest amount, but he’s laughing in amusement all the same. “Couldn’t you decide that you liked this one before we went around the entire store?”

“Oh, would you look at that? You’re right!” A cheeky smirk is across Peter’s face, as he takes the flowers from your grasp, his fingers brushing against yours in doing so. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” you sigh playfully. Closing the gap between you both, you take a couple of steps closer and reach out, fiddling with and adjusting the flowers he’s holding. When you glance up at his face, you notice that he’s already watching you intently. Not in a weird way at all, but in a way that makes you feel relaxed under his gaze. “You made my prolonged shift go by a little faster.”

✧₊∘

There’s something rather sinister about the cemetery that you pass every time you walk home from the flower shop. It’s always completely dark and deserted, like there’s a bleak, gloomy cloud constantly hovering over it, causing everyone to avoid it at all costs — or at least just look away. The mere sight of it is disturbing enough to make your spine tingle.

But today is different. As you walk past the dreaded cemetery, you spot a batch of elegant, colourful flowers laying on the ground, next to the familiar silhouette of a man sitting near a gravestone, isolated from everyone and everything else.

Peter.

Almost immediately, your heart shatters into pieces, realising that he bought flowers earlier to lay on someone’s grave.

You speed-walk over to him, and he turns around when he hears your footsteps, his emotion-filled eyes widening in shock.

“Y/N?”

“Peter,” you greet with a singular nod of the head. He gapes at you slightly, struggling to find the words to express his disbelief of seeing you there, but you ignore it, collapsing onto the ground and sitting cross-legged next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Y–Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine,” he mumbles, his gaze averting back to the gravestone in front of you both. The bouquet that you had perfectly curated just this morning is laying right beside it, almost as if Peter’s trying to use the flowers to bring the soulless rock to life.

Eyes flickering over the gravestone, you read the name written on it in your head.

Mary Parker.

A silence lapses around you and Peter for a while, both of you waiting for the other one to start a conversation. He’s playing with his fingers awkwardly.

Desperate to rid yourselves of the uncomfortable silence, you swallow thickly. “Are you okay?” you ask again, your mind seemingly unable to form any other words or sentences to say.

A humoured puff releases from Peter’s nose when it clicks in his head that you’ve asked the same question again. His eyes heave from the gravestone to your face, to which you return the stare. “Yeah, I’m okay, Y/N,” he assures you with a soft smile.

You sigh, pursing your lips. “You don’t have to lie to me, Peter.”

His eyebrows raise. He seems to be startled by your accusatory tone. “W–What?”

“You’re not okay. And that’s okay.”

Peter’s hand raises to his chin, scratching it gently. He huffs as his eyes fall shut, and in this moment, he looks peaceful. No emotion — not happy, nor sad — just at peace.

“She was my mother,” he begins, his voice low, and eyes remaining shut as he speaks.

Your lips cease movement for a moment, pain clawing into your heart. He’s only said four words, but those words cut you deep. Licking your dry lips, you swallow thickly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” he reassures, his eyelids fluttering open to look at you once again. Your own head turns to meet his painful stare and you notice his eyes glistening elegantly. Whether it’s the moonlight’s reflection, or his eyes glossing over with tears, you can’t tell. “I never really talk about her. I don’t know why. I should — she was an incredible person and the best mom I could’ve ever asked for.”

You nod at him comfortingly, offering him a weak smile. “I’m sure she was.”

He cracks a small smile in return, his body relaxing as he immediately feels content in your presence. Releasing a shaky breath, he continues, “She passed away when I was younger. Today’s her death anniversary.”

His voice is wavering with so much emotion. He’s crying. And you can’t help but feel for him; his words churn the upset that’s already rushing through your body, and your eyes begin to brim with tears. “Peter, I— I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, my God! Don’t cry, Y/N!” he laughs, using his thumb and forefinger to gently dab at the corners of his eyes.

You release a nervous chuckle, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you breathe with a small sniffle, pulling the sleeve of your sweatshirt to wipe the few tears that leaked from your own eyes.

Peter sighs, smile still lingering on his lips. “Don’t be sorry.”

Without giving you a chance to reply, he lays down on the ground, causing you to shoot him a look of pure confusion. He pats the ground next to him, encouraging you to do the same.

You frown. “You want me to lay on the ground?”

He looks at you hopefully. “Please?”

You groan lightheartedly, but it’s not long before you give in and shuffle to lay down next to him. Head against the cold, hard ground, you exhale exaggeratedly, flailing your arms a little. “Now what?”

“We’re stargazing, Y/N,” Peter says, his voice warm and soft, it makes you feel cosy. You love stargazing. He points at the sky, and your eyes visibly trail up his arm until you’re looking at the star he’s pointing at. It’s difficult to miss. “You see that star?” Peter asks, and you nod in response. “You know what it’s called?”

“Sirius,” you reply, biting back a grin as you add quietly, “…Black.”

He retreats his arm, glancing in your direction as he releases an intrigued scoff. “Okay, first of all, I knew you’d make a Harry Potter reference. Secondly, I’m impressed. How’d you know that?”

Your lip curls in amusement. “I always loved the stars as a kid. I did way more research than I should’ve done at that age,” you admit, biting your bottom lip to hold back a laugh at the bittersweet memory.

Peter’s heart is alight; learning information like this about people is something he finds so special and intimate. “I loved the stars as a kid, too,” he chirped. “Still do, even.”

Your face breaks out into a smile as you admire the sky; a sheet perfectly speckled with twinkling paint that would make any person stare in awe. “Me too. They’re mesmerising.”

Peter nods, before he’s pointing at the same star again. “That star, Sirius? Known as the brightest star in the sky, right?” You hum in agreement, and he continues, “Ever since I was a kid, my aunt always told me that Mom will always be with me. Uh... ‘in the stars’, as she likes to say.”

“And you think you see her in Sirius?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“I swear, Y/N, I see her in that star every night. She’s there, I know she is.”

A pearly grin etches across your face. “Really?”

“Yeah!” he replies with enthusiasm. Soon after, however, he seems to be in thought momentarily, before he facepalms with a gentle groan. “Oh, my God... you probably think I’m crazy—”

“I don’t,” you’re quick to dismiss his accusations. “I believe you, Peter.”

He turns to you, looking at you in question, “Y–You do?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Thank God.” Peter huffs in relief, jokingly placing a hand on his chest. “The last person I told said that I was crazy.” He chuckles lightly at the memory.

The dirt beneath you is uncomfortable, but you roll over to face him, elbows digging into the ground as your hand helps prop your head up. “Well, I don’t,” you announce, stealing a quick glance at the name carved into the gravestone. “Mary Parker watches down on you every day. You better make her proud!”

“I’m trying!” Peter laughs, but his eyes soon lock with yours when he stares up at you. In this moment, you could swear that even under the extreme luminescence of the full moon and stars tonight, you see his brown irises turn darker. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Your brows pinch together in confusion. “For what?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He stands up, patting his hands down his trousers and shaking himself clean of any dirt that’s clung onto him.

His hand then darts forward and you take it with no hesitation, and much to your surprise, he pulls you up effortlessly. You let out a little yelp at how fast he manages to heave up your body using just your arm, slightly taken aback by it, and you don’t miss the cocky grin on his face.

The pair of you begin to slowly walk to the cemetery’s exit, hands in your pockets as a comfortable silence lapses around you both.

“Thank you for believing me,” Peter finally responds, all of a sudden. “And for being there for me tonight.”

You can practically feel your heart swell at his words, but your exterior refuses to show that — simply shrugging. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t just gonna leave you there alone.”

“I was literally a stranger to you yesterday,” Peter reminds you, and you nod in confirmation, making it crystal clear that you’re also aware of the stated fact. “You didn’t need to stay with me.”

Just as your lips part to reply, Peter’s hand reaches out to your chest to stop you in your tracks, the sudden contact causing you to flinch a little. “That being said,” Peter speaks again, clearing his throat awkwardly, “I know we only met a couple of hours ago, but I just wanted to know if you— uh...”

His voice trails off and you perk up a brow at him amusingly. “If I what?”

“Y’know…” Peter does weird hand motions as if you’d understand what he’s trying to imply with just gestures.

“Nope. No, I don’t,” you tease, grinning sardonically. Although, you’re certain you do — you’re just pushing him to ask the question.

He sulks, head falling into his palms in embarrassment. “I’m not good at this, you know.”

You raise your hands in your defence, laughing. “Sorry, I can’t read minds.”

Peter groans as he looks up at you again, his brown eyes boring into yours desperately. “Okay, fine.” He inhales deeply, fixing his posture, and suddenly— “Would you wanna hang out some time?” His words nearly jumble together with the way he blurts it out all at once.

You have to bite the insides of your cheek to refrain from giggling. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Oh, thank God.” Peter huffs, a relieved scoff falling from his lips. His arms reach out as if to hug you, but he instantly recoils, eyes widening slightly. “I’m— is it okay if I hug you?”

Your face softens; the fact that he’s so considerate makes you feel pleasant all over. Without saying anything, your arms wrap around him affectionately, a warm smile arranging on your lips.

Peter flinches the slightest bit, but he’s quick to adjust to your embrace, his lightly toned arms perfectly cloaking your frame. He sighs into the crook of your neck, releasing a shaky laugh. “I guess that’s a yes.”

You pay for the book, which now looking at the price— it’s a good deal. It’s used but in good condition. Shoving your change and book into your brown tote, you push open the glass door with your other gloved palm, the little bell dinging on your way out. Your boots click against concentrate, the hems of your pant legs wet from the rain puddles. The way home isn’t a long one, maybe a 10 minute walk, but you enjoy it. It’s a nice breather from being at work, and the stress of final projects and exams. Though not exactly a quiet walk, the sound of nearby construction, chatter, and traffic had become white noise. You liked your little ritual.

“Hey! Yeah, you— black coat.”

More focused on looking ahead of you, it didn’t occur to you that someone was trying to get your attention.

“Where you headed, tight jeans?”

The crass, cringe-worthy comment made you glance behind yourself. A guy who looked around your age with dirty blonde hair and two other guys followed behind him.

Hell no.. why do they always travel in packs?

What appeared to be college guys clad in puffer jackets, and whistling at you, obnoxiously trying to get your attention. It’s not the first time you’ve been catcalled (having been so used to walking every where. times like these, you wish you had a car.) but each time it happens you half expect it do be a homeless guy asking for crack or for whoever it is to leave you alone right after. The guys behind you seem to be walking towards you. So much for wearing headphones.

“Aw come on, you’re not gonna say hi to my friend? He thinks you’re cute.” The blonde haired guy catches up, walking backwards, hands stuffed in his pockets as he talks to you.

You shake your head, an uninterested look on your face.

“Woah woah, come on. Yo! She said she’d give you her number.” He laughs, calling over his other two friends as they begin to approach.

They seem.. harmless, you think- but you can’t help getting anxious. Adrenaline making your hands feelshaky from the prolonged encounter. Just give them a fake number or speak in a different language. Fuck. You hate this feeling. You hate that when in moments it matters most, you freeze up. Just say no. You already did, you’re clearly not interested— you’re literally walking away. Why the hell are they even talking to you? Frustration starts to eat up whatever embarrassment you were feeling. Speak.

Before you get a word out the guy reaches forward, pulling out your ear bud. Alright, fuck this guy.

"Hey, I'm talking to you." A dumb smile was on this dude's face as if he had no sense of your personal space and boundaries. Like he could just continue to talk to you or do whatever he'd like, not finding your "no" a means to stop.

Just as you’re about to tell him off, the guy trips over his own feet, falling backwards.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite catch that?”

You whip your head behind you expecting to see another one of this loser's friends but it’s- well shit. Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

He raises a gloved hand next to his ear pretending he couldn't hear what the guy said. He flicks out his wrist, a web shooting out onto the man’s mouth, shutting him up before he can speak. And then another, the man’s ankles bound making him trip over. You almost step on him as he wiggles around on the floor.

The other guys friend, a red-head, stares wide eyed slowly raising his hands. "Woah, man. We're just talking-"

Another web, restraining the other’s hands and mouth.

“Oh! so we’re harassing women now, huh? Not another peep outta you.” Thwik.

Before the shorter one can walk off like it was nothing, Spiderman shoots a web seemingly lassoing him and doing that little backwards kick soccer players do, to trip him.

“Don’t try it.”

“You know bottom of the pit, low life idiots like you usually have the smallest dicks ever! Your parents ever teach you manners?” He flicks the guys forehead, shooting another web at his pants, yanking them down.

“Uh oh!” He effortlessly ties a web around the guy and attaches the sticky rope to another, tugging on it, sending the other guy up and over also hanging on a lamppost.

“Dumb, dumb and..” His masked head turns slowly

“Dumber.” He looks over at the blonde still wiggling around on the floor. So now he's embarrassed.

He taunts the guy zipping webs around him until his cocooned, flicking another web to a streetlamp, securely attaching him. He slings another web-line, hoisting him up to dangle from the metal pole. The webs covering his mouth muffle his scream.

He crosses his arms looking back at his handiwork, the 3 idiots currently being swung upside down. He zeros in on the guy that couldn't take no for an answer.

“Hey, I recognize you. Yeah you come here,” he tugs on the web making the guy swing back and forth, the guy screams behind the makeshift gag.

“You’re on the hockey team at ESU right? I’ve seen you in the papers. Tough guy.” his fists bumps his chest firmly.

“Here how about you and I play a game.” The whites of his mask seem to squint and focus on him- he lowers his voice.

“How about you try dodging me cause the next time I see you…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, roughly pushing the guy back for one last swing.

“Woah, be careful there Luke. Yeah, I know who you are.” Then he finally turns to face you, jogging up to where you stand. You wonder how long they’ll stay up there swinging around in the breeze. Not that you care, they deserve it.

“Here! Let me help you with that,” he extends a hand, offering to help you carry your bag and umbrella.

From then on, whenever he’d see those three idiots around campus, in the halls or out and about— he’d made it a personal mission to make their lives a little more difficult. They didn’t get to treat women like that. Nuh uh, no way. Not on his watch, especially not his future girl. Okay, maybe you didn’t know it was him behind the mask, or were his girlfriend, but one day you would be! Whenever he'd build up the courage to ask you on a date that is. He's still figuring out all the details wanting it to be super special and romantic. Sure, he might be getting a little ahead of himself, but he can't help wanting to impress you. You have him wrapped around your fingertips just like that. Until then, he'd just keep an eye on you. An appropriate, respectful distance, that wasn’t stalkerish at all.

..Sometimes.

Some may call it “stalking,” others might say guardian spider angel.