You tell Spider-Man about your crush on an oblivious Peter Parker. Spider-Man recommends giving Peter a signal—a sign, so he knows what you want. [4k words, shy!fem!reader/tasm!peter]
˚₊𓆩༺ 🕷༻𓆪₊˚
The night is sweet and warm.
The sun is setting, and the bakery at the end of the street is closing. You watch from your rooftop as one of their workers smokes a cigarette out back, smoke drifting upward, a sight at odds with the smell of powdered sugar ever-present on the breeze.
You pull your knees up toward you and rub your face with a sleeve-covered hand. The hoodie Peter got you is soft to the touch, smelling of detergent against your nose. You stretch it over your knees and peer down at your socks, black with little flowers on the sole. Peter said they looked Minecraft-y, and then he asked if he could borrow a pair from the pack that you never saw again.
You like thinking of him wearing them. Maybe he thinks of you when he does, or maybe they’re rolled up and forgotten under his bed.
You loose a depressed sigh and lean back in your summer chair. There wasn’t much heat for sunbathing today, but the roof makes for a good place to rest in the agreeable evenings. Less so when it rains, which is often. You eye a grey cloud on the horizon but your reluctance to move nor gather your stuff leaves you frowning. You are trying quite hard to stay away from your apartment and, as a consequence, your evil phone. If you have your phone, you’ll check over and over if Peter has replied to your message, but he hasn’t. He doesn’t, really, reply very often.
The sun goes and goes, presenting a miserable dark sky with little in the way of stars, but there are lights in the distance, buildings and cars, all now flocked in artificial white. It’s no soft glow.
You lay down, sit back up, lay down again. You reach for your book and discard it with a sigh. You count the planes that fly overhead, searching for the next whenever the former flies from view. You think about Peter and his big hands, how hot they’d felt pressed to your waist. How brown his eyes are, how soft his lashes must be when touched.
The swip and thwip of spiderwebs being thrown catches your attention immediately. Spider-Man. He must be near—you’ve seen him in person more times than you can remember, and the sound puts you at ease, that delicate snap and stick as he ejects, lets his weight pull, then cuts the line. You lean over the edge of your chair to look for him–
And almost lose your nose as a suit of red and blue comes flying up toward your rooftop.
“Holy–”
“Fuck!” you say, throwing yourself backward with a shout. You bring your hand to your chest, pressing your heart back behind your ribs as the blur of colour comes to a stop on the edge of the roof.
“Sorry!” Spider-Man says. “Jesus, you didn’t see me? I’m kind of, you know, brightly coloured?”
“You came out of nowhere! You’re going sixty miles an hour!”
Spider-Man rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I got places to be. Well, most of the time.”
You feel your heart jumping under your palm. Spider-Man shifts, his head tilting down as though he’s squinting at you assessingly.
“Hey, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You swallow your nerves. “Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. You scared me, s’all. Sorry for cussing. And yelling.”
He giggles brightly, plonking down on a creaky lawn chair, unperturbed by its green moss. “Yeah, you should be sorry, potty-mouth. Kiss your ma with that mouth?”
You laugh without thinking. “Sometimes.”
Spider-Man lays back in the chair and folds his arms over his stomach. It strikes you that you wouldn’t know if his eyes were open or closed, he looks relaxed, like he could doze. He looks tired, actually. He gives a long sigh and sits up some. Eyes open, decidedly.
“What are you doing up here?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m reading.”
“Reading what?”
You refuse to tell him that it’s a silky sweet romance with a besotted leading man and a beautiful girl, but struggle to think of a lie. The silence lingers until it’s awkward.
Finally, Spider-Man waves a hand at you, his voice genial as he says, “Keep your secrets.”
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
It might be more apt to ask him what it is that he’s doing up here. Surely Spider-Man has more important things to get too than sitting in a rinky-dink chair waiting to snap beneath any weight at all on your dreary rooftop in the cold weather. And more that he doesn’t know you, hasn’t ever spoken to you, no matter how many times you’ve seen him around the city.
“You look tired,” you say softly.
“I’m okay. But, hey, thanks for asking.”
“Sure.”
Awkward silence lingers again. Your blatant confusion as to his presence becomes obvious, and Spider-Man looks away, rubbing at his neck again with that same nervous hand.
“You looked lonely,” he says. “I guess I wondered if you wanted company, or– or a shoulder to cry on, or something. Anything.”
“Is that something you do often?”
“What good is looking after the neighbourhood if everybody in it goes home sad?” Spider-Man shrugs. “You don’t have to tell me anything, I’ll only sit here if that’s cool.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
You’re thinking about Peter again. It’s ridiculous, there’s a superhero on your roof and you’re thinking about Pete, but you can’t help it. Spider-Man reminds you of him, his height and build, even his voice, though Spider-Man is all bravado and gruffness where Peter’s a tiny bit shy. It’s what made becoming his friend possible—he’s shy and you’re worse, you’re immovable, you struggle to talk half the time. If Spider-Man hadn’t scared the fuck out of you scaling up the building, you wouldn’t have been able to open your mouth.
“I have a friend,” you say, buckling under the pressure of the quiet. “And I like him. And I don’t know what to do, so. That’s why I’m all messed up.”
“You don’t look messed up,” he says, bringing a hand to his chin to hold like he’s pondering something deeply. “You like someone? That’s a good thing.”
“I don’t think he likes me back.”
“That sucks, but– okay, sorry if this is weird, but you’re beautiful.” Spider-Man straightens in his chair. “Like, you’re really beautiful. And your voice is so nice, I’ve barely heard it and I already know it’s addictive.”
You laugh again without meaning to, a sputter of sound.
“You’re really pretty. If he doesn’t like you back, I’m sure you can find somebody else.”
“Thank you, Spider-Man, but I don’t want anybody else,” you say softly. “He’s really perfect. Have you ever–” You clear your throat, picking at a scagged thread on your pajama bottoms and avoiding his gaze. “It’s stupid.”
“I bet it’s not.”
Nobody’s ever called you beautiful before. Nobody’s ever…
Peter makes you feel beautiful. Tips your chin up with his pinky finger to get your eyes, takes a good look at you when he’s seeing you for the first time in a while, but he never says anything about it. He smiles and he's sweet, but he doesn’t call you beautiful.
“He makes me feel like the only person in the world,” you confess. “He’s not perfect, like I said. He lashes out, and he forgets all the time, he’s late constantly, but he always says sorry, and you know he really means it? He’s the most genuine person. And he’s–” pretty, you want to say, but you look sideways at Spider-Man and can’t bring yourself to say it. “I want more of him than he wants to give me, is all, but I don’t mind. I like being his friend.”
“You want more,” he says, as though turning the words over in his mouth.
“That’s the hard part.”
“That’s a nice love story.” He exhales slowly. “Lucky guy.”
“It’s not a love story,” you say, trying for happy acceptance and sounding weak.
“It could be. Have you told him how you feel? I don’t see how a guy could hear all that from a girl like you and not at least try to make it work?”
You bring your knee up and rest your nose on the fabric there. “I don’t usually talk to people like this. I find it really hard.”
“Oh, so I’m special?”
“You’re an exception.”
“You don’t talk to this guy?”
You press your face fully to your knee, thighs aching.
“Peter doesn’t answer the phone,” you mumble, hoping Spider-Man won’t hear you. “Can’t talk to him about anything. And what would I even say? I know we’ve been friends for years and all but I like you now, and I’m prepared to make things awkward between us forever?” You whine quietly. “Everything’s so hard.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Spider-Man sounds flustered. Sounds like he took a long plunge from a tall skyscraper. You look up, perplexed, and he’s facing you completely still. It’s like he’s been turned to stone.
“You–” He swallows. “This Peter guy, you really like him?”
“I’ve had a crush on him since forever! And he never notices me, ever!” You scrub at your face. “I know it’s stupid and childish and high school, I know I should tell him how I feel even if there’s not the slightest chance that he’d ever want me back–”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
You squint at him. “You don’t know Peter.”
He laughs, still sounding all flustered and weak. “Okay.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m being really corny, huh?”
“No.” His voice is higher, too, almost like he’s holding his breath. “It’s not corny, it’s nice.”
“He’s really pretty,” you say, lamenting your sad lonely life without him. And now you’ve made a mess all over Spider-Man’s generous listening. If there was a chance he’d come to see you again, you have surely ruined it.
Spider-Man squeaks.
You stare at him. He’s pulling at the edge of his mask, fanning himself, giving you rare glimpses of his pale skin.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“I’m sorry, I’m– super warm.”
“Oh. Is the suit hot?”
“It can be, yeah.”
“I guess I don’t know how to move on,” you say, breaking your gaze to stare at the gravelly rooftop instead. “He’s a great friend, and I didn't always want it so badly. I don’t know why… why it got so much worse lately. I see him and I wish he’d grab me and– and kiss me–” You bite your tongue. “Sorry, Spider-Man. That’s too much information."
“Kiss you how?” he asks.
You jolt a little. “Uh, you know. Just kiss me. A real kiss. He’s kind of affectionate, like, sometimes he tries to hold my hand before we cross the street, and one time he did kiss my cheek, but it was, like, a bit. I want a real kiss.”
“Huh.”
“It’s lame.”
“Love is kinda lame. Corny and cheesy,” Spider-Man sounds oddly pleased. “But maybe he’s got all these lame feelings too, and didn’t want to push you. You seem kinda shy. Maybe he’s worried he’s not reading things right. If you’re the kind of girl who’s easily flustered, how can he know if it’s because of him or not?”
“But what do I do?”
“I don’t know.”
You laugh. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, but whatever you do, if he gets the signal, he’ll reciprocate.”
“How do you know?”
“Girl as pretty as you?” Spider-Man’s voice goes soft as butter. “He’d be an idiot not to.”
—
By the time you’d made it back inside that night, Peter had replied to your message.
In fact, Peter had spammed you. Answered everything you said with detail and then launched into an apology for not responding, cos he had a bunch of stuff to do and Aunt May had the car and his phone died on the subway home, yada yada.
He then asked you out.
Alright, he didn’t. He asked if you wanted to come over and watch a movie the next day, which is pretty standard Peter friendship activity, but has you smiling like a loser at your phone.
Yes, you’d texted him, would love to, I’ll bring dinner?
Do not!!!! I will order in for us when you get here :D
You’re standing in your nicest skirt, a pretty pink thing that ends at the knees and, and your newest converse, which aren’t all that new. Your cardigan is charcoal wool and buttoned all the way up to fight the sudden chill. It’s later than you realised; you spent an hour panic-changing your clothes and lamenting your response Spider-Man’s advice. You have to give Peter a signal, right?
You are dressed very cute for a movie at his place, and you smell delicious. You’re gonna give him a wide-eyed flirty stare and who knows, maybe he’ll finally get the message.
Or he’ll wonder why you’re so overdressed.
The door finally opens, and Peter’s already smiling. His cheeks are red like spring cherries with a flush that crawls down his neck and probably stains his broad chest, too, his hair in order for once, his usual hoodie and jacket traded in for a plain white t-shirt that’s a little tight. Shows the indents of his chest, the lines of firm muscle there.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says.
You want him to call you beautiful forever. “Don’t,” you say instead. He should know better. You fluster at anything.
Peter stands aside to let you in. You’ve been to the Parker house a ton of times, but it’s noticeably clean, and dimly lit. There are a couple of candles lit in the living room and a bowl of popcorn stands on the coffee table, filling the room with the smells of toffee and butter.
“Was it cold?” he asks.
You nod hurriedly. “So cold. I thought it was supposed to be summer.”
“We’re not that lucky. Make yourself comfy, okay? I gotta grab your drink.”
You unlace your shoes and leave them by the doorway, padding into the living room in your socks. The couch is fitted with enough throw pillows to turn a three-seater into a two-seater. You’re forced to plop yourself somewhat in the middle, but you’re too tempted by the popcorn to worry. You sneak a piece while Peter’s gone, humming as the sweetness breaks out across your tongue.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he calls.
“For what?”
“For not answering you!” His voice echoes nearer, and he grimaces his way through the hall into the living room, two glasses of your favourite in his hands. “I’m awful. I’m an idiot, and I never check my phone. I’m sorry.”
“Peter, it’s fine.”
“You sure?”
Your eyes widen of their own accord as he sits down next to you, thigh to thigh, so close you can see the little bits of amber that swim in his irises, all that brown fragmented by shards of sunlight.
“I–” You nod oddly. “Am sure. Of course. I don’t expect you to drop everything–”
“I know you don’t, but still. I have my phone with me. I can answer you more, and you’re important to me. I get distracted.”
“Did you get all your errands done?”
“Sure.” He hands you your glass and puts his own on the coffee table. “Thanks. You’re an angel.”
“You’re not so bad,” you say.
You relax. Peter lets you choose the movie, and you feel warm sitting there pointing his remote at the TV, flicking unsurely through everything, but he’s Peter. You put on Cado Lake and hand him the remote, sure he’ll enjoy a sc-fi flick, and are instantly gratified when the movie hooks his attention. Not too much, though. He’s clear of mind enough to put the popcorn bowl in your lap and nip you with little questions. Who’s that again? Hey, she looks like May. Wow, you smell good, what is that?
You’re about an hour into the movie when Peter’s hand sews itself behind your back.
It’s warm, and big. His fingertips skate over the mall of your back until he’s found your side, where it curls, and he pulls you gently toward him. Your head drops into the space between his shoulder and head, the TV a colourful blur in front of you, your hand paused dead in the nearly empty popcorn like you’ve been frozen.
“Okay?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” you say. You’re fine.
He’s warm. He’s solid beside you.
“You’re letting me eat all the popcorn…”
His laugh is a huff against your head. “I’ll make some more.”
“No.” You rest your cheek on his arm. Bliss flits through your entire body like a wave. “It’s okay. I won’t eat your share.”
“You do what you want,” he says, and you wonder if he’s relaxing beneath you, too, heat of his body seeping through his clothes and into your skin as his fingers rub gently into your side. “Get you a sack of popcorn, if you want me to.”
“This is nice.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. This is good.”
You struggle to pay attention to the movie for the next few minutes, wondering if this is really what you think. It’s not exactly friendship-level affection to wrap your arm around someone, is it? But Peter’s so lovely, it could be nothing. Why would it mean anything? What could Peter want with you? Of course you have a crush on him, he’s gorgeous, but Peter has no such motivations about you. Does he?
He’s quiet for a while. You think the movie might’ve really snagged him, but then he turns to you with a shy smile that brightens exponentially when you sneak a glance at him and end up smiling back.
He doesn’t look away.
It gets so hot you wish you could peel out of your cardigan, but you don’t wanna move and displace the moment.
“You’re missing the movie,” you whisper.
“I’ve missed so much of it,” he says.
“What?”
“Look.” He swallows. “Look, I don’t know if I’m– maybe I’m way off base here, and all, but,” —his hand climbs your side, folding over your, pulling you even closer— “maybe I’m not? I don’t know.”
“Off base about what?”
“You know.”
“Do I?” you ask. You can hardly speak above a breath, but Peter hears it.
Peter’s gaze darts down.
You lift your chin. Spider-Man, you think, watching as Peter’s brows knit like he’s in pain and his pupils turn to dimes, sunshot brown melding dark, this better work.
Peter inches his face down until your noses are touching, your eyelashes forced shut in a flutter at his proximity.
He lingers there, in the quiet, breathing the air your exhale and holding his tongue as he raises his hand to cup your cheek tenderly. His fingers slip beneath your ear and his thumb drags over your cheek, distending your lips, and his lips brush against yours so softly you aren’t sure if he really has kissed you, or if you want it bad enough to conjure the sensation. But then he presses in for a proper kiss, and the quiet in the room gets replaced by the pounding of your heart in your own ears.
He tips your head a little and kisses upward, parting his lips to encourage you to let him in. You suck in a breath as he wades in for a real kiss, the heat of tongue and the soft plush give of his lips on yours. He encourages your head back quick, your eyes squinting ever so slightly, but he’s only moving you to wade in for the same kissing at a new angle. His nose tip scrunches into yours.
Your thoughts are electric. Your hand vies for a place to anchor, grasping tightly at his shirt, screwing the fabric over his chest into a ball.
“Holy crap,” he says, pulling back a touch.
His eyes are shining. His mouth is damp with spit, but you aren’t certain if it’s yours or his.
“I can’t believe I had the willpower to wait this long for that,” he says, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Shit, you're just as perfect as I thought.”
You laugh in a tangle. “What?” you ask breathlessly.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long. Wow, you taste like toffee.”
“I’m sorry–”
Peter gets his thumb under your chin to tip your face up. “For what? For being perfect?”
“For tasting like popcorn.”
“That is the least of my worries.” He does a one-eyed squint at you, stroking your chin and cheek with his thumb, a caress that makes your stomach ache as much as the kisses had. “Sorry it took me so long to kiss you. You’re a hard girl to read.”
“I know,” you mumble.
He kisses your cheek and ducks his face into the side of your head, gathering you in for a hug that’s strong but careful, too, your thigh curving into his lap. He doesn’t seem to notice the way he’s dragging you onto him as he breathes in your hair.
“Pete?”
“Yeah?”
You struggle out of his arms. “Can you kiss me again?” you ask.
“Yes. Yeah. Oh my god, absolutely.”
Your laugh as he bends your backwards into the mountain of throw cushions is ecstatic. Then smushed, quickly, but it’s fine. The kiss is worth getting cut off.
—
(One month later.)
“I was going to tell you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously, I was! But I didn’t want you to be embarrassed."
“Right.”
“And I didn’t want you to be mad.”
You stare at Spider-Man in your boyfriend’s bedroom, unmasked, Peter Parker with hair like a dandelion and eyes so sorry he’s almost winning you over, the mask clasped in hand.
“You knew who I was talking about,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “and you still made me give you a signal? Do you know how hard that was for me?”
“You can do hard things!”
“Peter.”
“I wanted to be sure. I have a huge crush on you, you know that? It was just as scary for me as it was for you.”
You sniff indignantly. Spider-Man drags himself from his window to take your hands, pouting like a loser for your forgiveness.
“Can you please forgive me?” he asks. “Don’t you think it would’ve given my secret away if I turned up at your door and planted one on you? You do not understand the strength it took to wait.”
“Peter, it wasn’t even twenty four hours.”
“You’re really pretty,” he mumbles.
You forgive him already, not that he needs to know that. You have more important questions to ask.
“So, what’s with the webs?”
“D’you like ‘em?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He whines.
You plant a little kiss on his jaw and make for the bed you’d been planning on napping in before his impromptu return through the open window. “Come hold me while I nap,” you say, moving back his sheets, “please. And maybe I’ll think about forgiving you.” You’re too tired to think about this in depth.
Peter throws himself into the mattress. You crawl into his arms.
“You kinda smell like street,” you mumble, nuzzling his neck, a hint of forgiveness to settle his bad nerves.
His head falls back as he lets out a relieved sigh. “You smell perfect,” he says.
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Bullshit repeats itself / Is that how the saying goes? / Been here a thousand times / Selective memory though
You say we're drifting apart / I said "yeah I fucking know" / Big deal we've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow
Overview: A headass couple: people acting in a "slightly delusional, somewhat cheesy bubble," oblivious to how cringy or ridiculous they appear to others.
For some reason, you'd thought yourself to be the untouchable exception to the rule that all relationships eventually hit a rough patch. Peter and you were perfect, best friends first, and then dating. There wasn't a better match than the two of you. Except, of course, until there was. Your perfect image is shattered as you realize he's hiding more from you than you'll ever know. After a rough breakup, only one person seems able to cheer you up. A certain webbed viglinate. But, wait... why does his voice sound so familiar?
a/n: There will be the occasional ridiculous name/reference; if you catch them, they're all real (including Jumbo’s Clowns)
wc: 10.0K
They say that the best foundation for a relationship is built on friendship. And you used to believe that. When you first met Peter, it was like coming together with a missing piece of yourself. Even before the romance, the dates, the sex. When it was nothing more than something wonderfully platonic, you thought everyone was right.
But you were delusional. Your head had been too far up your ass to realize the truth of your relationship. You weren’t soulmates. You weren’t any more special than anyone else dating their best friend.
You would think, though, that being friends with someone for years would build enough respect for them not to blatantly mistreat you. To not lie to your face when they hide where they are at night. Sure, maybe other couples who didn’t know each other lied. But not you and Peter.
That’s what you thought, at least. Shows what you know.
Two Months Earlier
“Hi,” Peter rushes into your apartment, breathless and flustered as always. You get a firm kiss to the cheek before he disappears into your bedroom.
Laughing slightly, you peer around the corner and try to get a glimpse of him. “Everything okay, Petey?”
You get a slight hum of acknowledgment before he goes back to what sounds like rustling through papers. Shaking your head, you bring the popcorn bowl over to the couch and wait for him to reemerge.
It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes until he’s strolling back toward you, a slightly cocky pep to his step. You narrow your eyes at him but fail miserably at holding back a grin. “Whatcha up to, Parker?”
“Who, me?” He shrugs, playing dumb as he jumps over the back of the couch, landing on the cushion beside you. You spot something folded in his hand before he tries to hide it.
With little warning, you lunge forward, reaching for his hand. “Hey!” He jumps back, unable to hold in his laughter. “That’s cheating, you know?”
You don’t acknowledge him, grunting in frustration as he holds his hand further and further away from you. “Alright, well, what happened to no secrets?” You push, slightly embarrassed at how breathless you sound.
“Oh, wow,” his hand comes up, cupping your jaw as he pulls your face closer to his. “That’s playing dirty,” he whispers. You can’t subdue your smile, inching closer until your noses are brushing.
“You like it when I play dirty.” Peter’s eyes widen, a visible flush on his face as your lips just barely brush together. The whisper of a kiss. He was so focused on that, he failed to notice you ripping the paper from his hands.
He groans as you lean back on the couch with a triumphant grin. “You’re too easy, Parker,” you tease.
He props his chin on your knee, “Only for you.”
“Oh God, you are so cheesy.” He opens his mouth, a stupid grin on his face. You pinch his lips together and laugh, “Don’t say it again. For the sake of our relationship, please.”
You release him and he presses a quick kiss to your hand before leaning back. “Well,” he nods toward the paper in your hand. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve won?”
Excitement bubbles inside you as you unfold the small piece of paper. The print’s slightly smudged from your wrestling match, but when you bring it closer, you can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes you.
“Peter!” He’s smiling widely, posture relaxed and completely smug as you gush. “I can’t believe you managed to get tickets.”
“One of the guys in my lab knows someone at the museum. He owed me a favor,” he shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal. Like he didn’t just get you into one of the most exclusive exhibitions in Queens.
He lets out a slight grunt when you toss yourself at him, arms wrapping like a vice around the back of his neck. You can feel the exhale of a laugh as he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, arms quick to wrap around your waist.
“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to get a proper look at him. He keeps his grip firm, reluctant to let you get much further.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” he tells you and he has all the conviction of a man who really believes it.
“That’s a big promise,” you smile. “Sure you can keep it?”
“‘Course I can.” When you lean in to kiss him this time, you make sure it's real. Not the whisper of a touch, but something deeper as he pulls you into his lap completely. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how wonderful it is to be loved by Peter Parker.
“Christ,” you blow into your gloved hands and hope some of the warmth bounces back to your face. You knew it was going to be cold today, but you hadn’t thought it would be a problem. Peter had said he was going to meet you outside the museum, but it’s already been fifteen minutes and you’re losing feeling in your nose.
He does have a mind going 100MPH most days. Usually, you like to give him a leeway on timing. But it’s absolutely freezing today and snowflakes have just started falling. If you were with your boyfriend, this would be like a scene out of a romcom.
Instead, it’s about to be a nature documentary on wild stood-up girlfriends freezing in Queens tundra.
Pulling out your phone again, you bite the thumb of your glove and tug it off. You’ve sent Peter about twenty messages, none of which have even so much as gotten a ‘read.’ You try calling him this time, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear as you hurriedly tug your glove back on.
“Hey, this is Peter, you know what to do.”
You roll your eyes at his voicemail. “It’s your girlfriend, Pete. But, I swear, if you make me wait any longer in this damn snow, I’m going to be your ex.”
“Good thing you don’t have to wait.” With a squeak, you whip around to find Peter standing behind you. You slap his shoulder and he bounces back with a laugh. The tip of his nose has been nipped red by the cold and his cheeks aren’t much better.
“You’re lucky I like you,” you snap.
“Extremely,” he agrees, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. It softens you slightly. When you can feel your fingers again, you’ll consider forgiving him. He throws his arm over your shoulder, struggling slightly with the scarf triple-wrapped around you.
Glancing down to hang up the call, you see a little news notification pop up.
Spider-Man & Molten Man Spotted in Times Square
“What’re you looking at?”
You shake your head, tucking your phone away. “Nothing.”
You send him a smile that he returns eagerly. He passes the staff your tickets and opens the door for you as you step into the museum. You’d like for the first thing you appreciate to be the gorgeous mural on the wall in front of you. But you are far more interested in the blast of heat coming from the vents above.
“Oh, thank God,” you grumble, blocking the door as you greedily soak up all the warmth you can.
“Come on, bug,” Peter laughs, tugging you along so the line of people can get by. “We’ll get you an overpriced coffee at the cafe.”
“You’re paying,” you tell him sternly. “I still can’t feel my nose.”
“Deal.” Peter doesn’t hesitate, just leans down and presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. It’s the type of thing you used to see others do in public and gag.
You’d think about how you would never be one of those touchy-feely couples. Peter makes it feel so natural, though. As if you’ve been together all your life and this is just another one of your daily routines.
The giddy smile on your face is wide and can’t even be hidden behind your scarf as you lean into him. He chuckles as he pulls you closer, taking you toward the cafe. “What do you want to see first?”
“I read online that they’ve got a bunch of Monets by the south entrance, we’ll go there and then circle back to the front.”
“You’ve had this planned since you saw the tickets, haven’t you?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Since I read about the exhibit. Remind me to thank you again when we get home.”
Peter glances down, brows raised with a cheeky look on his face. You snort and push his face away. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did,” you tease. Peter laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get in line for a coffee. You don’t even feel like you need it anymore. You’ve been warmed inside-out just by Peter’s presence.
God, when did I become such a cliche?
9:50
where the hell are you
they keep talking about distillation columns and thermo-something
you know I don’t understand nerd
Checking the time on your phone for the nth time, you feel your leg begin to bounce. Something uncomfortable has tied itself around your stomach, squeezing until you can’t stand one more sip of your beer.
Peter’s labmates celebrate around you. They keep jostling each other’s shoulders, talking in technobabble. You have never felt as stupid as you did when Marcy asked you what your thoughts were on a plug flow reactor. Whatever the hell that is.
You’d just said, “Oh, yeah, they’re great.” She’d smiled and slowly backed away, eagerly jumping into the next conversation.
It’s not that they’re not nice people, but this clearly isn’t where you’re meant to be. Not without Peter, at least. You’d promised to come thinking, oh, you know, that your damn boyfriend would be here.
10:30
Peter
Please
I feel so stupid
Nausea is thick in your throat as you hunch over the bar. Peter’s friends have all moved to a table, but you didn’t feel like following. It’s not like they were talking to you anyway. They didn’t know how and you didn’t either.
“This is so stupid,” you mutter, dragging your hand down your face. You push away your empty beer and find yourself drawn to the TV, looking for any sort of distraction.
It’s the news and, of course, Spider-Man’s swinging around the city again. His suit is bright against the night sky, and there’s an odd shape on his head that’s catching the snow. Leaning forward slightly, you snort when you see he’s wearing a red beanie.
“Of course, New York gets the weirdo for a hero,” you mutter. You grimace as you watch Spider-Man get punched down by a man who looks like he’s made himself a megazord. Pulling back the sleeve of your blouse, you sigh at the time.
There’s a tight pinch in your chest as you slide off the barstool.
11:02
I’m going home
You debate saying anything else but decide not to. Tugging on your winter attire, you stop by the others’ table and bid them all goodnight. They’re nice enough to say bye, but you’re pretty sure they thought you had already left.
The wind pushes against the bar’s door as you make your way outside. Snowflakes are quick to whip at your cheeks, landing in your lashes and melting into your scarf. You pull the scarf tighter and trudge forward.
The cold isn’t bothering you any more than your absentee boyfriend is. You’ve always been gracious with Peter about being late. It’s a chronic sickness for him at this point and you’ve been around it the majority of your life.
But it feels different now that you’re dating. Waiting outside an arcade or a restaurant for a friend isn’t a big deal. But when you’re sitting on your own at a table in a crowded restaurant, that’s absolute humiliation.
He’s been dropping the ball a lot more lately and that hurts. But he hasn’t given you any other reason to worry about the state of your relationship. So, despite the sting, you’ve resolved to just swallow down the embarrassment and keep on going.
You hear a small thud behind you and your hand instinctively goes to your purse. Swallowing thickly, you keep walking, hoping it’s nothing more than your paranoia. Then you hear the crunch of snow behind you, the clear footsteps matching your pace. Your hand wraps around the mace Pete bought you and you whip around on them.
To your absolute horror, Peter’s standing behind you. He throws his hands up and lets out a nervous laugh. “Okay, an hour late is really bad, but please don’t mace me.”
You tilt your head and give him a flat look. “Two hours, actually.”
His face screws up and you cross your arms. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry.”
You shake your head and turn back around. “Forget it, Pete. Just go celebrate with your friends.”
Peter jogs to catch up with you and darts in front of you, a frown on his face. “Wait, no, come on. Why don’t you head in with me?”
You let out what can only be described as a guffaw and push past him. “And suffer through more questions about plug flow-whatever’s? Pass.”
“Plug flow reactors?”
You glare at him over your shoulder and he fails horribly at hiding the amused look on his face. “Trying to speak nerd with them was humiliating, Peter.” His face softens at that and he reaches forward to pull you closer.
Out of pure stubbornness, you should resist. But standing outside in the cold is making you desperate for Peter’s insane body heat. “Come inside, just for a little while,” he brushes a hair off your cheek and smiles softly. “I swear, I’ll teach you all our science jargon.”
You roll your eyes, but he knows he’s won when you sink into him. “You’re way too persuasive,” you snap. Peter does his best to lace your mittened hands together as he turns you back toward the bar.
“Yeah, but you love me.”
“Unfortunately,” you glare at him, but your smile gives you away.
For once in your relationship, you’re the one running late. Something you know Peter is about to take far too much joy in. He’s already sent about fifteen texts. The majority of them bemoan being all alone and then asking if this is how you always feel. Those were followed by an influx of apologies.
You’re not thinking about the texts, though, as you jog down the street. You spot Peter waiting outside the diner, leaning against the wall. He’s got his phone in his hands, fingers moving rapidly across the screen.
Sure enough, you can hear your phone ding with yet another passive-aggressive text. “Would you quit it?” You demand, completely out of breath, as you stop in front of him.
He tosses his head back dramatically and groans. “God, finally. I thought you were just going to leave me out here to freeze.”
“Would serve you right,” your brows furrow. “When’d you get this?” You flick the edge of the red beanie shoved over his hair.
Peter shrugs and readjusts it. “I dunno, I’ve had it forever.” You frown, biting your lip as you think. You swear to god you know it from somewhere, but you must’ve just seen Peter in it before and forgot.
He holds the door of the diner open for you and lets out a relieved breath as you both step into the warmth. You would feel bad for him if he hadn’t done this to you five times within two weeks.
“How come you wanted to…” The go to this place so bad trails off into a laugh. You should have known when he kept badgering you about coming here.
Plastered floor to ceiling are comic book characters, clips from the stories, and various forms of memorabilia. You’re absolutely surrounded by a hundred different fandoms, and you’re honestly surprised Peter hasn’t had a heart attack yet.
“I really should have seen this coming.”
Peter laughs and leads you over to an empty table. A busty woman with a purple leotard stares you down from where she’s painted on the wall. You give Peter a flat look and he flushes.
“I mean… the name is Strips.”
“Oh, seriously, Parker. Why would my mind immediately go to comics? I was worried you were taking me to a strip club or something.”
Peter wrinkled his nose and frowned. “That’s way too on the nose. I’d take you somewhere classy like Jumbo’s Clown Room.”
Your lips part and you just shake your head. “I don’t want to know if that’s a real place. And if it is, I don’t want to know how you found out about it.”
“Blame Flash,” he mutters as a waitress comes over with a coffee pot.
You smile and thank her as she walks away. “Oh, I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you about this, yet.” Peter perks with interest and a wide smile blooms on your face. “You know how I was trying forever to be Professor Beeter’s TA. The position never opened but,” you trail off slightly as the people behind you start getting loud.
“Oh my god, he is wrecking this place!” Frowning, you glance over your shoulder and take a look at what they’re watching. Someone’s phone is propped in the middle of the table and you see yet another ridiculous villain punching through the Chrysler building.
Rolling your eyes, you settle back in your seat. “What was I saying?”
“Um,” Peter’s leg bounces under the table and his gaze shoots toward the door. “I’m not sure.”
You frown, watching him warily as he grows more antsy. “Oh, it’s about Professor Beeter. He offered me a-”
“Sweetheart,” he interrupts you and jumps to his feet. “I’m so sorry, but I just remembered I promised I would help May today.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“What? Peter! You wanted to come here!” He’s already running out the door. You watch, astounded, as he races past the window like hell’s nipping at his heels. You sink back into your seat with a stunned expression and your heart aching.
Clearing your throat, you look up to find your waitress giving you a pitying look. She offers you a sympathetic smile that only makes you sick to your stomach. Grabbing your bag and coat, you jump out of the booth, rushing outside.
What the hell is going on with him? You think, glaring down the street where Peter had gone. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you swallow down a lump in your throat and decide to just head back home.
After his abrupt exit, you haven’t heard from Peter all day. You’ve sent him a few texts, checking in on him and asking about May, but you only got one answer before he went AWOL.
You:
Everything good with May?
Petey:
Yeah
Her pilot was out had to make sure she had heat
After that, you’ve gotten nothing from him. Also, as far as you’re aware, May doesn’t use gas for heat. Peter hooked her up with better appliances forever ago.
It’s as you’re dialing May’s number that you have to try and convince yourself you haven’t gone total psycho girlfriend. It’s perfectly normal to want to check on your boyfriend. Especially after how he was acting today. The line only rings a few times before she picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, May.”
She says your name and you practically hear the smile in your voice. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?”
“Fine,” you answer quickly. “I just wanted to be see how Pete’s doing?”
She’s silent for a moment too long. She clears her throat and you frown at the pitch of her voice. “Oh, yeah, Pete’s fine. I’d let him talk to you, but he’s busy right now.”
You hum, fingers twisting your hoodie (Peter’s hoodie) strings as your stomach ties itself into a knot. “Right. Uh, what’d he say he was helping you with, again?”
“Cleaning out the gutters. Apparently, it can be a fire hazard or something, I’m not sure.”
Your body goes cold while something venomous rushes up your throat. “Okay,” you can barely hear your own voice. “I’ll let you go, then.” You hang up before she can respond, phone slipping from your hand and clattering to the ground.
“Oh, my god,” you let out a panicked whisper, smoothing your hands over your hair as you try to think of a reasonable explanation. But there are no anniversaries, no birthdays, nothing special coming up that he might be lying about for a surprise.
You’re honestly more shocked that May would lie to you. Growing up, she’d always seemed like the type of woman to protect a girl from sleaze-bag boyfriends.
So maybe that means Pete isn’t doing anything bad. Maybe she’s covering for him for a good reason.
So, why can't you think of one damn reason May would lie to you?
You don’t want to start spiraling for no reason. People lie, not just boyfriends, and not always for insidious reasons. Plucking your phone off the floor, you call Gwen. She’s usually good at pulling you out of your head when you start getting bad.
The phone rings a few times before she finally answers. “Hey, what’s up?”
You frown and cross your arms across your stomach, trying to keep the nausea down. “Why do you sound so out of breath?”
“What?” She clears her throat but that only makes her sound worse. “No, I’m not. Did you need something?”
“Uh,” slightly taken aback by her tone, you struggle to find the right words.
“Gwen!” Your heart beats ruthlessly against your ribs as your entire body stills.
“Is that Peter?” You know it is. You could pick his voice out of a crowd if you were blindfolded.
Gwen lets out a tense hum. “Yeah, it is. Uh, he was helping me with some chem stuff. So, I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?”
She’s hanging up before you can say anything else. Your hands are trembling as you set your phone on the table. Squeezing your throat to try and keep the lump back, you shake your head.
There’s a reasonable explanation for everything. Right?
The nausea’s still coiled tight around you by the time Peter gets to your apartment. Your eyes are staring blankly at the wall, the only light coming from your window. You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there. Trying and failing to sleep as you consider all the reasons Peter might have lied to you.
Why he would be with Gwen instead of you.
You hear him padding through the hall and shut your eyes, tugging the blanket slightly over your head.
“Bug?” He calls softly. He’s quiet as he approaches the bed. He brushes a hair off your cheek and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “You awake?”
Part of you wants to tell the truth. She wants to spring up and start laying into him, demanding to know why he lied. And the other half, she’s a coward. So, you stay curled into a ball, eyes closed, and pretending like you’re not falling apart.
Peter lets out a low groan as he settles in your bed behind you. It takes everything in you not to jerk away when he wraps his arm around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. The last thing you want right now is to have him touching you. But saying that requires being awake.
And that’s more painful than a sleepless night.
Peter wakes up slowly, his body aching after last night. He’s not sure who decided a “living robot” was a good idea. But his ribs are paying the price.
Stretching, he ignores the twinge of pain along his side. His arm gropes blindly along the sheets, searching for you, for your warmth. When his fingers brush against the wall, he reluctantly opens his eyes.
He frowns when he realizes you’re not in bed beside him. Turning toward the rest of the apartment, he doesn’t hear you. You’re not in the shower or humming in the kitchen.
With something cold settling inside him, he gets out of bed. “Sweetheart?” He calls out, hoping to hear you answer. It’s Saturday, and while it’s never been something you’ve both spoken aloud, traditionally, you spend all day in bed together. Just crashing from stressful weeks and overloaded uni schedules.
“Bug?” He tries again, wandering through your apartment. He already knows, deep down, that you’re not in here. But he doesn’t want to accept it. He’s barely had any time for you this week and he was really looking forward to just being lazy with you all day.
In the kitchen, pinned to your fridge, he finds a pink note with his name on it.
Prof. Beeter asked me to come in. Someone messed up last week’s research log
Should be home for lunch <3
The only thing stopping him from spiraling is the little heart at the bottom of the note. He knows it’s silly, but he’s slightly worried that you’re mad at him. He can’t explain where the feelings are coming from, but it's gnawing along the back of his mind.
Peter glances at the clock and groans. It’s only 9, and lunch to you is usually 2 O’Clock. He’s not sure if he’s patient enough to last that long. Peter glances at the note again and leaves it on the counter to go get dressed.
He had Professor Beeter last semester and they got along pretty well. He’s sure the older man wouldn’t mind Peter bugging you for a little while.
Still heavy with the feeling that he’s done something wrong, Peter brought along your favorite sweet treat from the cafe on campus. Hopefully, that will soothe his worries and give you a boost for the day. He knows you look forward to Saturdays just as much as he does.
Peter’s heading toward the lecture hall when his brain finally catches up with the rest of your note. What research were you talking about? You hadn’t told him you were a part of any projects.
He’s always yapping to you about his labs. He figured you would do the same. Maybe it’s new, he thinks.
Pushing open the door, he spots you immediately. You’re at a desk, papers and books piling all around you. There are three other people with you, each of whom he has a vague recollection of.
“I mean, I don’t even know how we’re supposed to salvage this.” Your voice sounds strained, completely pulled taut. Peter frowns, wishing he could just take your problems and shoulder them for you.
“It’ll be okay,” one of the girls assures you.
You finally lift your head from your hands. “Twelve pages with zero references, we’re going to be at this all damn day.” Peter draws back slightly, suddenly wondering if this is such a good idea.
He knows how testy you can get about school. Especially major projects. Sometimes just leaving you alone seems to work better than smothering. But, then, before he can back out, one of the girls, he thinks her name’s Mila, catches sight of him.
“Peter?” She calls out. Your eyes instantly snap to him. If he thought you were angry at him before, he does not feel any better now. Your gaze is sharp, lips in a flat line, and there’s absolutely nothing on your face except perpetual irritation.
“What’re you doing here?” You snap and your voice is way sharper than he was expecting. Holding his hands up slightly, he approaches slowly. He doesn’t want to treat his girlfriend like a stray dog, but you look ready to go for someone’s jugular.
“I thought you might want something to eat. Figured you didn’t have any time before you left to get something.”
Mila and the other girl both aw over him and it gives him the briefest amount of hope. But then you’re shoving out of your chair and storming toward him. Peter swallows roughly as you approach. He almost wishes he were fighting that living-fire guy right now.
You snatch his sleeve in your hand and drag him back toward the door. “Peter, why are you here?” You demand, voice lowered so the others can't hear.
He frowns and shrugs helplessly. “It’s Saturday, we always spend Saturday together.”
You cross your arms, a sharp, derisive look on your face. Okay, definitely mad. “Oh, so you can remember dates now? What’s next? Are you going to show up on time for once?”
“Hey,” he objects, hoping to lighten the mood. “I was on time yesterday.”
Your eyes narrow and something on your face goes blank. He can’t place it exactly, but it’s like there’s a wall where he can usually read you so well. “Yeah, doesn’t count if you ditch me ten minutes later, babe.”
The venom in your voice makes him take a step back. He looks down, knowing you’re right. But he doesn’t want you any more mad than you are, instead of addressing it, he nods toward your desk.
“What’s going on here?”
“We’re working on the dementia research project with Professor Beeter.”
Peter wants to light up, to hug you, and congratulate you for finally getting an in with the professor you’ve been trying to work with since last year. But you deliver him the news so flatly he feels like you’d only get more mad.
“You didn’t tell me about that,” he says instead. Which is very clearly the wrong answer, by the way you back off with a sharp scoff.
“I’m not sure when I would have, Peter. I got placed two weeks ago and I haven’t seen you for more than an hour since then. Besides, when I tried to tell you yesterday, you fucking bolted to May’s.” You pause, and your lips curl up into something cruel. “Or was it Gwen’s place? Sorry, I can’t remember which lie you bullshited your way through.”
Peter feels his heart drop to his feet. It’s like a film goes over his eyes as his mind scrambles for any explanation that isn’t ‘I was busy beating up a robot with a weird, creepy human brain in it.’ Because he’s pretty sure that would be grounds enough for you to dump him right now.
You really don’t give him a chance, either way. You snatch the bag from his hand and the smile drops from your face. “Thanks for the visit. You can go now.” You turn back toward your teammates without another look at him. “Hungry?” You call out to Mila.
She gives a hesitant nod and you toss Peter’s pastry at her. “Dig in.” Even when you sit down, you don’t look up from your books. Not even a twitch as he opens the door.
Peter walks out, still slightly numb from the whole… argument? Did that even count as an argument? Or was that just you finally calling him out?
You’ve let him get away with a lot and maybe he took advantage of that, but he’s worried you might have the wrong idea. He doesn’t know why you would bring up Gwen, but the tone of your voice was so accusatory that he feels sick to his stomach.
Yes, he was at her house last night. But that’s because he needed to be stitched up. She’s known about Spider-Man since high school. It was either bleed out or have her use her beginner's sewing kit.
Peter lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair restlessly. You’ve both gotten into worse fights before. It’s not like you were a perfect couple. Surely, you could find a way to get over this. He just needs a half-decent excuse for his lying.
Peter perks up as he hears you step into the apartment. He glances at the clock and grimaces. You’re going to be pissed that you had to stay there until 6, fixing someone else’s screwup. When you round the corner and see him, he hears you let out one of the most exhausted noises he’s ever heard from you.
“Peter,” he finally turns to meet your eye. “Why are you here?”
His chest clenches as he forces a smile. “I figured you would be hungry.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you ever at your own place?”
Ouch. “I just wanted to make you dinner. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as it’s done, bug.”
You shrug off your jacket and take a seat at the kitchen island. Peter takes your silence as agreement and goes back to stirring the pasta. When you speak again, his ears practically touch his shoulders. This dreadful feeling in his stomach has just been mounting all day. He feels ready to vibrate out of his own skin.
“Peter, where were you last night? I want the truth.”
Peter’s hand clenches around the spoon and he keeps his back to you. “Went over to May’s to help around the house and then I saw Gwen.”
You let out a loud scoff and your hands slap against the counter. “Did you all get your stories straight? Am I hearing the right lie, now?”
Peter drops the spoon and turns to face you. He expects anger, maybe sadness. But you’re not giving him anything. You’re just… cold and Peter hates it. He’s seen you use that look before. It’s always been directed at people you don’t care about. You don’t hate them, you don’t love them, you just… don’t care. He doesn’t want to be someone you don’t care about. He can’t be.
“Look me in the eye,” you command. “Tell me the truth.”
Peter takes in a steadying breath, doing his best not to make it obvious. “Sweetheart, I swear, I went to help May with the heat and the gutters. Gwen called and she needed my help on her chemistry project. I’m sorry that I got home late-”
“I can’t,” you clear your throat and the way your voice cracks makes his heart ache. “I can’t believe that you’re just going to stand there and lie to me.”
He shakes his head and takes a desperate step forward. “No, bug, I’m-”
You hold your hand up and his jaw snaps shut. “You’ve talked Peter, now it’s my turn. I have put up with a lot from you. If anyone treated me the way you do, you know what you would tell me?”
He opens his mouth and you shoot him a look that makes him shrink into himself. “Do not answer that, I am still talking. You would tell me to cut them out. If someone doesn’t respect my time, my dates, if they lie straight to my fucking face, then that’s not someone who deserves to be in my life. You are never on time, if you even show up at all.”
He wants to object, he really does, but he knows you’re right. Still, you must sense his apprehension. “Scroll through our texts from the past two months. It’s just a block of me asking where you are and telling you how stupid I feel. Then you show up, make everything better, and I just let you get away with it. Because I have known and loved you for so long, I let you disrespect me. I can handle missing dates, I can handle not being on time, always being at my place and never letting me over at yours. But I can’t do this, I can’t just swallow down you lying straight to my face. Getting your aunt and my best friend involved in this is sick, Pete. What do you expect me to think when Gwen’s lying about why you’re at her place?”
“No, sweetheart,” he finally speaks, rushing toward you, voice breaking on something desperate. He reaches for you, but you jerk back and he swears something cracks open inside him. “I would never.”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Why would I ever believe you?”
Peter flounders. He tries to think of anything. Anything that isn’t a lie and isn’t the truth about who he is. But his mind is blank. The panic flooding through him is overriding anything that might get you back, might get you in his arms again.
You suck your teeth and give him a jerky nod. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder, he might actually cry.
“I think this has been happening for a long time, Peter. It’s just your first time realizing it.”
No, no, he can’t handle that. He can’t handle knowing that this awful, barbed feeling ripping through him is how he’s made you feel for so long. But he can’t just spill his guts and tell you everything.
Right after Gwen had discovered him, it was like the bad guys had a missile lock on her. She kept getting thrown into danger, nearly dying, because of him. He can’t be the reason you get hurt. He can’t live with that.
But he’s hurting you either way and for once, he can’t think of a way to make this all smooth over.
You take in a sharp breath and turn away from him. You walk to the stove, turning off the burner as the food begins to smoke. “I think you should go, Peter.”
“Bug,” but he doesn’t have anything to say and you still won’t look at him. He just wants you to look at him. He feels as if you did, if you saw how sorry he was, something here might be fixed.
“I’m going to take a shower. When I’m done, I expect you to be gone.” You toss the pot in the sink and head down the hall, not another word spared for him. And Peter…
He just spirals. Every mistake, every time he showed up late, just pummels into him as he realizes this is all his fault.
You turned off your phone yesterday. The missed calls and texts from Peter were bordering on obnoxious and you couldn’t take it anymore. Even Gwen kept trying to call you. Kept texting you that it’s not what you think.
But did they ever offer any other explanation?
No, they fucking didn’t.
So, not only did you lose your boyfriend, the man you’ve been in love with as long as you’ve known him. You also lost your best friend.
Best. Week. Ever.
Sick of being sad in your bed, you decide to go be sad outside. Maybe just grab a pint of ice cream from the bodega and lock yourself inside your apartment for the rest of your life. That sounds like a decent plan.
Leaving your phone, you grab your keys and some cash. It’s still cold outside, though the snow has calmed down a little bit. It soaks through your tennis shoes, now, seeps along the hem of your sweatpants. No part of you can be bothered to care about that as you trudge toward the shop.
It’s unusually quiet as you walk inside. Usually it’s a lot busier this time of night. Maybe the universe decided to give you a break.
Digging through the freezer section, you frown when you don’t see your favorite flavor. You turn toward the shop owner, Al, who has gotten used to you coming down here the past few days. “You guys don’t have any more Turtlesaurus Rex?”
Al’s silent and you frown, finally turning to fully face him. A man in a black jacket lingers by the counter, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Al gives you a tense smile, and your brows furrow as dread picks at you.
“All out. Maurie down the street might have some.” There’s something about how wide his eyes are that’s making you think you probably should have brought your phone. Especially because you definitely just saw the handle of a gun in that man’s jacket and you really need to call the cops. (Even though they probably won’t do anything.)
“Yeah, I’ll go check over there.”
“Have a good night.”
You try not to sound stiff as you return the sentiment. But you’ve barely made it to the door when you hear the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back.
“You think I’m stupid?” What a wonderful time this would be for a freak in red and blue spandex to show up.
You turn slowly and shake your head, absolutely zero idea how to defuse this.
“I think the lady’s just being polite. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone encapsulate the term ‘mouth-breather’ so well.”
Your eyes widen, and you whip around to see Spider-Man standing at the entrance of the bodega. What the fuck is your life?
“Hey, jackass,” you hiss, and his head whips toward you. “Who’s he pointing the gun at?”
Spider-Man shrugs, “What gun?” You barely have a second to blink before a thick white string is twhip-ing past you and jerking the gun out of the man’s hands.
“Smartass,” you mutter under your breath.
“I think you mean, ‘thank you, Spider-Man for saving my life,’” you shoot him a flat look and walk out of the bodega. Maybe it’s time to just accept that you’re not meant to be in the outside world. You’re better off cocooned in your bed.
There are no robbers there. No cheating boyfriends and conniving best friends.
About a minute later, you hear rapid footsteps approaching. “I don’t have a purse, phone, or wallet.”
“Wow, great mugger-deterrent. I totally don’t want to rob you now.”
You plant your feet in the snow and hear Spider-Man let out a sharp breath as he skids around you. “I thought you were the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Not the quippy, neighborhood pervert who follows girls around at night.”
Spider-Man lets out a noise that can only be described as a guffaw. “I’m making sure you get home safely. Since clearly you don’t care. I mean, who walks around this late at night without mace at least?”
“Me,” you tell him flatly.
“Pretty girls shouldn’t be walking around here on their own.”
Your lips curl and you gag as you continue toward your apartment. “Okay, first of all, totally not helping with your creep angle.” He groans and you almost laugh at the defeated sound. “Also, I’m fresh off a break-up, so keep the compliments to yourself.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Spider-Man quickly jumps in front of you and you frown as he blocks your way. “Breakup,” his voice is pitched so high, you swear it almost sounds familiar. “You broke up with someone?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“R-really?” He tries to lean against a lamppost, slips, and then straightens awkwardly like he meant to do that. “Because you know sometimes people think that it’s just a break and not a breakup, you know? Big difference. Are you sure this isn’t just a break?”
He’s talking so rapidly you can barely understand him. It doesn’t help that he’s got that mask on, so you can’t try to catch the words on his lips to decipher them. You think you might have gotten half of that word-vomit.
“Well, I’m the one who did it. I feel like I should know.”
“Does he?” He holds up his hands, quick to correct himself. “Or she? Spider-Man doesn’t judge.”
“Oh, good to know, he’s a pervert, but at least he’s an ally.” You push past him. “Look, if he doesn’t know, then he’s a lot stupider than I gave him credit for.”
You hear a low, “Ouch,” behind you and figure you might be being a tad harsh about Peter. But what the hell would Spider-Man care?
“You know,” Spider-Man continues after you.
Jesus, he’s like a damn dog.
“I’ve always believed that everyone deserves a second chance.”
You glare over at him and swear you see the eyes of his mask turn down. You’ve never seen a mask emote before; it’s incredibly bizarre. “Do they deserve a second chance after sleeping with your best friend?”
Spider-Man shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you have evidence that it happened, though?”
“Dude,” you snap. “What do you care? And what other evidence would I need besides the fact that he wouldn’t tell me the truth? If there was nothing to hide, why would he continue to hide shit?”
You hear his inhale of breath and shake your head, holding your hands up. “No, you know what, no. Alright? I didn’t get my Turtlesaurus Rex and I am not going to listen to some weirdo in a unitard give me relationship advice.”
“Unitard?” He scoffs. “I’m not a weirdo.”
“Oh, yeah?” You call over your shoulder. “Then stop following me home!” It takes a few minutes to believe he’s actually gone and you can finally breathe again. What weird ass fever dream was your life turning into?
You sit on the ledge of your roof’s building, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You’re scrolling through all the texts Peter’s sent you in the last three hours. There are at least fifty of them. But it’s the one at the end that really catches your eye.
Is this really it? Are we done? Bug-
You stop reading at the nickname and put your phone down. Reluctantly, Spider-Man’s words from the other night pop into your head. Some people think it's a break, not a breakup.
How could Peter not have gotten the message by now?
“Fancy meeting you here.”
You let out a screech and jolt forward. Arms winding wildly as you try to regain your balance. The city tilts below you until something’s latched onto the back of your shirt and you’re suddenly being pulled into a firm chest.
“Why would you sit on the edge?” Again, his voice gets an impressively shrill pitch.
Shoving away from him, you whip around and slap his shoulder. “Why would you scare someone sitting on the edge?”
You can hear his sharp intake of breath before his argument fizzles out. “That’s what I thought Spider-Boy-”
“Man.”
“Whatever.” You walk back to the edge and rewrap yourself in your blanket. With a pointed glare over your shoulder, you hop right back on your perch. Spider-Man lets out a world-weary sigh before he jumps up beside you.
“You know,” he drawls. “Most people say thank you when a superhero saves you.”
“Oh,” you laugh. “Is that what you are, now? A superhero?”
“Dude. What is your problem?” His voice goes so flat, all humor sucked out of it, that, for some weird reason, it’s the first thing he’s said to get a real laugh out of you. He seems just as confused as you are if the way he tosses his hands up means anything.
“I cannot figure you out.”
You shake your head and brush a stray curl from your eyes. “It’s not you, Bugboy-”
“Rude.”
“It’s life,” you spread your palms out, gesturing to the sprawling city across from you. “Just broke up with the love of my life. Lost my bestie. The research project I’ve been trying to join for a year is falling apart at the seams. Oh, and I almost got shot yesterday.”
You point your face to the sky and let out a dramatic sigh. “God hates me.”
There’s a light nudge on your arm and you look over to see that Spider-Man’s moved closer to you. “God doesn’t hate you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t let you get shot. I’d say that’s pretty damn lucky.” You snort and from the mask, you think he’s… pleased? It’s really hard to tell.
“I guess that’s fair.”
Spider-Man lets out a satisfied hum as he turns to the city. “You gotta stop being so hard on yourself, bug.”
Your entire body goes still. Your eyes widen as they stare down at your lap, adrenaline rushing through your blood as you turn toward Spider-Man. “What’d you say?” You ask, voice so low you’re surprised he even registers it.
He shrugs, “I said to stop being so hard on yourself.”
“No, you called me something. What’d you call me?”
“Bug,” Spider-Man drawls and you swear you’re going crazy because that voice is painfully familiar. “You called me Bugboy, I thought it would be fair.”
It’s too hard to distinguish whether this swooping feeling in your stomach is relief or disappointment. And you hate yourself for not knowing which one you want it to be.
“Right,” you scoff and rub your eyes. “I’m going crazy, now.”
Spider-Man lets out a long sigh as he watches you. “You kind of seem like you’re having a mental breakdown. Maybe, I don’t know, get off the edge of the very tall building.”
“Oh, don’t tell me Bugboy’s got a crush.”
Your lips curl at his scoff. “You’re impossible.”
Feeling only slightly guilty for the hell you’ve given him, you slip off the edge and get your feet planted firmly on the ground. “Better?”
He surveys you suspiciously before nodding. You pick your phone up off the ledge and, for some reason, are compelled to open up the texts with Peter. You should have guessed how nosey Spider-Man was going to be about it.
“That the ex?”
You shoot him a flat look as he kicks his legs over the ledge. “Yeah. That’s the ex.”
“So, what are you going to tell him?” He motions toward the last text. “Break or breakup?” Your mind snags on how Peter called you bug and Spider-Man’s weird slip-up before you force yourself to dispel the thoughts.
“Breakup. I guess I should have made it more clear.” Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you shoot Spider-Man a look. His back has gone weirdly tense and you frown. “Hey, you’re a guy. How’s the nicest way to tell him it’s done.”
“Don’t.” His voice is clipped, almost angry. “He’ll get the hint. Trust me.”
Your brows furrow as you eye him warily. “Are you okay?”
“Gotta go. Superhero business, you know?” You shrug, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s already leaping off the ledge, thwip-ing his way to the building across from yours.
“Weirdo,” you scoff.
You figured that after Spider-Man’s abrupt departure on the roof, that would be the end of it. But, no, it’s only gotten worse for you. He’s everywhere now. He’s somehow more consistent than your ex ever was.
Walking home from late research sections, look who wants to be a walking buddy.
Heading to the bodega for a midnight snack, somehow, Spider-Man had the same idea.
Your life is now a Sunday comic strip in the paper. It’s like there’s some sadistic artist out there exploiting your misery for humor. It’s not just him, either. It’s the month. In all your drama with Peter, you’d failed to keep up with the dates.
Now, freshly single for the first time in a couple of years, you sit alone preparing yourself for the next week. Valentine’s Day is Saturday, which means suffering through pink streamers all over campus and girls walking around with gift baskets lovingly curated by their boyfriends.
“I don’t like how often I find you on this ledge.”
You spare a glance over your shoulder and smile. “I don’t like that you still haven’t learned not to scare me.”
“Touche,” Spider-Man breathes out, taking quick strides toward you. “You seem tense. Feel like sharing? I’m a great listener.”
“Nothing big, just Valentine’s Day. I’ve had a boyfriend for so long I forgot how bitter and annoying it is for single people.”
“Tell me about it,” he sighs.
“Really? The Spider-Man is single?”
“I appreciate the surprise in your voice, no matter how forced it is.” You let out a wry chuckle and you swear you can hear a smile in his laugh.
“Probably a good thing, though. I can’t imagine any girlfriend would be happy with the amount of time you spend on this ledge with me.”
“No,” he agrees, “probably not.” The next noise he lets out is soft, tired in the kind of way that resonates with you. For the most part, your interactions are shallow. There’s banter, stupid quips, and then he’s off. You don’t usually hear something so real from him.
“Freshly single?” You ask. His head whips toward you and you shrug. “I recognize the misery of your sigh. It resonates within my withered heart.”
Spider-Man swats your shoulder lightly and you grin. “Yeah, it’s fresh. I still don’t think I’ve accepted it.”
You prop your chin in your hand and smile at him. “What level of not accepted are we talking here? Stalking? Or just crying over Instagram posts?”
Spider-Man goes quiet and you pull back. He recognizes the suspicion on your face and waves his hands. “No, no, no, this doesn’t count as stalking. Not really. I mean, it’s consensual?”
He sounds more unsure of himself at the end than you did. “Let's just not talk about that,” you offer. “I don’t think I want to know what your idea of consensual stalking is.” Spider-Man snorts and you shake your head.
A billboard across from you catches your eye. It’s Gwen’s favorite band, an announcement that they’ll be coming through soon. There’s a sharp ache in your chest when you remember you can’t just text her about stuff like that anymore.
“Gwen would love that,” you say, almost without thinking.
But what’s worse is when the man beside you doesn’t think either. “Oh, yeah, she would.”
Consensual
Stalking
Oh. My. God.
Your entire body stiffens as you turn to Spider-Man/maybe your ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to realize his slip-up and that just makes you freeze up. You don’t know what to do. You can’t just blindly accuse him of being Peter. If you start hinting at secret identities, he might stop talking to you.
Loathe as you are to admit it, you’ve begun to enjoy his company. The main reason being he reminded you of how it was with Peter before you guys started dating.
Oh, Jesus, you’re gonna throw up off the ledge of your building. When the pavement below seems to swim up to you, it’s time to slip off the ledge. Slowly, fighting off the vertigo of your discovery, you drop back to safety.
Spider-Man watches you, head tilted in question. “Um, I have to go.” You search for an excuse, but none comes. “Yeah, I have to go.”
“Oh,” he seems taken aback, but doesn’t comment. “Alright. I’ll see you later?”
You let out a noise between a hum and a squeal as you rush back into your apartment building. Your mind is racing while you scramble through the door of your apartment. Like a detective, you flit through different memories, red string connecting each one as you start to line up Peter’s disappearances with Spider-Man's greatest hits.
Every missed date, every time he showed up late, it was all right there. But you never thought to connect it because… Well, why would you? Peter is Peter. He’s not a superhero. He definitely doesn’t have webs. Please, don’t let him have webs.
Scrambling for your phone, you dial the first number you can think of. It’s barely ringing before it’s getting picked up. “Gwen,” your voice is incredibly shaky as you try to calm yourself down. “I’m going to ask you something and if you don’t tell me the truth, we’re never talking again.”
Spider-Man/Peter Parker/ex-boyfriend-
No, no, too many titles. Peter has not been around in the past week. Not as his alter ego, and not at his lectures. Unfortunately, a lot of your schedule seems to intersect and the majority of your day is spent hiding in a hoodie and trying not to make eye contact.
But there hasn’t been any of that at all this week.
Maybe Gwen told him you know. He’s probably losing his mind right now.
But, no, she swore she wouldn’t and you know she’s not going to risk hurting your friendship again. Though you did profusely apologize for ever thinking that she could do that to you. And then she berated you about thinking she would ever be attracted to Peter.
Which… Ouch.
It’s Saturday, which used to mean days spent with him. Instead, it now means watching people get all mushy on Valentine’s Day. That used to be you, disgustingly in love, kissing way more than you should in public.
Now, you watch it all on the subway with that same old glare you used to have before Peter. You’re thinking about him a lot more than you want to. Especially given that he’s supposed to be an ex.
After your long speech on respect and boundaries and honesty, you should be completely over him. But it sort of makes sense now. Especially after Gwen told you what happened to her when she found out about him.
Peter wanted to protect you. You can understand that. But it doesn’t just erase all of the pain you felt while you were in the dark. You let out a low groan, ignoring the people around you as you walk home. You just keep going in circles over and over again.
The streets around you begin to thin out the closer to home you get. You’re still so deep in thought, you don’t notice the man dangling in front of you until your forehead is smacking into his.
“Ow,” you hiss, pressing your palm to the bruise that’s probably already forming. Backing up, Spider-Man, Peter, is dangling from the small overpass, upside down, as he waits for you.
“Dude,” you drawl. “How long have you just been hanging out here?”
He shrugs, “An hour, maybe.” Only in Queens would people pass by a dangling man in spandex and not question a thing.
One of his hands is tucked behind his back, and the other is holding onto his webbing. “Here,” he says. “I’ve got something for you.”
He untucks his free hand and passes you a bright pink, smothered in glitter, Valentine's Day card. You can hear his proud smile as he asks, “Be my Valentine?”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you shake your head with a low laugh. This is the dork you fell in love with. The boy you swore you would follow anywhere. It’s not his fault he’s such an idiot, not really.
Something soothes the ever permanent ache in your heart as you imagine the smile he’s probably got plastered on face. God, you bet he’s so proud of himself for this silly little Valentine.
A deep longing echoes through you and you reach up, going for the edge of his mask, when he reels back. “What’re you-”
“Relax, Parker,” you whisper. He goes completely still and you take hold of the mask.
“Did Gwen tell you?”
“You did, dumbass. You know, you’re really bad at the whole secret identity thing when it comes to consensually stalking your ex.” He lets out a low groan as you peel down his mask, just enough for his lips to be visible.
Pulling back, you take his face in your hands and smile. “Do you want me as your Valentine, or not?”
“What do you think, bug?” With a soft laugh, you lean forward and press your lips to his. It takes a second to get the angle right, what with his chin brushing your nose and all. But you don’t need perfect, you just need him.
Pulling back, he’s got a goofy grin on his face and you smirk. “Parker?” He hums as you fix his mask. “If you ever lie to me again, I’ll cut a hole in the crotch of your unitard. Or, worse second option, I’ll tell Jonah Jameson where you live. Got it?”
He goes still and you raise a brow. “You’re not joking?” You shake your head, expression flat. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Smiling, you press a kiss to his cheek and step back. “Be home by six,” you tell him. “And bring some takeout.” You walk around him as he swings himself back up to the top of the overpass.
“I love you!” He calls after you.
“I know you do, Bugboy!”
𝘞𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘜𝘱 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 ♥︎
⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻
⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵
💿 We've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow 💿
a/n: this was meant to be angstier but, well, I started writing him in the Spider-Man “voice” and folded like a wet paper towel
Hi thank you so much! Love how you write Peter- he's such a sweet dork. May I get a tasm!Peter Parker x Reader (Gn!Reader preferred) fic where Peter is shirtless or wearing something that shows off his body and reader is just gushing and admiring him (i.e. complimenting, teasingly kissing, touching and squeezing him and his muscles) and he's just being a flustered doofus?
I don't see many fics of reader expressing to Peter how pretty he is and I want just full admiration for him. I feel like Peter still thinks he's still a wimpy nerd and hasn't realized how far he's gotten and I want him to feel proud of himself. Thanks <3
This can definitely be on the spicier and more suggestive side >:) You're awesome. Thank you again and for your lovely writing.
Hiiii, I really like this idea because he does deserve to know, but after trying it out I think I may not have been able to pull it off very well, I'm sorry. Thank you for requesting though <3
cw: some objectification? dw they’re dating and it’s super consensual
tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader ♡ 472 words
You look up from your laptop when Peter opens the bathroom door.
“Jesus.” You blink as he emerges from the steam, hair still dripping wet and a towel around his waist. “Have some mercy for those of us trying to focus, please.”
Peter laughs. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, put on a shirt. How am I supposed to get anything done with you walking around like that?”
“Oh, yeah?” he teases, making his way towards your dresser. “This is what does it for you?”
Ordinarily you might be too embarrassed, but now that you’ve made a game of it you have no qualms with letting your eyes rake over Peter’s torso. His muscled shoulders, the droplet of water that skids down his chest... “I’m a human with decent vision, so…yeah.”
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.”
summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.
a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it
wc: 3.6k
warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!
Peter just wants to go home.
It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city.
Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it.
So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while?
He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and—
“Babe—”
“Why are you following me?”
Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays.
“Because I want to talk!”
“God, do you even hear yourself?”
“You keep talking over me, so I really—”
“You don’t get to babe me right now!”
As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is.
It’s you.
This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful.
“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice.
Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend.
“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back.
He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!”
“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!”
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?”
And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse?
“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.”
Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse.
Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.”
“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional.
“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?”
“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”
Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.”
He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?”
“Yes,” you nod.
“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—”
“I hate beer.”
“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.”
“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!”
This time he says your name, and you shake your head.
“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”
For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head.
“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.”
You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct.
Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock.
“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.”
Good one, Parker.
“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide.
“The one and only,” he nods.
“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.”
“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”
You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it.
“I’m not stupid,” you say.
“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.”
You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?”
“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.”
You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?”
“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.”
You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.”
You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.”
Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.
“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.”
You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”
“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.”
Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”
“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”
“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”
You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you.
“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say.
“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.”
You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.”
“I think I can let it slide.”
“Good.”
A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company.
“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.”
He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds.
“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!”
Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up.
“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”
Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”
“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”
You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero.
“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?”
So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to.
“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?”
“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.”
He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”
You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.”
“And unhappy, it sounds like.”
“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…”
“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.”
You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.”
He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is?
Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?”
“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”
Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?”
“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.”
“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?”
You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.”
He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover.
You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?”
“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.”
“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.”
God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going.
“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”
He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario.
He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees.
You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down.
You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope.
No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he?
“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”
Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.
You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know.
You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground.
“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”
Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is.
How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role.
You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it.
But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.
You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret.
Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it.
So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly.
“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.”
You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.”
“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.”
“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.”
A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses.
“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.”
“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says.
“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.”
Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.”
He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you.
The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky.
Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you.
hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol
wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3
as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol
Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life.
Deal. Anything to get you an A
lol
asshole
Never
Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain
Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place:
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shy tasm peter was meant to eat out the reader so he reads a bunch of articles and watches a bunch of videos and he even makes her squirt for the first time and he’s cocky about it
you absolutely can! frothing at the mouth rn. thanks for requesting 💌
Peter is naturally very gifted with an abundance of smarts, his brain always seeming to master skills and abilities completely foreign to him. And while he was a jack of all trades, his confidence in those said abilities tend to lack from time to time. His mind making him question if he was even any good at the things he claimed himself to be.
Extensive amounts of time and effort gets put into research and reading, doing whatever deems necessary to fine tune skills.
And while things with you were fairly new, he wanted to make a good impression in the bedroom department. Essentially, he wanted to impress you, show you things that may very well be new to you both.
Plans were made for you to stay with him this weekend, to spend a night or two at his apartment. There was no definitive talk on what was to happen, but you each knew what it would mean: two adults having their first sleepover as a couple. It was only common sense that it would lead to something more intimate.
Peter’s skills were fairly rusty, his knowledge and confidence on anything intimate seeming to pass with the love of his previous partner some time ago. And so for the days leading up to your planned arrival, he immersed himself in research and forums: relearning the female form.
He watched countless videos, all for educational purposes — spending hours on pornsites just to acquire as much information as possible. He really wanted to make this an enjoyable experience for you both, so to him, research was the way to go.
Peter took a considerably lengthy list of notes, jotting down tips and tricks and techniques to ensure he was confident in getting you off. Though it’s easier said and done. The tricky part was always putting it into practice, applying the knowledge when the time comes.
And so, now you lay on his bed, underwear discarded somewhere on the mattress, bare legs bent in the air as if to keep yourself exposed and available to him. It’s always frightening to present yourself to a new partner: worries of what they may think and say.
But with Peter, not once did you have those doubts. The way he simply is, is enough to distract those thoughts.
He’d admit, it was rather intimidating. Seeing in person once again just how complicated the female form is. It was almost enough to completely discredit the confidence in all that he’s learnt. But he prevails.
He itches himself closer, steady breath hot as it hits at your cunt. He’s slow, movements feeling calculated but really he’s just trying to remember the steps in the hazy panic.
He presses a kiss to the crease of your upper inner thigh, the soft, fluttery touch an effort to build you up slowly. His hands cup the backs of your thighs, wandering, needy fingers pawing and squeezing at the doughy flesh.
And so he presses another kiss, seering the act of affection into the other side, giving both sides similar attention. But between either thigh, there was something else that awaited his attention. Your pussy growing antsy with anticipation, a slight ache forming as he attends to the other parts of you — giving your thighs and ass cheeks the attention your cunt so clearly wanted.
Though you wait. You keep your hands clasped to your chest rather than the locks of his hair, not wanting to hasten or progress things too much, too soon.
His kisses eventually circle inwards and he places one to the centre of your folds, the light, brief moment of contact having more of an effect on you than you’d have expected. It was the attention to detail that caught up to you, the slow, timely movements allowing things to build up naturally for you.
He halts with the kisses for now and lines the expanse of your cunt with his tongue, trailing your folds up and down with the flat of the muscle. Unpointed pressure showing his lack of haste in the matter. He reaches your clit and his lips wrap around it, pucking yet another faint kiss.
But he doesn’t part from it. Instead it’s like he’s latched onto it, mouth covering the sensitive nub with gentle pressure. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he swipes at your clit, flat tongue flickering over it unrushed.
You release your firm hold around your breasts and instead place your hands atop his head, unable to keep yourself from touching him. Your fingers slot into the messy strands of hair at the front, antsy fingers simply using him as something to hold onto.
The silent act of tugging his hair is quite enough to egg him on further, to encourage him even. The way you seek him out was something he found rather endearing, erotic too. The way you sound is also quite the confidence booster, your airy deep full breaths wordlessly telling him that what he’s doing is working. That he’s doing something right.
He parts from your clit for a brief moment to kiss back down the length of your slick cunt, lips halting at the very bottom of you. His tongue sharpens as he begins to lick up you, the slight point curling up against your entrance with the movement. Though that's all it is. Nothing more comes from that little teasing dip into you.
He laps at your arousal only to spit it back onto your pussy, combining your juices with spit of his own. And it becomes apparent that he’s starting to grow lost in the act, freestyling and abandoning his intricate, mental step by step. Like a sense of pressure and worry leaves his shoulders as he listens to your pants, your bodily reactions continuing to tell him that he’s doing a good job.
Peter retracts a hand from the cheek of your ass, instead moving it towards your cunt. He lines over the mess of your folds with his index, trailing over the spit and juice and arousal as he itches it closer to your entrance. His lips and tongue resume their attention on your clit while his finger begins to guide into you. Easing in with no resistance at all.
He locates what he guesses to be your g-spot, the ridges and bumps of it later telling him that he’s correct. And so he starts to rub the pad of his finger against it, mimicking a ‘come hither’ motion.
And once again, your reactions guide him: fingers gripping tighter in his hair, breaths growing ragged and strained, hips winding, chest rising and falling. Every single one of your bodily responses coming from a place of deep, unwavering pleasure. His research didn't need to tell him that you were beginning to near your end, he could just feel it.
Many minutes pass with Peter repeating those few movements, the combination seriously altering the ability to control your volume. You whine and pant against him, the hands that once laid atop his head now sit on his shoulders, your force trying to push him away from between your thighs. The feelings of it all growing too intense.
But that’s not what you really wanted. You didn’t want him to stop and he knew that also.
You feel that pressure build in the pit of your stomach and without much time to prepare, you're writhing against him, an unfamiliar sense of tension accompanying. His finger acts as a plug inside you as he awaits the moment, only retracting when the time feels right. He pulls his index and lowers his mouth, relocating to the bottom half of your cunt — lining himself with you to swallow as much of your squirt as possible.
And once your convulsing and spasming subsides, he’s pressing soft, reassuring kisses to the inners of your thighs, making conscious effort to help you down easily. He adjusts and repositions himself, moving up the length of your body to hover atop you, face now close with yours once again. His cheeks blushing with pride.
His lips ghost yours and you taste yourself.
“That was so embarrassing,” you mutter against him, head turning away bashfully.
He maintains eye contact, his head tilting with yours as if to signify the importance of what he’s about to say.
You desperately needed a date to your aunt’s fancy wedding. Who better to take than your attractive lab partner?
(7.2k words, fake dating, 18+, afab reader, fluff, eventual smut, fingering, p in v sex, safe sex (Peter is responsible!!), semi-public sex (you’re in a closet), confessions, lab partners to lovers, reader wears a dress)
first time writing smut…kinda nervous! Had this idea and couldn’t put it down. First time writing for Peter as well…I used to binge read Peter Parker x reader fics when I was younger. Full circle moment ^^.
(note: this can go for either Tom’s Spiderman or Andrew’s Spiderman!)
————————————————————————
“Oh honey, isn’t it just lovely? It’s going to be a lovely wedding!” Your mom chittered on the other end of the phone, which was currently balanced precariously between your shoulder and your ear.
“Yeah, mom. I’m sure it’ll be fun.” You responded, holding up one of your fancier blouses with a frown. You were currently trying to find something to wear, and you had a feeling it wouldn’t be in your closet. “You said it’s black tie?”
“Oh you know your aunt. She always has to go all out.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll find a dress,” You tossed the blouse onto the growing pile of clothes on your bed.
“You’re going to find a plus one too, right?”
Oh god, here we go. You thought, already mentally preparing yourself for the onslaught.
“Mom, I don’t need to—“
“Of course you do, honey.” She said in that tone, where you weren’t sure if she was reassuring you or pitying you. “You’re at that age now where it’s—“
“I already have a date!” You blurted out, cutting off the usual lecture about your future wedding and grandchildren. “Yeah. He’s nice. Super nice. You’ll like him.”
“Oh my goodness! Tell me all about him. Where did you meet? Did you—“
“Okay, okay, Mom! I gotta go. I’ve got class this morning.” You interrupted her, only to hear an excited squeal on the other end.
“Don’t keep me waiting too long! Can’t wait to meet him on Sunday! Love you, hon!”
“Love you too,” You responded, hearing the familiar hang up tone.
A pit formed in your stomach as you looked around your bedroom, which was currently devoid of a date for your aunt’s wedding.
You had to find someone and fast.
You thought of everything you could on the way to your chemistry lecture.
You could take your friend Max, but he had a girlfriend. You weren’t about to take up that drama.
No, you needed someone single.
Someone willing to just play along without being creepy…
You arrived early to your lecture and sat down at your usual spot, leaning your head on your palm as your mind raced.
You were desperate.
“Woah, what’s that face for? It’s like, 9:30 in the morning. No need to think so hard already.”
The voice came from your classmate, Peter, who took the seat next to you. He was your chemistry lab partner. Smart, funny, and plenty competent, you were sure he was responsible for every A you two got.
“Don’t worry about it,” You responded, shaking your head to try to clear your thoughts. “Just a family thing.”
“Ah, a family thing.” He nodded with a sympathetic expression. “Come on. You can tell me. Is it…a baby?”
“A wedding.”
“Oh, a wedding?” Peter grinned, leaning back precariously in his chair. “Isn’t that supposed to be fun? Why do you look like you’re trying to escape your execution?”
“Because I’m stupid and I told my mom I’m bringing a date,” You glanced at him with a grimace. “I’m trying to figure out who I should take.”
“Oh, geez. Yeah, that’s…that’s a headache” He chuckled and raised a dark brow at you. “Why don’t you just say you don’t have a date?”
“Peter, this is serious.”
“I’m being serious,” He smiled in that familiar charming way that you were sure only he could come up with. “Just say he bailed on you or something.”
“Do you know what that entails?” You groaned and hid your face in your hands. “Eternal shame. Disappointment. I’m sure she’s told half the family already.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find your Prince Charming.” He bumped your shoulder with his and tilted his head at you. “There’s gotta be someone willing to sacrifice their weekend for you.”
And that’s when you see it.
Peter has always been handsome in a nerdy sort of way. Brown hair that looked messy on purpose, strong shoulders, great bone structure and those big, brown eyes.
“You!” You blurted out, straightening in your chair so fast that it made him jump. “You. You’re coming with me.”
“What?” He let out a laugh as an awkward smile spread across his face. “You can’t just take me hostage.”
“Oh come on, Peter. You’re perfect for it. You’ve even got the puppy eyes that my family would go nuts for!” You claimed, gesturing at his face. “You’ve gotta help me out here.”
“Puppy eyes?” He raised a brow in a confused look that makes him look obscenely handsome.
But it’s too late. You’re already planning.
“Please? Just like, two days. It’s in Washington, so we’ll have to fly...” You know it sounds crazy. Peter never seemed like the type of guy to take a risk, but you had to try. “You’ll get free food?”
“You’re serious?” Peter raised both brows at you this time. “Alright,” He grinned, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t have any plans so…I’ll be your fake boyfriend for the weekend. But you better be serious about that free food.” He pointed an accusing finger at you.
“I’m serious!” You grinned as you leaned back in your seat. “All the food you want.”
You were really doing this. Taking Peter Parker—your fake boyfriend—across the country just to save yourself from the heat of your family’s judgement.
You had two days to find a dress, make up a story about your relationship, and travel to Washington for your Aunt’s wedding.
Which is how you ended up sitting cross-legged on your bed with Peter sprawled on the floor of your bedroom, your notebook in your hand as you tried to figure out how you two met.
“I mean, we could use the chem lab?” He proposed, looking at you upside down. “We had..chemistry.”
“Oh my god,” You snorted. “Fine, yeah. From there it was true love, right?”
“Exactly!” He threw his arms up, letting them flop onto the carpet by his head. “Simple as that. See? I think you’re too worried about all this. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay, okay. We need some rules, though, right?” You look back down at your notebook, scribbling down the we have chemistry line.
“Rules. Okay, fair.” He nods, scratching his cheek absentmindedly. “Rule number one, we don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
“Same goes for you,” You write down the first bullet point: keep everyone comfortable. “Rule number two: stick to the story.”
“Also fair,” Peter nods again. “Okay, one last rule.”
“What?” You raised a brow at him.
“Don’t catch feelings.” He smiled when he said it, but his eyes were serious. “I don’t want this to ruin our friendship, y'know? We have a reputation to maintain as the most efficient nerds in chem, I'd hate to lose a lab partner because of a wedding.”
“Yeah,” You swallowed as you wrote down the last rule. Don’t make it weird.
“Okay, now that the rules are done…Do you have a suit? It’s black tie,” You looked at him expectantly.
“Yeah, I’ve got a suit.” He said, groaning as he sat up from the floor. “I’m already packed for the trip. We leave tomorrow, right?”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow you’ll fly across the country to see your family with Peter Parker. Where they’ll gush over how cute you two are and expect you to dance together.
“Yeah,” You nodded. “We leave tomorrow.”
When you finally made it to the airport in Washington, the cool afternoon air hit you like a wave. It was different from New York. The chill leaked through your clothes and into your skin, settling there like it had a right to.
You gripped your jacket tighter around you while Peter walked next to you without a care in the world.
“It’s so mountainy here,” He grinned, gesturing to the tall peaks in the distance as he dragged his suitcase behind him. “I mean, in New York, you get skyscrapers and stuff. But these things are huge!”
“It’s Washington, Peter, you’re gonna get mountains,” You tease, watching him squint at the horizon.
“Gimme a break. The furthest I’ve gone is Washington D.C.. I gotta say though, I like this Washington better,” Peter said while you two loaded your suitcases into the back of the rental car. “Are you cold already?”
“No,” You lied through your teeth, hopping into the passenger seat of the car. “Let’s just get to the hotel, okay?”
“Alright, alright.” He raised his hands in faux surrender in the driver’s seat. He immediately cranked the heat, and pulled out of the parking spot. “To the hotel it is.”
The drive was longer than you expected it to be, probably because of the long flight and the resulting jet lag. You walked through the door of the hotel and Peter followed, carrying both of your suitcases up to the front desk.
“One double room, please,” You said in the nicest voice you could muster given your travel-tired state.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, we only have single rooms left.” The lady behind the desk typed on the keyboard as she talked. “Would that be alright with you?”
“Oh, we don’t have to—“ Peter began to protest with that kind smile of his.
“No, that’s okay. We’ll take it,” You slid your credit card across the desk before he could stop you.
“What?”
“I’m not driving to another hotel. We’re already here,” You explained, taking the credit card back along with the room’s keycard. “It’s just two nights, plus-“ You wiggled your credit card at him. “It's cheaper.”
“Valid,” He said, following you down the hall and into the elevator. “I’ve been told I snore, though, so fair warning.”
When you finally, finally get to your room, you collapsed onto the bed in your travel clothes with a groan. “Never again. That flight was awful.”
“We’ve gotta do it again to get back home,” Peter flopped onto the bed next to you with his arms behind his head. “So you’ll have to survive another trip.”
“Ugh, I know,” You complained into the mattress. “It’s awful, really.”
You both stay quiet for a while, decompressing after the long flight and drive. The afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting a long golden stripe across the white sheets.
You turned your head to look at him after a few minutes of silence. His eyes were closed, and the sunlight made his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. His jawline looked sharper now, angled in the golden light. Your eyes followed the slope of his nose, and they landed on his lips without thinking too much about it.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” He said, breaking the silence.
“What?” You jumped, like you’d been caught doing something wrong. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it.
“We should practice being a couple.” He opened his eyes and looked at you, his brown eyes almost glowing in the sunlight in a way that should be illegal.
“What?” You snorted, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to freak out if I just like…” He slowly reached over and slid his larger hand over yours. His hand was warm, a bit rough as his fingers intertwined with yours. “Did this.”
You felt a warmth creep up your arm, spreading through your chest before you could stop it.
“Right. I’m not gonna—I’m not gonna freak out.” You laughed, holding up your joined hands. Though you swore you could feel your palms getting clammy already.
“See? We’ve got it then.” Peter smiled. He then stood up from the bed, pulling you up with him. “Next thing we’ve gotta practice. Hugs, right? Who doesn’t like hugs?”
“Hugs?” You snorted as he tugged you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around his middle as his hands slid around your waist. He was a lot more solid than he looked, and you were surprised by the strength in his arms as he pulled you in.
“So, how is it?” He chuckled, rubbing one of his hands up and down your spine.
“Not so bad,” You lied, huffing out a soft laugh.
Your heart was pounding so hard you swore he could hear it, and you felt your face burning where it was pressed against his chest.
“Anyway…” You pulled back, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“Anyway,” He nodded and placed his hands on his hips. “Final practice. Flirting.”
“Flirting?” You laughed again.
“Yeah, you know. Like pet names, horrible pick up lines…” Peter said, tilting his head at you. “You don’t know what flirting is?”
“I know what it is!”
“Alright…baby.” He teased, and you swore your face was turning the color of a tomato.
“Baby? Really?” You objected and raised a brow at him, trying to look annoyed as butterflies began to swarm in your stomach.
“What? You want sweetheart? Love? Honey?” He grinned as you groaned. “Light of my life? Or just babe? That one feels a bit surfer-y though.”
“Just pick one! It doesn’t matter that much!”
“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” Peter chuckled as he held his hands up in fake surrender. “I’ll use em all, then.”
That was the start of it.
After that, he started using random pet names throughout the day. Not only that, he insisted that you had to reciprocate.
“Honey, do you mind if I use the shower before you?” He’d ask through the bathroom door, and you’d have to take a deep breath before responding with your own pet name.
“Of course not, baby. Go ahead.” You’d respond while wanting the floor to swallow you whole.
You don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. Bringing your—suddenly very attractive—lab partner out of all people to a wedding across the country, sharing a hotel room and pretending to date while you struggled against your feelings the whole time.
Some might call it pure torture.
Especially when he comes out of the bathroom wearing that suit.
It’s perfectly tailored to his body, the crisp white shirt standing out against the sharp black lines of his suit jacket and dress pants. “So…how’s it looking? Good? Great?” He’s tying his black tie as he’s talking, his hands working deftly to perfectly knot the material around his neck.
You had to look away before he caught you staring.
“It’s good. It’s perfect, I mean, it’s a black tie event.” You stammered out, cursing yourself mentally as you unzipped the dress bag.
You darted into the bathroom to change. No feelings, you told yourself. Rule number three. Absolutely no feelings…
But damn did he look good in formal wear.
You shook off the thoughts as you got dressed, sliding your dress up over your body before you realized your mistake.
You can’t reach the zipper.
You clutched the fabric to your chest, your heart nearly pounding through the material as you fumbled with the back. Your fingers kept slipping off the plastic, and you knew you needed his help.
Once again, pure torture.
“Hey, Peter? Can you come zip me up?” You called out, cursing again yourself for not being able to get dressed on your own.
“Sure, I gotcha!” He responded. Within a few seconds, he was opening the sliding door of the bathroom and stepping into the small space. You met his eye in the mirror as he stepped up behind you.
One of your arms held your dress to your chest, and the other held your hair out of the way. You felt his fingers brush your lower back as he worked the zipper.
But the worst part?
When his breath ghosted over the back of your neck as he slid the zipper up your spine, sending a trail of goosebumps through you. The air seemed to get stuck in your lungs, which made it feel like the room had no oxygen in it.
“There we go, baby.” He said, and God it sounded a bit too genuine. He smiled at you in the mirror, his eyes staying on yours as his fingers lingered a fraction too long between your shoulder blades. After an agonizing moment, he pulled away, leaving a heat burning through your body.
“Thanks,” You managed to say as he turned to walk out of the bathroom.
“Anytime.” Peter commented on his way out, looking at you one last time over his shoulder. “You look amazing, by the way.” He said, before closing the door behind him.
You were done for.
It’ll be fine, you told yourself as you washed your face in the sink of the small bathroom. Woman up, girl. Don’t let him make you nervous.
You did your hair up, did your makeup, sprayed your perfume and shimmied your heels on. You felt like a million bucks as you studied your reflection. Dressing up had always made you feel confident, and by God you knew you’d need all the help you could get tonight.
When you finally stepped out of the bathroom, you caught the look on his face. He looked flabbergasted to say the least, his eyes wide as you grabbed your purse off the small table and headed towards the door.
“Are you ready to go?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder to catch one last look at his slack jawed expression.
“Yeah. Yeah I’m—I’m ready.” He swallowed, and you caught his eyes doing a sweep of your form in the dress. “Let’s do this.” He nodded, snagging the car keys and following you out of the hotel room.
You arrived at the venue right on time despite the winding mountain road.
It was a beautiful spot, located at a hilltop overlooking the mountains nearby. The huge white building was glowing orange from the inside, and the walkway lit with bright white lanterns that made you feel like you were walking through an old timey garden.
“Well, here we go, honey.” Peter chuckled as he turned the ignition off. The silence sat heavy between you two as you prepared yourself to face your family.
And him.
“Don’t be so nervous. You’ve just gotta trust me,” He said, reaching across the console to squeeze your hand. “I can handle some rowdy family members.”
“Remember, we met at our chemistry lecture.” You remind him, and he nods.
“Yeah, because we have chemistry,” He winked at you, before stepping out of the car and rounding the hood to get the door for you.
You can do this, you convinced yourself. It’s just Peter
When he opened the door he offered you a hand. “Come on, free food awaits,” He said, nodding towards the large venue.
You took his hand and swung your purse over your shoulder, trying not to think too hard about your role as the doting girlfriend.
You knew how it was going to go, after all. You’ve been through this before with your exes, and every time you bring them around your family it’s been embarrassing and borderline invasive in that way that families are.
You two paused outside of the venue, and you could already hear the classical music leaking through the doors.
“You’re overthinking things,” Peter leaned down and muttered in your ear, which sent a fresh spike of energy through your body that had nothing to do with nerves. “I’ve got you, alright?”
He gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze before he opened the door to the venue.
The sound of piano and strings hit you instantly, along with the chatter of at least a hundred family members from both sides of the wedding. You scanned the crowd, hoping to catch your mother before she snuck up on you.
“Very classy,” Peter leaned down to talk over the cacophony, looking over the crowd of black tied wedding goers. “Very…sophisticated.”
“My aunt has always had a taste for ritzy stuff,” You shrug, letting him lead you further into the crowd.
It wasn’t long before you were spotted.
“Oh my goodness, honey, is that you with that handsome young man?!”
The excited exclamation came from your mother, right across the room. That sent heads swiveling towards you and Peter, especially when she came speedwalking over with her gaggle of sisters.
“Oh, hi guys,” You said, smiling as excitedly as you can while navigating the social waters of your family. “This is Peter.”
“Oh aren’t you two just adorable?” One of them smiles, resting a hand briefly on your shoulder.
“It just reminds me of when I was with my Jimmy.” Another coos, pressing a hand over her heart, queuing a chorus of yeses and awws.
“Now I know everyone’s thinking it,” One of them, your Aunt Piper, speaks up while leaning in. “How did you two meet? Tell us everything!”
Peter, to his credit, doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, it was like fate. We’re chemistry lab partners. She caught my eye, and I’ve never been able to look away since.” He smiled at you, sliding his hand from yours to your waist, pulling you close to his side.
You were startled for a moment before you recovered with a smile. “Yeah, it was definitely fate.” You nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder for good measure.
That act earned you a symphony of awwws from the older women, especially your mother, who then had the audacity to bring up your exes in the middle of the wedding’s crowd.
“Oh, I like him so much better than that Lucas guy you were with,” She said, reaching out to smooth out Peter’s suit lapel. “So smartly dressed too. You should have told me about him earlier, honey.”
“Of course, Mom, I was just busy with college stuff. You know, classes and stuff,” You laughed.
“Oh yes yes, of course honey.” She squeezed your shoulder briefly. “You are being safe, yes? You know I want grandchildren, but now is not the time!” She teased you.
You were trying to respond, but your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water. “I—Mom, seriously?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we stay safe,” Peter cut in, sending a charming wink towards your mom to save you from the oncoming embarrassment.
You swore you were going to melt into the floorboards of the fancy venue anyway.
Before she could mortify you more, she spotted another family member to harass, already calling out across the venue like she did to you. “Johnny? Is that you?” She shouted as she made her way towards the next unwilling victim with her sisters.
“Thank god,” You muttered, pinching your nose. “I told you, they’re crazy.”
Peter let out a snort, looking over his shoulder at the retreating group of women. “Nah, they’re fun. Besides, if they weren’t crazy, then it’d be pretty boring around here,” He leaned down to speak in your ear again, and his voice cut through the chatter, low in a way that you didn’t hear from him often. “You wanna find that free food now? I think we’ve officially earned it.”
You manage to make it through three more interrogations before things start spiraling out of control.
It started with the dancing.
“All couples come to the dance floor!” Your Aunt Piper called out, her words nearly slurring from how much she’s had to drink already.
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” You whisper hurriedly, hoping to be spared from the inevitable embarrassment of dancing in front of people.
“Oh come on. It’ll be fun,” He nods towards the dance floor where people are already pairing up. He looked at you with a smile, those pretty brown eyes meeting yours in the orange lit glow of the venue. “Just one dance?”
Oh, how could you say no to him?
“Fine, just one dance.” You conceded with a barely contained smile, letting him take your hand. You expected him to pull you to the dance floor.
But oh no, instead, he raised your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. That shot a bolt of electricity straight up your arm, making a warmth spread through your body. “Come on, honey, let’s go dance.”
Embarrassingly enough, you already felt your knees going weak as he tugged you to the dance floor.
No feelings, you reminded yourself as his hand slid to your waist with a natural ease, like it was always meant to be there.
No feelings, you reminded yourself again when he pulled you flush to his chest, your hand resting on his shoulder.
No feelings, you reminded yourself for the last time as you met his pretty brown eyes in the middle of that dance floor.
It felt like you were in your own private world as the strings and piano began to swoon. You swayed to the beat with him, careful not to step on his toes.
“You’re staring,” Peter murmured with a soft smile. You felt his breath ghost over your lips.
“There’s no where else to look.” You protested quietly, and you knew he could feel your heart pounding against his chest.
“Sure there isn’t,” He smiled, and the movement made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You’re a very bad liar, you know.”
Oh you knew you could never lie to him.
“Why’s that?” You ask, swallowing to try to clear the sudden dryness in your throat.
Peter leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You haven’t taken your eyes off me all night.” He whispered, before pulling back to catch your flustered expression. “You do it during our lecture too. You’re not exactly subtle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” You let out a nervous laugh, trying to hide your burning cheeks from his gaze. There’s nowhere to go, though, especially when both of his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.
“Your heart’s pounding,” He tilted his head at you, still keeping his eyes on yours. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you, remember? You don’t need to hide from me.”
You loop your arms around his neck as the song continues on. “I guess…rule three was kind of bullshit from the start, huh?” You huffed out another nervous laugh.
“Yeah, pretty much,” He nodded, and you caught his eyes flicking down to your lips for the briefest second before they snapped back up to your eyes.
“It would’ve been a whole lot easier if I told you, huh?” You snort, a grin spreading on your face before you could stop it.
“Can I just show you, then?” He whispered as he slowly leaned in. “Since words can’t seem to work for either of us?”
You met him halfway, your lips closing the distance to his with a speed that should’ve been obscene in the middle of a fancy wedding.
His lips were warmer and softer than you expected as they moved slowly against yours, like he wanted to taste every inch of your lips and he had all the time in the world to do it.
And, god, you’d let him take all of your time.
When you finally parted, you met his eyes again before you both burst into giddy grins.
“We shouldn’t have done that in the middle of a dance floor,” You said while one of your hands played with the hair at the back of his neck.
“Yeah, well…” He chuckled. “We could always get off the middle of the dance floor.”
“We could,” You responded as you tilted your head towards an empty hallway. “After you?”
Peter grinned as he tangled his hand with yours, glancing around at the crowd before you two managed to slip away into the back hallway.
The hallway was a cool savior compared to the stuffy air of the dance floor, and you both sighed as you searched for a place to get away from the crowd for a while.
You finally found what you’d been looking for. Peter saw it too, and managed to get the door open to tug you into the dark supply closet.
“Finally, some privacy,” Peter said as the door closed behind you, leaving you in a thick darkness. The only thing you could feel were his hands, which slipped back to your waist.
His lips were back on yours before you could respond. You let out a soft hum of contentment as he tilted his head to deepen it, one of your hands sliding slowly into his hair in the darkness. He let out a low groan at that, and responded by kissing you harder.
You felt electricity bolt through you at the bold move, so you pulled him as close as you possibly could in the dark closet. The only sound in the closet was desperate breathing, the occasional groan, and the muffled classical music from the dance floor outside.
“You have no clue what you’re doing to me,” He muttered as he pressed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jawline. “Seein’ you all dolled up…best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Peter,” You breathed out as he pressed a kiss underneath your ear.
“I’m serious,” He scattered more kisses along your jaw before he moved lower, his lips brushing your neck with every word. “You look so pretty… couldn’t stop thinking about making a mess out of you before you got here.”
His hand slid from your waist to bunch up your skirt, sliding a warm hand up your thigh to your hip, where he traced small circles over your skin with his thumb. The darkness added a thick layer of anticipation to every move, an extra shot of adrenaline to every touch, and you were starting to love it.
“Right at that bathroom counter,” He whispered, sending another wave of goosebumps through your body. “Thought about bending you over right there, smearing up your makeup, ruining that pretty hairstyle…”
“Shit, Peter, you can’t just say stuff like that,” You complained, though there wasn’t a single drop of venom in your words. The words sent a wave of heat through you, settling sharply between your thighs.
“Why not?” He said, pulling back to meet your eye again. “You’re terrible at lying, so I might as well be honest.” His other hand slid higher, slowly cupping your jaw as he kissed you again.
This kiss was different, though. It was desperate and hot, his lips pressed hard against yours as he traced the seam of your lips with his tongue. Peter pressed closer, and you felt your back hit the wall with a soft thud.
His hips met yours, and a part of you registered how risky this was. Making out in a supply closet at your aunt’s wedding. But the other part of you felt the thrill, the risk of being caught like a couple of teenagers. Especially when he parted your legs with one of his while sliding his tongue into your mouth.
He tasted sweet, like the desserts he was eating earlier that night.
Then he was grinding slowly, his hips between yours, and any thoughts of stopping simply vanished.
“Peter,” You gasped as you fisted your hands in his suit jacket lapels, pulling his lips back to yours.
“Yeah, honey?” He whispered against your mouth, gripping your hip under your skirt. “Tell me. Come on, use your words.”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t, not with the way he was teasing and touching you.
“Can’t use your words?” He chuckled under his breath, shifting his hips forward again to draw another gasp from you. The seam of his dress pants pressed firmly against your clit through the cotton of your panties, sending a burst of adrenaline and arousal through you.
“Y-you’re such a tease,” You breathed out as his hips started to grind into you in slow circles. You couldn’t help but arch into him with a soft moan.
“You love it, though,” Peter whispered as his hand slid between you both, skimming over your stomach slowly, leaving a trail of heat and goosebumps in its wake.
“Can I?” He asked, his fingers pausing on your lower stomach, right near the waistband of your underwear.
“Yeah,” You felt like your heart was going to pound straight out of your chest. You could feel his heart doing the same thing.
When his fingers slipped beneath your panties, your breath hitched.
“Y’gonna be quiet for me? Can’t have them hearing us,” He lowered his voice in your ear, before pressing a bruising kiss to your jaw. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”
“Gonna be quiet,” Your voice was quiet and shaky in the small closet.
“Atta girl,” He smiled against your neck as his fingers dipped lower, brushing the sensitive skin. “So worked up for me already, aren’t you?”
“Mmhmm,” You nodded as he kissed your neck again.
“Gonna make you feel so good, okay?” He whispered, sliding his fingers along your slit, gathering your arousal on his fingers. “God, you’re so wet already…”
He slid two of his long fingers into you then, and it took everything in you to not groan aloud. Instead, a short, startled sound escaped your throat.
“Is this okay?” Peter asked softl as he crooked his fingers inside of you, causing your hips to jump forward.
“Ah—yeah. Yeah that’s—“ You moaned again, burying your burning face into his neck as another wave of pleasure hit you. “Peter.”
“Shhh, we have to be quiet,” He whispered as he started to pump them in and out of your dripping hole with a slow, agonizing pace. You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from making any more noise. “That’s my girl.” He praised as your core clenched around his fingers.
“Shit,” You hissed, squeezing your thighs around his wrist as he started to pump faster. The wet sounds of skin on skin were obscene in the small closet, echoing off the walls and settling deep in your gut.
The heat started to build, deep and familiar between your legs.
“Getting close? I can feel it,” He kissed your neck again before he pressed a thumb to your clit, rubbing firm circles into the sensitive skin and shooting lighting through your nerves. “C’mon, let go for me. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”
“Peter!” You whimpered as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave of pleasure, your internal muscles fluttering and clenching around his fingers. You let out a final groan as he fingered you through your orgasm, helping you ride out the storm of pleasure coursing through your veins.
“There we go,” Peter said, slowly withdrawing his fingers from underneath your dress as you finally started to come down from the high. “You did such a good job, baby.” He pressed a soft kiss to the hinge of your jaw, moving slowly to your lips.
The kissing escalated slowly, turning from soft pecks into deep kisses, and soon enough he was groaning against your lips again. He pressed closer, slipping his tongue into your mouth again. It was then you felt the firm, unmistakable pressure of his arousal against the inside of your thigh.
“Need you, Peter,” You whispered between kisses, sliding your hands into his hair again.
“Need you too,” He responded, sighing and resting his forehead against yours as one of his hands slipped from your bare hips. “Do you have a condom? I mean, I’m clean, but I did promise your mom I’d be safe.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh, and quickly retrieved your purse from where it fell to the floor. You dug for the foil packet and passed it to him in the dark of the closet.
“Good, thanks,” He kissed your temple, and you heard him unzipping his dress pants. “You’re sure about this?”
You met his eye in the dim light of the closet, and you’ve never been more sure about anything else in your life.
“Yes, Peter. I’m very sure.” You said, and he smiled.
“Good to hear…alright, just relax for me,” He murmured, and you felt his hand slide under your thigh, lifting your leg to hook it around his hip.
You weren’t sure if the darkness was a curse or a blessing, since you couldn’t see what he was going to do. It sent a burst of anticipation and arousal through your body.
You felt the tip of his cock press against your core, rubbing slowly up and down your slit.
“Peter, please,” You whispered, a soft whimper escaping you when he slid against your clit.
“I got you, baby, I’ve got you,” Peter muttered as he lined up at your entrance.
He groaned as he pressed into you, his cock making your walls stretch and burn deliciously. “Fuck,” He panted against your neck. “You’re so tight.”
You had to muffle a moan against his neck as you took him in. The heat had spread from your core through your body, making your breath hitch and your heart pound harder in your chest.
Then came the pleasure.
“Can I—Can I move?” He asked, his hips already jumping instinctively against you. “Fuck, sorry,”
“It’s alright. Y-you can move now.” You panted, looping your arms around his neck to keep yourself balanced.
Peter did not wait for a second confirmation.
He pulled out slowly, before sinking back into your heat with a slow, steady pace that made your head spin with ecstasy.
“Holy shit, you feel—haah, you feel amazing,” He breathed out, before pulling out again. “You’re doing so well for me, taking me like this—“ He cut himself off with another quiet moan.
“Y-you do too, Peter.” You managed to say through the groans that were threatening to escape your throat. One slipped out, sounding way too loud and way too lewd for the storage closet.
“Shh, shh,” He hushed, his breath shaky against your cheek. “Stay quiet for me, baby, I know it’s—fuck—I know it’s hard, I’m struggling too.”
“So hard,” You whimpered as he sped up, the sound of his cock sliding through your slick echoing around the dark space. “F-faster, please, I’m—mmh—close—“
“Come on, baby, cum for me,” He whispered before his lips met yours again, kissing you hard as his hips started to stutter against yours.
The second orgasm hit you like a train, making your knees feel weak as you groaned against his lips. You feel yourself clench around his twitching length, your walls fluttering around him as you soaked his cock.
“Oh, shit,” Peter groaned your name against your neck as his hips gave a few more messy thrusts, before you felt him twitch inside of you.
He melted against you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as you both caught your breath. The only sounds in the closet were your heavy breathing, and the muffled classical music coming from the other side of the door.
“You okay?” He asked, slowly pulling out of you. The cool air rushed in where he had been, making you feel strangely empty without him there.
“Yeah,” You nodded, though your legs still felt like jelly. He noticed, of course, and held your hips to keep you steady. “I’m better than okay.”
“Good, that’s really good,” He chuckled, brushing his thumbs along the warm skin of your hips. “I’d carry you out of here if you weren’t.”
You huffed out a laugh as his hand slipped from your thigh, lowering your foot back to the floor.
As the world slowly came back to you, you finally remembered where you were.
The wedding.
Your family outside of the door.
“We should…get back out there before they send a search party,” You laughed, pulling your underwear back up and smoothing out your dress.
“We should,” Peter snorted, reluctantly taking his hands off of you. You heard him zipping up his own pants, still breathing uneven in the darkness of the closet.
You opened the door, sticking your head out to check for potential witnesses. To your relief, the hallway was empty. So you threw your purse back over your shoulder and crept out onto the fancy tiled floor.
The rest of the night was a blur of fuzzy feelings and lingering touches that stretched into the early morning hours. Everyone else was too busy with their own groups of people to notice how long you two were gone.
By the time you made it back to your hotel room, you were barefoot, your hair was a mess, and you were sure your makeup was smudged from its original spot.
“God, what time is it?” You asked as you sat in one of the armchairs and propped up your sore feet.
“It’s about 3 am,” Peter responded with a smile, untying his tie and shedding his suit jacket. “Which is pretty crazy for a bunch of older people, but hey, your aunt can party.”
You snorted, remembering the moment your aunt had pulled him out onto the dance floor. He just looked at you with a startled grin, spinning the older woman out as she cackled loud enough for the whole venue to hear.
“Oh yeah, she’s nuts,” You commented, watching as he started to unbutton his dress shirt, showing the muscled planes of his chest.
Oh, you wanted to run your hands over the smooth skin, to feel the warmth of his chest in the cool air of the hotel room.
But you were also very tired from the partying, and you couldn’t wait to get out of your dress. “I’m gonna go get washed up real quick,” You said, standing from your chair. “I’ll be back.”
“You better be back!” He called out as you closed the bathroom door behind you.
When you came back, he was sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxers and an old Star Wars t-shirt. He looked ridiculously cozy, his hair sticking up in all sorts of directions, and his sleepy brown eyes were stuck on you.
“So…” Peter said, tilting his head at you. “Does this mean we’re a thing now?”
“Does it?” You walked up to him and stood between his legs. He hummed and reached up with his large, warm hands and settled them on your hips “I think so.”
“It isn’t going to ruin the friendship?” You teased as he tugged you closer to him.
He chucked, smoothing his thumbs over the skin on your hip bones. “Nah, this is just…improving the friendship, don’t you think?” He asked as he shuffled back onto the bed, pulling you down with him.
“Improving the friendship…” You repeated as you tucked yourself into him. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good to hear,” He whispered, reaching over to click the lights off before settling back into the bedding. “Wanted you to be my girl for a long time now,” he mumbled against your hair.
“Mmm…” You hummed, tilting your head up to catch his eye in the light from the city outside. “Wanted to be your girl too.”
“Yeah?” he whispered, and you caught his goofy grin before he could control it.
You didn’t answer with words.
You kissed him, and this one was different from the closet. It wasn’t frantic, instead it was soft and warm. A fuzzy feeling appeared in your chest and spread unbidden through your body until you felt like you were floating.
He tasted like home, like comfort, giving you the same feeling as a hot cup of coffee on a chilly day.
When you parted, you let out a contented sigh. He hugged you closer, pressing you firmly against his warm chest like he would never let go.
“Goodnight, baby.” He said, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“Goodnight, Peter.” You mumbled, before you fell asleep right there in his arms, a lot closer to Peter Parker than you had ever expected to be.
