#tasm fluff

Peter laughs. He steps into a pair of boxers and tugs on a shirt. “There. You can go back to your work now, freak.” 

“Thank you,” you sing-song, looking back to your laptop. But something about the way he said it rubs you the wrong way. Only a few minutes of fractured attempts at attentiveness go by before Peter’s sitting down with you on your bed, smelling all cool and clean. 

You shut your laptop. 

“Were you being serious?” you ask him. “Do you not know how distracting you are?” 

Peter looks surprised. The smile that creeps onto his face is playful, if a bit shy. “Do I distract you?” 

“Yes. And probably at least half of everybody who sees you.” 

“What is it about me that’s so distracting?” he plays along. 

You hum, pretending to think. “Maybe it’s that you’re tall. Or your body. You know, these.” You reach over to squeeze one of Peter’s biceps, delighted when he flexes for you. “Or your insanely symmetrical face.” You draw a line with your fingertip from his forehead down to his chin. “I mean, come on. I know you weren’t always Spider-Man, but you’ve always had this face.” 

Peter’s looking at you like you’re a particularly adorable oddity. “You’re so weird.” 

“Peter! You can’t not know.” 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs. “That’s just…that’s never been my thing. People don’t look at me that way.” 

You consider him. “It’s sort of cute that you’re not aware of it. Maybe that’s part of the effect.” 

“Mm, you think so?” 

Peter draws you closer, away from your laptop. You won’t be deterred. “Maybe,” you say. “I’m right, though. You’re way hotter than you think you are.” 

“I think it’s sweet that you think so, baby. I think that you’re hot, too.” 

You huff. “You’re not getting it.” 

“Why don’t you keep explaining?” He draws his mouth over the shell of your ear, kissing your jaw. 

Blood pools in your face. “See, now you’re trying to distract me.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“You know.” 

“i promise baby. don’t even worry about the camera okay? just focus on me.” you nodded, pushing yourself up to sit as he kneeled on the bed, lifting your pj shirt over your raised arms.

“such a pretty girl. you’re a movie star.” he whispered, staring down at you in awe, as if you were an angel who had blessed the earth with your presence. as if he hadn’t seen you naked a million times. your cheeks heated under his hungry gaze.

“m’not, you’re the film director… you know more than me.” you giggled, your words sealed with a soft kiss upon your lips, tasting of fresh mint. you fell back into the pillows, his lips never leaving yours as his strong arms engulfed you, shielding you from the outside world.

“yeah, eyes on me. it’s just you and me baby okay? gonna make you feel so good, just how you like it.” he praised, kiss trailing down to your neck, giving a little nip at the exposed flesh as you withered under him.

“mmm pete-“ you trailed off with a sigh as lips kissed your breasts, teeth grazing and nipping your nipples as he teased you. your hips bucked as his hands explored down past your mid drift, tugging off your sleep shorts. “we can’t get too crazy on the first video now can we?” he smirked, eyebrow raising as his knee slid up, pushing your legs wide open.

“m-more?” you asked. “hmm, some for my own personal collection. ya know, when you’re away and i’m all alone, missing you, with my hand wrapped around my cock…” he hummed, his dirty words making you groan.

“you’re so bad.”

“and you’re so pretty. pretty and wet f’me.” he tsked, his cock brushing past your folds.

“don’t tease.”

“don’t tell me what to do love.” he whispered, tossing your legs over each shoulder, making you yelp in surprise. he slid home, filling you right to the brim. you moaned, back arched and toes curled at the feeling.

“baby- fuck this never gets old. this pretty pussy never-“ he slid out, thrusting back in firmly. “-ever gets old. so-fuckin-tight.” your eyes widened, meeting his as he fucked you deeper into the mattress.

“gimme a kiss baby.” you obeyed, hands cupping his cheeks, teeth clashing as your lips meshed with his. not once did his pace falter. you moaned into his mouth, crying at the pleasure.

“yeah fuck baby. you do make a pretty picture.” he groaned, breaking the kiss to look over at his phone, watching the way he contoured you.

Peter repeated like a mantra the brief physical description he had of the girl. It didn’t help much, really, but he tried to picture her as he looked through the city. In his mind, he couldn’t imagine anything but an average girl, but how average can you be when your father’s the Tony Stark?

As he thought about this, his feet landed on top of an abandoned warehouse on the shore of the Hudson River. He knew these warehouses too well, well enough to know there was always something good in the docks. If she wasn’t here, at least someone who might have more information would definitely be.

These kinds of days —with actual dangerous missions and tasks to complete— were long and tedious, and Peter had mentally prepared himself for pulling an all-nighter looking for this girl. That’s why he almost jumped in excitement when he saw her in the warehouse.

He lowered himself, using the web shooters as a rope to climb down through a broken window, until he was hanging upside down across from her.

“Hey! How’s it hanging? Get it? Because I’m hang—“ he began to speak, trying to pull a lame joke to cut the ice, but his words stuck on his throat when she turned her face to him.

Average? Pffff— he should’ve known the daughter of a billionaire wasn’t going to look the same way his classmates did. But Peter had expected a pretty perfect face from the cover of a magazine, not… blood.

Her crying had washed most of it away, but there was dried up blood sitting in her cupid’s bow, and on her lower lip. There was a nasty cut too on her right eyebrow, that he knew for sure it was going to leave a scar on her $200 microbladed brows. And her million-dollar-looking nose job? Definitely screwed too.

But besides her face, she didn’t seem hurt anywhere else. She was tied to a chair, fully clothed in her private school uniform, stained with her own blood. Her hair fell down her back, with some chunks stuck to the half-dried blood on her face.

Peter knew what he was thinking was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. Even like this, scared and beaten, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Her dove eyes, bless her, were big and shiny, and looked at him in a way that made Peter finally understand what people meant when they said they felt butterflies in their stomach.

But all the butterflies died pretty quickly when she frowned, and opened up her mouth.

“Ugh, fucking Spider-Man? Seriously?”

Peter did his best to not let the usual ‘oh my god, it’s spiderman!’ get in his head, but the not-so-friendly ‘oh my god, it’s spiderman’ were harder to shake off, and this was one of them.

“Took you long enough” she muttered in a huff, but Peter didn’t move as he tried to figure out where the butterflies were going to. She raised an eyebrow, the cut one, and hissed a little— it’d clearly hurt, but being a brat seemed to be stronger than the pain from her bruises.

“So?” she asked, eyeing him up and down as he stood in place, still. “Untie me, c’mon!”

Peter shook his head, and took a big breath to try to come down to earth as he moved to her back, to start untying her. Whoever had taken her didn’t seem to have much technology at han— she wasn't being restrained with any fancy handcuffs. It was just rope, although very well tied. It burned his fingers through the suit to just touch it, and judging by the rash on her skin, it most likely burned her as well.

She squinted up at him as he started to untie her. “What took you so long?” she demanded to know.

“Sorry, I got stuck in traffic” Peter shot back automatically. “Y’know, web traffic.”

She turned her head around to give him a blank look. “That’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

He just raised an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised. I’ve got worse.”

Finally, the last knot snapped loose, and the rope fell to the floor. With another annoyed murmur, she dusted her hands off, taking a moment to rest her cold fingers against her wrists. Then, she tried to stand, but her legs wobbled under her like jello. Peter caught her instinctively— and immediately regretted it.

Feeling her weight on him, her warmth, and the softness of her hair overstimulated his senses. Despite the thick metallic smell of blood overpowering everything else, her perfume was still there, and he inhaled it deeply before he could stop himself— or rather, before she could stop him.

She stiffened, and still with wobbly legs, stood up as straight as she could, pushing him away. “I’m fine” she hissed, brushing the blood from her lip. “Just— don’t touch me.”

“Right. Got it. No touching the billionaire” he said, raising his hands, and taking one step back. Her perfume still lingered in his nose, drugging him numb, but he quickly brushed it aside. “Wouldn’t want to leave fingerprints on the royalty.”

She glared at him. “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?”

‘And you are not?’ Peter thought to himself, but didn’t say it. He couldn’t judge her, after all— she’d been taken hostage and beaten. It wasn’t probably a day she’d rank in her top favorite ones. Besides, she seemed… disappointed. Perhaps she’d been hoping for her own father to show.

“Only on weekdays” Peter replied, at last, and then the door bursted open. The kidnappers, four guys dressed in black, walked into the warehouse. Oh, they clearly were amateurs— they didn’t even have guns! Just a baseball bat, a wrench and a golf club.

“Oh, great” Peter groaned. “Guess it’s Bring Your Hobby to Work Day.”

He felt the way the girl's muscles tensed, and even if her face didn’t show it, her body did: she was scared of them. That was enough for Peter to forget she was a bad-mannered entitled rich kid.

“Stay behind me” he commanded her, and primed his web shooters.

“Don’t tell me what to do” she snapped back, her voice sharp but shaky.

“Okay, cool, noted.” he said, right before ducking a swing that nearly took his head off. The club guy attacked first, but Peter quickly disarmed him, sticking the golf club to the wall, along with half his arm. Then, he tucked down as baseball bat guy aimed to his head, hitting his friend instead. In one quick and swift move, he tackled the guy’s legs, making him fall, hitting his head in the process, knocking him unconscious.

“Man, do you guys ever get tired of being predictable?” Peter sighed. His senses tingled, and when he spinned around, he began to dodge punches and throws from the only dude without a weapon.

Peter always tried to fight square and fair, constantly forgetting these were bad guys and he could hit them if he had to. So, he didn’t waste more time, and webbed the man's fist as it flew straight into his face, using the force of his punch to throw him against a pile of half moldy crates sitting by.

And, before he could know what was going on, he heard the sound of glass shattering, and a body falling to the ground.

“Hey!” Peter turned around, only to see Stark’s daughter, standing beside a shattered glass bottle, looking defiant and way too proud as she held the neck of the bottle. On her feet, laid the last man, knocked out. “Though I said stay behind.”

“That guy tried to hit me.”

“Okay, fair” Peter said, and dusted his hands off. “Also, good throw.”

“Thanks. My dad has me in combat training” she said, brushing her hair back, smearing a bit more blood across her cheek in the process. “Though I usually don’t fight people with… whatever the hell that is.” She gestured vaguely toward his webs.

“Polymer-based tensile adhesive” he said automatically, then paused. “Uh, basically, very sticky string.”

“So your fighting weapon is silly string?” she asked, in a hurtful sarcasm, and using a tone of voice girls spoke with when a guy gave them the ick. Not that Peter knew that, of course.

“Hey, I’ll have you know—” He began to speak, but didn’t finish, because another thug appeared with a gun, firing open. Peter moved before he could think, shooting off a web that snatched the gun clean out of the man’s hand. A kick, a sweep, and another web later, the guy was down cold along with his co-workers.

When Peter turned back, the warehouse was quiet again, except for their uneven breathing.

“Is it over?” she asked.

“Yeah” he said, scanning the shadows. His senses were on fire, half of them alerting him of the movements and the whispers getting closer. The other half, unable to think of anything but her perfume. “For now.”

“Good. Because I’m so done with this.” She said, crossing her arms, trying to stop her shaky voice from coming through.

He copied her stance when he noticed he had a cut in his arm, barely a scrap, most likely from a bullet. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.” he said, taking a step closer.

She frowned. “And where exactly are you taking me? Because if it’s another sketchy rooftop—”

“Stark Tower” Peter interrupted. “Your dad might start World War III if he doesn’t find you soon.”

Her glare softened for a split second, moving her weight from one leg to the other as she looked down. Mentioning her dad seemed to be as painful as the cuts on her face.

But when she lifted her chin, he saw her rolling her eyes, as if doubting Tony was that desperate. “Fine.” She huffed. “But I’m not holding onto you.”

“Cool” he said, crouching slightly, offering his arm. “Then I’ll just… carry you like a sack of potatoes.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Too late. One swift move and she was suddenly out of the warehouse and in the air, hanging upside down from his shoulder, with her legs in the air.

Night had fallen in New York, and the billboards shined brighter than the stars as she was carried, sack-of-potatoes-style, by Spider-Man.

She kicked him a little until, involuntarily, she moved to a much more comfortable position. Through the mask, she noticed something like a grin in Spider-Man’s face as she now held him by the neck, his arms moving comfortably between her waist and the sky, as he fired one web string after another.

“Why Spider-Man?” she asked, moving her head closer to him so he’d listen through the sound of the wind rushing through them.

“Well, Daredevil’s off to—”

“No, I mean, why do you call yourself Spider-Man when you swing around like a monkey?”

Peter inhaled deeply, and dropped her. Just let his arm separate little enough from her waist to make her suspend in the air for a second or two. He caught her immediately, as she was in the middle of a gasp.

Peter couldn’t help but giggle as she trembled, first in surprise, then in anger.

He wasn't the type of superhero to do these kinds of things with people he’d rescue, but, then again, he didn’t rescue ungrateful brats like Stark’s daughter every day. It was a small lesson he knew it’d stick with her.

“You were saying?”

“God, you’re infuriating!” she shouted as she clung closer to him. She raised her fist to hit him, but ended up dropping it immediately. Lesson learned.

God, her perfume. Why does the devil have to smell this good?

“Thanks! I get that a lot” Peter smirked at her as he continued swinging through the buildings.

By the time they reached midtown, her shrieks had faded into frustrated silence. Peter risked a glance at her, and noticed her jaw was clenched, her hair dancing wildly in the wind, and her fingers (despite everything she’d said) were digging into his muscles like her life depended on it.

And, of course, he noticed she’d stare too, when he didn’t look her way. Her eyes scanned his face through the mask, the scrape in his suit, and his Adam's apple on his throat as it moved with every swallow of dry saliva he took.

He couldn’t help it —beneath all the chaos, her insults, and the city alive around them, he was grinning like an idiot under the mask.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t entirely hiding her smile either.

“Just a few more swings” he said. “You’re doing great, by the way.”

“If you drop me again, Spider-Man, I swear to God—”

“Relax! I’ve only dropped, like, three people. Ever.”

She groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here you are, still holding on.”

“Because we’re two hundred feet in the air!”

“Semantics!”

He could feel her glare at him through the wind. But before she could complain again, or he could make another joke, the gleaming Stark Tower came into view, and her grip tightened.

Peter sensed the shift in her right away— wasn’t fear anymore, it was relief. The kind that hit deep, sharp, and sudden. Her breathing softened, her blood rushed slower, and her jaw relaxed.

Peter slowed his swings, landing on one of the balcony platforms, several stories up. He set her down gently, letting her regain her balance before stepping back. “There. Home sweet— eh, skyscraper” he said, tilting his head a little.

Now that they were in a well lit space and not a dark, humid warehouse, or swinging around in the air, he noticed even more details of her face.

Despite crying and bleeding, her eyelash makeup was still intact, masking her eyes with beautiful, long, dark lashes. Her faint lipstick was smeared, she was missing an earring (which was probably expensive enough to make her kidnapping worth the hussle) and her hair was tangled on the base of her neck. The blood had dried up completely, glowing dark against her skin. And the beginning of a bruise was starting to appear on her eye, right below the cut on her eyebrow.

He took a step closer, without thinking it through, and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, just to see her wounds —and those pretty lashes, and smell that perfume— closer.

It lingered in the air for a second, just one, before she flinched and took a step back. She swallowed. “Well. Congratulations. You did your job. You can go now.” She said, holding her arms against her chest, looking around the empty balcony.

The whole tower was filled with movement sensors and cameras, meaning her parents, and probably a horde of Avengers, cops and Stark Industries staff members already knew she was here and were about to walk in, and she preferred to be alone for that.

But Peter didn’t move. He bit his cheek, and nodded to the bruise on her face. “You need concealer.”

“Huh?”

“It’s makeup, eh, for the bruise.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know what concealer is.”

“I use that one from Selena Gomez, but not because I like her or anything, although I do like her— but whatever“ Peter said, and cleared his voice as he noticed he was rambling. “It, eh, it covers the bruises pretty well.”

She nodded, shortly, and licked her blood kissed lips, looking up and down at him, as if realising there was a person underneath the suit— someone who bruised like her, and got hurt for her. Someone, probably her age, who hid his bruises from his parents, and who most likely had a girlfriend who painted said bruises and that’s the whole reason he even knows what a concealer is, or that Selena Gomez has a makeup brand.

“Why did you come for me?” She asked, before she could think.

“Well, you said it yourself— it’s my job, friendly neighbour whatever, you know?” He shrugged.

She shook her head, turning away. “I don’t need the friendly neighbour Spider-Man, my father is an Avenger.” She said, as if to remind herself of that fact. Peter noticed how her voice clearly broke apart a little at the end.

Clearly, she was still upset that she’d been rescued by Peter. But she wasn’t mad at him, she was mad at her father, and the world, for letting this happen.

And that’s when the balcony door swung open.

For the first time, Peter’s arachnid senses failed him to notice there was a swarm of people coming towards them.

He saw Stark Industries’ C.E.O., one of the most important women in the STEM world, rushing to her daughter in her bathrobe and slippers.

She barely had time to turn her head around before her mother was there, hugging her. Pepper’s hands were on her face, her shoulders, her hair —everywhere at once, checking that she was real and not a hallucination.

“Oh my god, sweetheart! Look at me, let me see you—” Pepper’s voice was shaking. She didn’t look as elegant and contained as usual. Instead, she looked like a mom, worried beyond comprehension, feeling relief and fear at the same time in the most raw way possible.

“I’m okay, mom” the girl tried to say, but her voice came out thin and fragile and so, so small. That still didn’t stop her from trying to push away from the hugs, though, even if just for a moment before finally giving in.

Peter stood away, watching, taking smaller steps away as more people ignored him. All the eyes, the hands, and the attention were on her.

And that’s when it clicked.

Little Miss Stark wasn't just a rich kid— she was the rich kid. She lived in a penthouse with marble floors and biometric security systems. She had a team of doctors waiting for her, already working on her wounds. She had a mother hugging her, despite her pleads not to.

And her father?

Tony Stark walked into the balcony, surrounded by police officers and CIA agents. They were showing him tablets with photos and video recordings, already working on piecing together the kidnapping, and to find the perpetrators. Inside the building, through the glass doors, Peter saw more movement from other people, and noticed a very peculiar blue, red and white round shield.

That’s when Peter realized his joke about World War III wasn’t probably much of a stretch.

Tony didn’t have to fight for justice, he was the justice. His daughter had been stolen away, and he made the world —her whole world— move to get her back.

The line between Peter’s life and hers seemed small for a second. After all, he’s a superhero and she’s the daughter of another one. But now he knew there wasn’t a line, but rather an abyss, distancing them.

Tony, finally, reached Pepper and his kid. She didn’t dare to look up at her father, even though he was forcing her to, taking her chin to move her head up and check her wounds. Her eyes, instead, moved away to look for Spider-Man, but he was gone, swinging away through the darkness.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

She’d thought her kidnapping was a secret, or at least that it wasn’t going to spread out the way it did. But, by the time she got a new phone —the kidnappers had taken hers— and checked Instagram, all the comments on her last post were messages like:

@ir0nmanlover: PLEASE PRAY FOR HER, IRONMAN WILL DO HIS JOB

@katelynjohnson2002: I love you girl, please come back

@jack1973MAGA: this is why we need Trump back, government is paying millions of dollars to the Avengers to use them on finding this girl, when she’s probably out with her boyfriend sucking cock

@avengersstan897: ONE LIKE ONE PRAYER

She deleted the post, and then closed her account all together. Sadly for her, she couldn’t delete the news channels covering the case, not the fan accounts updating her every move.

So, naturally, everyone at school knew— but not because her name was trending on X; they knew because Tony Stark had tripled the school security which, of course, it made everyone stare at her even more so.

She was standing at the gate after classes were done, with her uniform neat and blood-free, and her hair clean, softly falling down her shoulders. She would’ve been already at the subway making her way home, but one of the rules she had to follow from now on was an escort accompanying her whenever she was out on the streets.

She’d manage to argue her way into not having a group of men in black behind her back 24/7, and instead get something… probably worse.

A swing, a snap, and one heroic hero landing later, she was standing in front of Spider-Man, once again. Some of her classmates whispered, pointing at them. Others started to record, many just ignored him— after all, seeing Spider-Man wasn’t an abnormality for a New Yorker.

“Hey!” Spider-Man waved at her. “Sorry I’m late, I had an algebra test.”

“You’re kidding”

“No, I’ve been in the advanced algebra class for—“

“No, I mean—“ she huffed, holding her forehead with her hand. “You are my bodyguard?”

That made him smirk under the mask. He popped his hands on his hips, raising his chest up. “Yeah! Friendly neighbour chaperone ready to take you home”

Peter saw her roll her eyes, and start to walk away, clenching onto her backpack. “I can’t believe it.” She murmured. “We’re not flying, tho.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Stark”

“Don’t call me that”

She didn’t see it, but Peter rolled his eyes as well. “Right, your majesty, my bad.”

They made their way down the street, darting people looking at them, snapping picks or asking for selfies. If this was the low-key solution they’d settled on, she didn’t want to know what her father’s alternatives were.

It wasn’t a long walk, though— just to the parking lot of the school, a few blocks away, where Happy was waiting for her. Spider-Man, fully clothed in his suit, walked beside her, trying to take a look at her face.

She’d listened to his advice, and got the Rare Beauty concealer to cover her bruises. She was glad she did, because half her face was purple turning into blue underneath the makeup. Besides the nasty cut on her eyebrow, which reluctantly didn’t seem to want to be hidden away, she’d managed to cover up and heal most of the wounds.

And Peter noticed she’d been wearing the concealer, even if she didn’t tell him— he could smell the familiar scent of the makeup, as well as her perfume in all its beauty, now that the scent of blood wasn’t interfering. It made him smile.

“I see you took my tip”

“Huh?”

“The makeup”

“M’not wearing makeup” she lied, almost involuntarily. Peter had a feeling she’d always deny anything he ever said, like a second nature. But he knew the truth.

He looked at her lashes, long and pretty like that night, and the nasty cut on her eyebrow, pulsing. That definitely hurt.

“I— eh, well, I didn’t get to say thank you, the other night” she talked once again, a bit shyly considering she was the biggest brat of New York City. But Peter just shrugged.

“Didn’t know that was a word in your vocabulary.”

She huffed, and rolled her eyes. “I’m not a brat”

“No” Peter agreed. “Just bossy.”

They kept walking, side by side. He waved hi to a couple of kids who called his name, and she bit her cheek.

“Why did you leave, the other night?” She asked, drawing his attention back to her.

He shrugged, and scratched his neck through the mask. She wondered what his hair was like underneath it. “Figured you didn’t need me anymore” is all he said, in the end.

At last, they reached the parking lot, where a brand new Mercedes Benz was waiting for her.

“That’s Happy” she said, adjusting her backpack.

“Your car’s named Happy?”

“My driver” she clarified.

Right. Of course she had a driver— she was a Stark. She had a driver, and maids, and private chefs, and bodyguards, like him. Once again, the line that seemed to thin stretched out larger and larger between them.

Before she opened the door and climbed into the backseat, Peter leaned into the car, trying to find her eyes. “You okay?” He asked, crossing his arms.

Okay? Depends on your definition. She hasn't got a full night's sleep since that awful day. She’d had a huge fight with her parents about her safety and the measures they were taking. She didn’t speak to her friends, mostly because they’d brushed the topic aside like her kidnapping was another Thursday. Everyone stared at her at school, more than usual. And every time she picked up her phone to try to distract herself, all she’d see were people talking about her, and her dad, and fucking Spider-Man.

“I’m fine” she said at last, and opened the door, climbing in and slamming it shut without saying goodbye.

But Peter didn’t need spider-senses to know that wasn’t true.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The city was loud that night, louder than usual.

Car horns, sirens, laughter, screams— all the usual chaos of New York stitched together like a living creature. From her rooftop, one of the tallest buildings in the city, all the noises felt distant, like someone had pressed the mute button on the world. But she still could hear it as loud as if she’d been down the street.

She’d come up here every night since the kidnapping— sometimes to breathe, sometimes to cry, sometimes just to stare at the city. The stars barely showed above the skyline, but the light pollution didn’t matter. The air was cold, clean, and hers only.

She sat on the edge of the roof with her knees pulled to her chest, wearing one of her dad’s hoodies that was far too big for her and her mom had told her a million times to throw it away. It smelled like engine oil and coffee, all scents that reminded her of when she was still a kid and they lived in L.A.

She wasn’t supposed to be up there alone —the new security detail had made that very clear— but she’d found a blind spot in the cameras. She always did.

She closed her eyes and breathed in, just once. The wind tugged at her hair. And then… Thwip. She closed her eyes, defeated. There was no mistaking that sound. Polymer-based tensile adhesive, or silly string, as she’d called it.

“Seriously?” she murmured to herself. “Does he have a tracking device on me or something?”

“Nope, just an impeccable sense of comedic timing” he replied, warm, teasing, and way too casually for someone who snuck up on rooftops for a living.

She didn’t turn around right away. Instead, she sighed, opening her eyes to find Spider-Man crouched on the ledge above her, one knee bent, one arm resting lazily on his thigh, holding a brown paper bag from a bodega. The moonlight hit his suit, casting tiny reflections across the red and blue pattern. The mask was on, of course, but the bottom part was rolled up, revealing his mouth, jaw, and the soft hint of a smile.

“Friendly neighbour stalker, huh?” she said, trying to sound unbothered.

He chuckled. “I prefer the term ‘concerned citizen.’” He said, and then took out a sandwich from the bag, and dug in.

She huffed and looked away, hugging her knees tighter. “Did my parents send you?”

“No, I was just swinging by.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Wow. You clearly didn’t lie about having more bad jokes, because that was terrible.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck through the suit fabric, laughing softly. “Okay, yeah, that was bad. Even for me.”

Silence fell between them, but not the awkward kind. At this point, they really weren’t strangers anymore to make silences awkward. He kept eating his food, while she hugged her legs tighter, listening to the soft hum of the city below.

After a long moment, she asked quietly, “You still checking on me?”

“Well, yeah.” he said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

She rolled her eyes. “So has everyone in this city.”

“True” he said. “But not everyone pretends they’re fine when they’re not.”

That made her head snap toward him. His voice wasn’t teasing anymore, although it wasn’t exactly gentle either. It was real. Honest. The kind of tone you can’t fake behind a mask. The kind of tone not many people talked to her with.

She didn’t know what to say to that. So, she didn’t speak. That was a first, being speechless.

Peter jumped down from the ledge and walked toward her, his boots quiet against the concrete. He stopped a few feet away, unsure if he was allowed any closer. “How’s the bruise?” he asked softly.

“It’s fine” she lied.

“Right.” he said, smiling faintly. “Selena’s concealer still doing the heavy lifting?”

That earned him the tiniest smirk. “How do you know I’m wearing her concealer?”

“Spider senses. I can smell it in your skin, just like your perfume. Which one is it?”

“My Way by Giorgio Armani”

He chuckled at that. “Right, of course. And here I was, smelling Victoria Secret body splashes all day trying to find it.”

She laughed. Just once, but it was enough to make his chest tighten.

He moved closer, careful, and sat next to her, keeping a prudent distance, like she was a bird that might fly away if he got too close. “You know, I’m used to coming up here all the time. Rooftops, I mean. Kind of feels like the only place that makes sense.”

She tilted her head. “Because you like heights?”

“Because it’s quiet” he said. “Down there, it’s all noise. People yelling, cars honking, someone always needing something. But up here… I can breathe.”

She nodded slowly, looking out at the skyline again. The city lights shimmered in her eyes. “Yeah” she said. “Me too.”

The wind blew, softly, moving some of her hair on her face. Without thinking, just like the night he’d rescued her, he reached out, and let his gloved fingers brush gently against her cheek as he tucked a strand behind her ear. It was instinct, not intention. But once his hand was there, he didn’t move it right away. And this time, she didn’t flinch.

She looked up at him, her breath catching slightly. The part of his face she could see —his mouth and jaw— was tense. Nervous, almost. “You don’t have to keep checking on me” she whispered. “I’m okay.”

He smiled, soft and sad all at once. “Yeah. You keep saying that.”

Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.“Why do you do that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Care about people who don’t want you to.”

He blinked at that, looking down for a moment. “Because I want to.” he said quietly, “And, as much as you boss me around, I have a feeling you don’t mind it.”

The words hung between them, too fragile and heavy to be said so high up in the sky, where they could fall and fracture. For once, she didn’t have a comeback, because he had read her through like an open book.

Peter shifted slightly, letting his legs dangle off of the roof’s edge. They didn’t talk for a while, as the city filled the silence for them. It was a constant, living reminder that the world kept moving no matter what either of them felt or went through.

Finally, she found a comeback. “You really shouldn’t sit that close to the edge. You could fall.”

He chuckled. “Pretty sure I’m good at not falling.”

“I mean metaphorically, genius.”

“Oh” he said. “Then I’m doomed.”

She turned to him, the corner of her mouth lifting, her cheeks blushing a bit. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when you smile like that.”

Her breath caught again, but she didn’t pull away. Not this time.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The city hummed below. The wind whispered around them. And then, as if the space between them decided for them both, she leaned in. Her hand grazed the fabric of his suit, and she smelled the faint trace of sweat and adrenaline that always clung to him.

He hesitated, not sure if this was safe or not. He remembered that abyss that separated them, trying to remind himself he couldn’t belong with a girl like her. But she didn’t flinch, nor back down. So, he tilted forward until his uncovered lips brushed hers.

The kiss wasn’t deep or desperate— it was soft, trembling, and a little sensual. The kind of kiss that felt more like a promise than a confession. It was a thank you, from both of them. She could feel him smiling against her mouth as the kiss deepened a little.

When they finally pulled apart, after what felt like forever in the best way possible, neither one of them spoke. He just exhaled, his lips exposed, his eyes hidden.

“Guess you’re not fine after all, to kiss a loser like me.”

She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “Neither are you, then, to kiss a brat like me.”

He grinned beneath the mask. He hesitated, not sure if to kiss her again or not, but in the end, he decided to not push his luck. Slowly, he stood up, and took a step back toward the ledge and shot a web into the darkness.

“Goodnight, Stark.”

And then he was gone —a blur against the skyline, swallowed by the wind and the city and everything unsaid that remained lingering. She watched until the last glimmer of red and blue vanished behind the next building, her fingers still tingling.

For the first time since that awful night, the city didn’t feel so loud around her.

"Hey, stranger." He grins. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, you know." You gesture to your computer. "Mind-numbing homework."

"Classic."

"Classic indeed."

Neither of you acknowledges that he (sort of) just risked certain death to come talk to you.

"I-"

"You look beautiful." He speaks over you, his own cheeks growing pink as he watches your reaction. "I mean- sorry that was-"

"No!" You shout, wincing as your fellow patrons glare at you. "It's alright."

"Cool." He smiles. "Is it all right if I sit?"

"Of course." You nodded much too eagerly (you'll look back on this interaction and groan). "What's up?"

"I feel like I never get to see you anymore."

"Well, you're always busy, to be fair."

He winces at that. "Sorry-"

"Don't apologize, Peter." You nudge his side. "I was just teasing you. It's not like we're dating or anything." You freeze, eye twitching ever so slightly as you realize what you've just done.

"Speaking of." He laughs awkwardly. "I came in here because I had a question to ask you."

"Okay." You respond from behind your hands, mortified that you just said what you'd said.

"Can I see you or-"

You shake your head. "Go ahead."

"Alright." He takes a beat before leaning in. You know this because your senses are overthrown by his cologne, and because his breath hits your hands. "Would you go out on a date with me?"

You peek out from behind your hands. "A date?"

"Yup." He pops his lips. "This is kind of coming out of nowhere, but I saw you and I-" He should have grown shyer, but for some reason, he grew more confident in the fact that he can make you, this strong, confident girl, awkward and, frankly, odd. It makes him happy, perhaps, because you make him the same way. A pool of nerves. "And I thought, if I go another hour not knowing how you feel about me, and not telling you how I feel, I'll combust."

"Yes." You nod, your hands now in your lap.

"Yes?" His eyes light up.

You nod once more. "Where are we going?"

"I didn't think that far ahead." He frowns. "Probably Italian."

"Or we could do sushi."

"I love sushi." He smiles. "Sushi it is."

"Tonight?" Your eyes subconsciously fall to his lips. Only for a moment, but just for long enough that he notices.

"Perfect." He stands up. "I'll swing by around 7."

"Amazing."

"With flowers." He adds over his shoulder as he walks away. "And don't bring your wallet."

"Peter!" You scoff. "Come on-"

"Nope!" He shakes his head. "Can't hear you!"

You laugh. "See you later, Parker!"

Peter Parker just asked you on a date.

Wow.

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Peter was on the couch, a mug of tea resting on the coffee table in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose. His eyebrows were furrowed in an adorable scrunch as his long fingers absently toyed with the corner of the page as he read.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to bury your face in his sweater or have him buried inside you until you couldn't think.

He was wearing his softest sweater, the light blue one you always steal, and a pair of loose sweatpants that hang just right on his hips.

He looks impossibly cozy, his hair slightly messy, and the sight alone makes your heart ache in the best way.

Peter glances up as he hears your footsteps. “Hey, bug,” he says with a smile on his face, his voice warm, making you want to melt into him. “Everything okay?”

You nod, but the corners of your mouth tremble as you step closer. “I just need a hug,” you whisper, your voice small.

Without hesitation, Peter sets the book down, his glasses slipping off his nose and he rests them on top of his book.

“Come here,” he says, his arms already opening for you.

You practically fall into him, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrap securely around you. He’s warm and his sweater is so soft. The faint scent of his cologne and the tea he was drinking enveloping you.

Peter holds you tightly, one hand gently rubbing circles on your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

“You’re okay,” Peter murmured, rubbing slow circles on your back. “I’ve got you.”

You sniffled, clinging to him tighter. “It was such a shit day.”

“I know, bug.” His lips brushed the top of your damp hair. “I could tell the second you walked in. Talk to me about it, or don’t. Whatever you need.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes glassy but thankful. “I just really needed this. You.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and he smiled softly, his brown eyes warm. “You’ve got me. Always.”

Peter leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then another to your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. You melted into him, letting his love wrap around you.

When he pulled back, he studied you for a moment, brushing a strand of damp hair behind your ear. “How about I make us some hot chocolate? We’ll watch something mindless, eat whatever snacks we have, and just shut the world out for a while.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the first real smile of your day tugging at your lips. “That sounds perfect.”

Peter grinned, stealing one more kiss before standing up. “Stay right there. I’ll take care of everything.”

As you curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled faintly of him, you realized that even on the worst days, Peter Parker was the kind of husband material that made everything else bearable.

He's your home.

Peter disappeared into the kitchen and a few minutes later, Peter returned, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, a plate of cookies, and a bowl of popcorn. He set it down on the coffee table then plopped down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hot chocolate for my lady,” he said, handing you a mug.

You took it with a grateful smile, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into your palms. “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“Not possible,” Peter said, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “You deserve all of it. Even on your worst days. You take care of me on shitty days, I'd be stupid not to do the same for my girl.”

You nudged him with your elbow, but he just grinned, pulling you closer. “Now, what are we watching? Rom-com? Thriller? Or do we just marathon bad reality tv until we can’t feel feelings anymore?”

You laughed softly. “Watching reality tv sounds like the exact thing I can handle right now.”

“Perfect,” Peter said, grabbing the remote. “I’ve got the trashiest shows lined up just for this kind of emergency.”

As the first episode of some ridiculous dating show began to play, you leaned against Peter, resting your head on his shoulder. He held you close, his hand tracing patterns on your arm as you both sipped your warm drink.

Halfway through the episode, he pressed his lips against your temple again. “Feeling a little better?” he murmured.

You nodded, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah. A lot better, actually.”

Peter’s gaze softened, and he reached up to brush a thumb across your cheek. “Good. Because seeing you upset kills me, bug. You don’t have to handle it all on your own, okay? I’m here.”

“I know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out,” he teased, his lips turning into a playful smile before he kissed you again, this time slower and deeper.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and full of affection. “I love you.”

You smile softly. “I love you too, Pete. So much.”

He smiled, kissing the tip of your nose. “Good. Now, let's relax and eat way too many cookies.”

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. And as the ridiculous show unfolded, Peter’s sarcastic commentary made you laugh even harder than you thought you would tonight.

No matter how bad the day had started, being with him made everything feel okay in the end.

Always.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

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